Forced to Wed the Mafia Boss

OLIVIA I was three years old when my world shattered. I stopped believing in unicorns and rainbows. I realized the boogie man was real and I became afraid of my own shadow. I still have nightmares of the day that changed me forever. My heart still bears the scars. My mother had run into the backyard and plucked me off the grass where I was lying flat on my tummy, feet in the air playing with my dolls. Junior my older brother had gone to the kitchen to get us some snacks so we could have a tea party. Junior was five years older than me, but he would always play with me when I asked. He was a very loving and protective brother, always calling me his little Puppet. Mama was frantic as she rushed me into the tool shed my dad kept in the backyard. Pulling forward a workbench braced to the wall, she kept looking back at the door. "Olivia, I need you to get behind this bench and hide. I need you to promise mommy that no matter what you hear, you will not make a sound and you will not come out of hiding," my mother whispered to me with wild eyes. “Okay mama, but where are you going?” I whispered back, scared out of my mind. "I need to go get your brother. Some men have broken into our compound. Now stay behind the bench and remember not a sound," she said as she slipped through the door. No sooner than she walked out the door, I heard loud voices. I know I promised my mother that I would remain hidden, but something in me instinctively knew it would be the last time I saw her. So I quietly moved closer to peek through a hole in the wall of the shed. That’s when I saw it. My mother was on her knees, a large man was gripping her by her hair speaking rapidly in another language. Another man appeared with Junior thrown over his shoulders in a fireman's hold. Junior was trying his best not to cry, all the while screaming and struggling to be free of the man's hold so he could get to our mother. Suddenly, the man released him, dropping him a mere two feet from mom. Junior cried out as pain radiated throughout his left arm which took the brunt of the fall. My mother tried to rush forward to get to my brother but the big man was still gripping her by the hair. As she clawed at his hands to be free, he reared back and hit her so hard she flew backwards falling to the ground. That did not stop her. She was in mama bear mode and desperately wanted to get to her son. Scrambling to her feet, she lunged herself and threw her body over Junior, effectively shielding him from the men. It happened so fast that if I hadn't been watching so closely in utter shock and fear I would have missed it. The big man pulled out a gun from what seemed to my small eyes like thin air. As my mother curled her body over Junior anxiously waiting to see what they would do, the man shot her four times in her back. I stifled a cry as my mother's body jerked once before crumbling to the ground in a helpless heap. I watched as the man kicked my mother's body off of Junior and pumped two shots into his unmoving body for good measure. I covered my mouth with my small hands to keep from making a sound. As they argued amongst themselves, I slowly crept back to the bench and hid. Crying silently so as not to give away my location, I pressed my eyelids tightly closed in an attempt to block out what I had just witnessed. Those men had just stolen my family from me. I could not process what I had just seen. To be happy one moment and devastated the next, was unfathomable. Eventually, the voices faded until I could hear them no longer. Still, I remained hidden, not wanting to break my last promise to my mother. My father had left early that morning for a business deal in the capital city of Georgetown and was due back the next day, so I had no idea when he would come back to get me. In my little brain, I believed my father would fix all of this. After all, he was the slayer of monsters in the closet and the chaser of all nightmares. I stayed in the shed without making a sound for what felt like days but was approximately six hours in reality. It was mid-afternoon when I heard my father's voice roaring through the house as he stormed out the back door. It took me a whole minute to unfold my cramped limbs and make my way to the door of the shed. Cautiously, I peeked through the hole to make sure it was safe to go out. I saw my father drop to his knees, gathered my brother's body into his arms and weep into his now cold neck. After a while, he raised his head and grabbed my mother's left hand which bore her wedding rings. Laying my brother's body down, he crawled to my mother's body and roared in agony once more. "Layla, my sweet, sweet Layla, I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you," he sobbed brokenly. My uncle Benson, dad's younger brother was standing slightly behind him with the same lost look on his face. As he signalled for the bodyguards to do another perimeter check he locked eyes back on my father. "I can't find any sign of Olivia," my uncle seethed. "Find her," my father barked. It was finally time for me to come out of the shed. My father was here and he would make everything right again. But my body refused to move. Taking a calming breath, I slowly made my way out of the shed on my little legs. At the sound of my movement, all the men drew their guns. When they saw it was me they quickly put them away. The moment my father and uncle realized I was unharmed, they both burst into tears and gathered me into a tight hug. It was the last hug I received during my childhood. It would take me seven long years to get over my trauma and utter my first words after what I'd witnessed that day. Another ten years for me to stop jumping at the sight of my own shadow and relax enough to live a little. The day I lost my family was forever burnt into my memory. It changed everything. My father didn't know what to do with me. At times he would keep his distance, as every time he saw my face he would get sad. I looked just like my mother and the memory was too painful for him to bear. Other times he would smother me, refusing to let me out of his sight. I got severe whiplash trying to cope with his mood swings. Eventually, I internalized my feelings. Kept everything bottled up and went about my life. I was twenty-three years old when I found out my loving father was a kingpin - at the helm of a major drug syndicate in our little third-world country of Guyana. It was his illegal dealings that had led to a turf war and the subsequent murder of my beloved mother and adored brother. The warbled into the streets of Berbice for twenty long years before both sides decided it was time for a truce. I was only told of my criminal heritage because I was the supposed ‘key’ to maintaining said truce.