DEALINGS AND GUNS

"I was reckless. I always thought I had a handle on life, but that evening, sitting at the dinner table, the house felt unsettling, quiet… like no one dared to speak. Mom and Dad were still distant after last night… after the fight, after Mom’s accusations about him cheating. I sighed, looking over to the other end of the table at my fifteen-year-old sister, Emily, glued to her screen. I was two years older than her, yet somehow I felt smaller, swallowed by the tension in the room. I couldn’t stop thinking about Dad earlier that morning—about the way he had looked at me in the kitchen, black coffee in hand, quiet, precise, like everything weighed on him. ‘Amber…’ he had said softly, voice low, careful, ‘have you ever wondered why I’ve been so hard on you?’ I had shrugged, trying to hide the unease curling in my stomach. ‘It’s because one day… all of this,’ he had gestured vaguely, as if the walls themselves were listening, ‘it’s going to fall on your shoulders.’ My chest had tightened, my mind spinning. ‘You’re going to lead my empire soon,’ he had added, just like that, leaving the words hovering between us, heavy and unshakable. I had stared, searching for some joke, some light, and he had only sipped his coffee and whispered, ‘Not today… you’ll understand soon enough.’ Then he turned, dismissive, a quiet command in his movement: ‘Go get ready. You’ll be late.’ And just like that… the moment was gone. Lost in that memory, I barely noticed the sound at first. Then—BANG. The mansion doors flew open. Armed men surged inside with shocking precision, their boots pounding against the marble floors. Gunfire erupted, echoing off walls, a staccato roar that froze me in place. I felt a strong tug at my shoulder, shoving me down, the cutlery clattering against the table. My chest squeezed tight, every thought shredded by the chaos. And then I saw her. Mom. Standing calm, poised, a Desert Eagle in her hands, each movement deliberate and deadly. She looked… untouchable. My breath caught. From the stairs, Dad emerged, rifles in both hands, flanked by more armed men. The mansion had turned into a war zone in seconds, shadows and echoes merging into panic. I dove to the floor, burying my head against Mom’s chest, heartbeat hammering like a drum, the sound of gunfire rattling in my bones. The world blurred around me, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, until finally… the echoes subsided. Mom’s voice broke through the heavy silence, sharp, controlled: ‘How did they find us?’ Dad shook his head, exasperated, scanning the room. ‘These men are so useless… I need to tighten the security.’ Emily, finally looking up from her frozen stare, her voice trembling but loud, cut through the tension: ‘Okay… what the f**k is going on?!’ I stayed close to her, my own body trembling, trying to process everything. My parents stood rigid, communicating in silence, eyes locked as if the world itself depended on their gaze. Finally, Dad spoke, low, deliberate: ‘Girls… it’s time your mother and I tell you the truth.’ He paused, taking a deep breath. 'This business… this wealth we’ve owned and used for years isn’t your everyday kind of business. It’s something… darker, more powerful.' 'We run a Mafia,' he said, glancing at Mom. Mom cut in gently, yet firmly, 'We’ve been involved for over a decade… this is what has kept us alive and protected us.' 'We’re sorry you had to find out this way. We tried our best to keep you away from all this… evil.' Emily looked at them, a thousand questions building up in her eyes. 'Mafia…?' she whispered. Then, after a pause, brighter, 'That’s freaking awesome!' My parents froze, clearly not expecting that reaction. 'You think it’s awesome?' my mother asked softly. Emily smiled, nodding reassuringly. 'We didn’t think you’d feel this way,' my dad admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Then he turned his gaze to me. 'Amber… how do you feel about all this?' I stayed quiet for a while, overwhelmed. Their expressions studied me, like my answer was the verdict on something monumental. I sighed, finally speaking. 'It’s… a lot, and overwhelming. But… it’s kind of a relief to finally know the truth about what you’re involved in.' 'That’s great, girls… because we would like to involve you both,' Mom said, holding our hands gently. Emily, still buzzing with excitement, burst out, 'f**k yes!' 'Language, sweetie,' Mom quickly chided, though I noticed her lips twitching in a smile. Emily headed upstairs with Mom. It was just me and Dad. He sat on the couch next to me, eyes serious. 'Amber… are you okay?' 'Y-yes… I am, Dad. Why?' I stammered. 'I mean… are you okay with getting involved in all of this?' he added. I stayed quiet, avoiding his gaze. I could hear a disappointed sigh escape him. Then he tapped my shoulder gently. 'It’s okay, sweetie. No one is going to force you into this.' I looked at him, eyes catching his hurt. I instantly felt bad for even considering saying no. Tears pricked my eyes. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. 'I’m not going to be around forever…' 'Dad—' I started, but he cut me off with a soft chuckle. 'Hey… I’m not trying to emotionally blackmail you. I just… I don’t want Emily running the empire.' I stared at him blankly as he spoke about trust, responsibility, and why he believed in me to carry this burden. His words weighed on me, thick and suffocating, each one pressing against my chest. Suddenly, he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a polished pistol. The metal gleamed coldly under the chandelier light, the grip worn but precise. My breath caught in my throat. He held it for a moment, letting the presence of the weapon hang between us, his eyes locked on mine. The room was silent except for the soft tick of the grandfather clock, but that silence screamed louder than anything. Then, with a controlled motion, he dropped the pistol onto the polished oak table. The sharp clack of metal hitting wood echoed, bouncing against the walls and ricocheting in my chest. I couldn’t look away. The gun sat there, ominous and immovable, its weight felt heavier than just steel, almost like a tangible piece of the responsibility he was placing on me. 