Olive

Growing up, I witnessed things a child never should of.

Most kids grew up reading comics, making forts outside, or buying candy from the local sweets parlor. But I had a rather different upbringing.

When I was 5 years old, I was being taught how to use knives, switchblades, and how to be stealthy. By the time I was ten, I had learned how to take apart a Colt M19 and put it back together in under 3 minutes.

I learned how to make bullets, where to buy backstreet supplies, and where to shoot to kill.

I never had dolls or coloring books. My pops, Lorenzo Semone, gifted me Italian stiletto knives.

Someone once accused my pop of child abuse and neglect. The next day, the pigs found him hanging from a crane near the cape.

I remember that day well. Pops sat me down with a shot of bourbon. I hated the smell and taste but I was able to hide that.

"Kid, You know I love you. More then life itself." My father sat back in his chair, removing his pistol from the side holster and sitting it on the oak wood table.

"I know pops. I love you too." I smiled and instantly wiped it off of my face. Pops always said smiling was a weakness. It lets the enemies in.

"You have to be strong. You're going to have to take over the mafia when my time is up." He slid the small shot towards me and nodded at it. I slowly picked up the glass and downed it. It burned my throat.

"Pops?" I looked directly into his dark brown eyes. He grunted a response while downing a shot of his own.

"I," I stuttered knowing what I was about to say would spark an argument.

"Spit it out," Pops said as he slammed the glass on the table.

"I-I don't want to take over." I whispered.

"Speak up, girl." I looked up to see him glaring at me. Like I said, we didn't smile here.

"I don't want to take over." I said again, but louder and more confident.

"If you don't take over, Boston will be a shit show. Many many many commoners will die." My eyes widened. He always yelled but today he was calm.

"Why aren't you yelling?" I asked, confused. I never expected to hear what he was about to say.

"Pops!" I called, running down the stairs. I quickly jumped off the last step and raced down the hallway to my Father's room. I slowed as I approached the door.

All I could hear was the beeping of the machines. I quietly opened the door to see him peacefully laying on the bed. All types of wires and cords were attached to him and the bed.

"You got a staring problem, kid." Pop's rough voice startled me.

"Sorry," I whispered and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I tiptoed over to his bed, taking a seat in the chair beside it. The room smelled of chemicals and medicine. I hated the smell.

5 years ago, My father broke the news to me that his days would be coming to an end sooner then both of us realized.

15 years of smoking had finally caught up with him. Lung cancer. Which meant, soon, I would be leading the East side of Boston. For the last few years, I've had information thrown at me left and right.

I've had to learn every torture method, every location we had a contract with, and the name of each of the members. I was told to memorize the local Police department schedules and squads.

"Olive," I looked up to see my father's hand. I slowly slid mine into his and squeezed.

"Whats up, pops? Want me to get that nurse in here to change ya?" I joked. If he wasnt so drained, he would be glaring at me.

"Today is the day," He coughed once more.

"What?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man.

"Do you remember everything I taught you?" Pops asked and I nodded slowly.

"Good. Tonight the mafia will be under your authority. Itll be hard and-"

"Pops, what are you on about? You're not dying today." I felt my face heat up. Tears began to form but I quickly blinked them away.

"I've gotten worse, kid. And I don't want to go out like this." I knew what he was talking about and I couldn't allow it.

"Well too bad. You can't leave me yet." I said with a shaky voice.

"You're ready, kid. You'll be okay." For the first time in 15 years, I saw my father smile. It was more scary then a comfort.

"No, I won't be. Im not ready. I need time. And you can't go." I squeezed his hand tighter and he began to cough.

"Can you get me a beer?" He asked between coughs. I sniffled, "Ill get you a water."

I stood and gave him a quick kiss on the head before exiting the room. I wiped my eyes as I slowly walked down the hall.

I reached the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. It only took a minute to fill the glass and be on my way back to his room.

Half way down the hallway a loud bang made me drop the glass and race towards his room.

"Dad!" I yelled as I ran into his room. I stopped dead in my tracks as I looked at his limp body. Blood was dripping down the wall behind him.

"Miss Semone." I felt a hand on my shoulder. I couldnt pry my eyes away.

"Pops..." I sobbed.

How could he do this?