No one has ever tried to infiltrate the Marciano estate in a while. Not since one clan from the Russian mafia tired when I was five. The memory of that night is still vivid in my mind. All the blood, Dad's anger, I was scared but I learned that there is no safe place in this world, not even the comfort of our home was safe.
The men encircling the mansion were heavily armed. Each one of them was holding some of the best assault rifles I know, HK416, Steyr AUG A3, TAR-21, and AK47's. There was smoke covering their movements but unlucky for them, I have good vision and their movements were sloppy.
The men inside the house went upstairs, probably to look for me. This buys me time to get to the infirmary.
I wasn't scared, nor worried. I can take all of them down, I was the best assassin my father trained after all.
I was surprised to see John securing a bulletproof vest over his crisp black suit, filling its magazine holder, and strapping a grenade belt on his waits before loading his AK47.
"Miss Isabella" John raked my appearance. I was wearing my Winnie-the-Pooh onesie, barefoot and my hair, well, was a mess. "Sorry to cut your slumber short, but there are uninvited guests inside the mansion that need to be attended to."
I rolled my eyes, biting my lip to stop a smile from crawling on my face. John looks actually cute in his brown loafer and a full battle gear.
I started getting into business, I wore everything John had except that I had to wear boots, combat boots over my pink onesie. Tremendous. (Note the sarcasm.) Just freaking great.
After securing every ammunition we needed, John and I went in a different direction. He will be covering the west wing while I'll be clearing the east wing which was the residence side of the mansion.
They rummage through my room, the once tidy and neat is now ransacked like a garbage hole. Glass shreds cracked to tiny pieces with every step I took inside but my eyes landed on one, sole poster.
They fúcking hurt James Dean!? His beautiful face now bears holes. They shot him in the face? The love of my life, my destiny, they hurt him. My anger skyrocketed.
Before I could walk out of my room, a grenade was thrown in my direction, I picked it up and threw it over the balcony before it exploded. Gunfire echoed from the hallway but I managed to lay on the floor on my stomach, aimed between the eyes of each intruder. Six down, my body piled up on the door.
I jumped out of the balcony, held the railings, and swung over my body to the second floor, side rolling before I broke my bones on the impact. Gunfire continued to resound as I landed, these sumsofbítches are too many, their numbers would compare to ant colonies.
Like I thought, they are sums of wannabe's but I can't seem to find any indication that they're from the enemy mafia family.
I evaded each bullet as I cleared the hallway. I reloaded my AK for the last mag, sweat dripping from my forehead as I threw the assault rifle towards the last man standing. I'm out of ammo but still able.
He was speaking on his earpiece, the language was foreign to me but it sounds like Bulgarian.
He saw me closing in, he put up his 45 caliber clamping trigger, I slid on the empty marbled floor until I reached his legs. Slashing his main artery on each leg in the process, blood dripped from the Bulgarian speaking man. He kneeled, holding both his legs but my knife cut his throat before he could pull another trick.
The once shiny white floor was now covered with dead bodies and copper scented red liquid.
After clearing the double floor, I headed upstairs again and went to my father's office. In case something like this happened, my father had back up plans from A to G. I needed to lock every crucial information on the mafia before someone could lay their blind eyes on it.
The third floor was still swarming with intruders, one by one, I took them down. My shuriken and darts flying in the air, hitting every vital point of the unwelcome guests with animosity.
I've been on missions before and sweeping was always the hardest part. Bombs and the enemies last trick under their sleeves usually comes after they lose.
Carefully, I walked inside my father's office only to be met by a flying dagger. It pierced my right arm, flesh wound but it bleeds like hell.
Two masked men are in the office, one on my father's computer while the other stands guard. He must be the one who threw the knife, he took an offensive stance before firing his gun, missing my head by an inch. If I haven't ducked, I'd be dead by now. He charged towards me, aiming his fist on my face, I bent my body behind and hit his temple with my combat boots, leaning on both my hands before jumping back on my feet again. I gave him a spinning kick, when he kneeled on the floor holding his pained face, I snapped his neck unregretful.
The man behind the computer leaned on both his hand on the desk, jumping like he was a kangaroo, charged in my direction with his elbows. I evaded him but met his elbows and my combat boots in a double sidekick. He grunted when I heard his bone-cracking, he used all his strength to pull out his gun but I was quick to snap his neck.
In this world where I am living, remorse is a meaningless word. I kicked his lifeless body like a sack of plantains.
The man who touched my fathers' computer was dumb, he was trying to hack the Italian mafia database using a decoder app.
My big brother Sean is a computer wizard – was. He places three back doors wherein two are fake. It changes code every fourteen seconds and without the proper procedure, the database will self-destruct. I never really understood those things but still, I'm thankful that this system my brother made was one hell of a maze.
I used the little that I know about computer software. I froze all the access to the database, making my own back door where ERROR 404 will pop if ever someone tries to access it. An old trick Sean taught me. He used to hide his girlfriend's naked pictures using that hoax. I created a second back door for the funds Marciano holds. I will be the only one who can fix the fake problem I created.
After securing everything in my father's office, I was startled when John came barging in.
"What?!" I hissed. I almost threw the jeepney paperweight to him.
"Miss, we have to leave. Now" John's voice had always been calm and collected, my eyebrows raised in confusion at his demeanor.
"Did the cavalry arrive?" I mocked, taking my father's Jack D. from the liquor cabinet and poured it on my wounded arm.
"Yes," he answered sternly "Fifty SUVs are currently parking at the estate."
"Let them" my voice unwavering "I'll die and take all of them with me to hell."
"This isn't what Daniel wants Isabella" my eyes narrowed him but he continued "he left you under my care and did as I say. We're gonna get out of here and regroup."
"Regroup?" I scoffed "the intruders were talking in Bulgarian. Guess what shaved head butler, my uncle is the mastermind of this attack. I'll wait for him here and make him beg for my father's mercy!!!"
John sighed "the more reason you have to stay alive Isabella. Do you want Crisanti to take all your father's hard work just like that?"
I stopped drowning myself in whiskey. John has a very valid point. Why am I being too reckless? This isn't how Dad, Sean, and Heath, especially Mom, would have wanted me to act. I'm being foolish.
Without saying another word, I took my father's go-bag and emptied the content of his vault.
I didn't have time to change my clothes, John draped his suit jacket over my shoulder as we ran for the forest behind the estate. The night was vague and so was my being. My heart clenched at my uncle's betrayal. How could he have done this? We loved him, he is family but why would he? It's not like he was deprived of anything in fact, he was showered by my father's– his brother – love. Dad took him in even if he was a bastard left to starve in Bulgaria by his own mother.
As John hailed a cab for us, I asked my parents if they were watching me from heaven with my brother's both on their side. I silently prayed as we hit the highway for their guidance. I'll start from nothing, I'll come back and take what's rightfully mine.
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