'Let me know when you change your mind,' he said quietly, voice steady but threaded with warning. Straightening, he began walking upstairs, his presence receding yet still oppressive. I stayed frozen, eyes fixed on the pistol and then drifting to the rifle lying on the table beside it. His words kept looping in my mind, relentless: "I’m not going to be around forever." Each repetition sank deeper, embedding itself like a stone pressing against my chest. The echo of the pistol dropping still rang in my ears, a sharp reminder that the choice—and the danger—was now mine. The room felt impossibly still, as if the mansion itself was holding its breath, leaving me alone with the weapons, the weight of his expectations, and the chilling clarity of what was coming. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just sat there, staring, listening to the quiet hum of the house, and feeling the heavy truth pressing down on me. I picked up the rifle and headed to my bedroom. Not long after, the next day arrived. I got ready, rifle in hand, and went to find Dad. Downstairs, Mom and Emily were practicing gunshots in the courtyard, the echo sharp against the mansion walls. I raised the rifle toward the sky, the loud c***k demanding attention. 'I’m involved now,' I shouted. A smile tugged at the corner of Dad’s mouth. Mom nodded approvingly. Over the months, they taught us precision, angles, patience. The mansion, once tense, became lively again, full of laughter, strategy, and family. Soon, I joined Dad on missions. 'Amber, suit up. We leave in ten,' he called. 'Okay, Dad…' I replied, glancing at Emily. She just watched us, waiting for her turn. 'Dad, what about Emily?' I asked. He didn’t turn back. 'I think she can sit this one out.' He picked up his gun and headed to the car. I looked back at Emily. Her smile was sinister, envious even. She walked away. I sighed to myself, 'It’s not fair… but what could I do?' Later that night, I returned soaked in blood that wasn’t mine. Dad patted me on the back, gesturing me to wash up before going upstairs. Halfway up, I considered visiting Emily’s room. I knocked softly. No answer. The doorknob turned—it was Mom, who had been with Emily all along. "Hey… Mom, is Emily okay?" I asked, my voice shaking, filled with worry. Mom looked at me, her eyes flickering with something between exhaustion and unease. "She… she’s just going through something, honey. Give her a little time, okay?" Before she could say more, the bedroom door swung open, and Emily appeared, her face flushed, eyes blazing with anger. I instinctively reached out. "Hey, Em… how—" "Stay away from my bedroom!" she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the quiet. She slammed the door so hard the frame shuddered. I slowly lowered my hands, feeling a knot of hurt and anger twist in my chest. Mom gave me a weak, apologetic smile. "She’s just upset right now, honey… she’ll come around. You’ll see." I nodded, though it did little to soothe the ache. I decided to respect Mom’s words and walked away, leaving her be. The next day, I tried again. I knocked gently on her door, hoping she might open it this time. Nothing. Not even a creak. I could hear her moving inside, the faint shuffle of feet across the floor, but the door remained closed. I sighed, defeated, and left. A hollow emptiness settled over me. Slowly, day by day, I drifted from classmates, from friends I had grown up with. I didn’t see them anymore, and they didn’t reach out. Dad stopped me from going to school entirely, insisting I focus on preparing to become the heir to his empire. I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. The isolation weighed on me, suffocating, heavy, pressing against my chest like stone. Everything had shifted. Emily… Mom… Dad… even their fights felt sharper, colder, louder. I watched them from the sidelines, powerless, unable to confide in anyone. I felt… utterly alone. The loneliness dug deep, gnawing at me. In time, I found a way to numb it—at first just experimenting, then slipping further. Drugs. Each hit, each swallow, each smoke made the emptiness fade for a moment, made the world seem softer, quieter. I became addicted, slowly but completely. No one noticed. No one cared. I didn’t either. It changed me. At night, I caught my reflection in the mirror—a stranger staring back, eyes hollow, skin pale, movements jittery. I whispered to myself, almost lost in the haze, "Is this… really me?" The answer was clear, even if no one else could see it: I was gone, replaced by something smaller, fragile, desperate… and utterly alone. One afternoon, Dad was out, and Mom, Emily, and I were training in the courtyard. The air was tense but focused, our rifles echoing in the warm sun. Then Mom’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and I saw her face change instantly—like a storm had passed through her eyes. Rage. Pure, burning rage. She didn’t say a word at first. She just slammed the phone down onto the table, her fingers tightening around it. Emily and I exchanged nervous looks. I could feel the tension prickling my skin. Then, without a single word, Mom stormed out of the training room, snatching her car keys from the counter as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment. Emily and I froze, staring at the door in shock. 'Mom… wait, what’s happening?' I called, my voice barely steady. Mom didn’t answer. Her face was pale, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. She slammed the door behind her, the echo of it bouncing through the hall. 'Is she… okay?' Emily whispered, her voice trembling, gripping my arm. I shook my head, worried, but before I could say anything else, I found myself dialing her number. The line clicked, then picked up. Her voice came through, strained and breaking. 'Amber… I have to… I can’t…' 'Mom, please… slow down. Come back home,' I pleaded, my hands gripping the phone so tightly I thought I might crush it. 'I… I just… I need to see him. I need to stop him. I can’t let him—' Her voice cracked, raw with hurt and betrayal. 'Mom! Listen to me! You don’t have to do this alone! Please, I’m begging you…' My heart was pounding, every word trembling. The sound of an engine roaring drowned out her voice for a moment. 'Mom… please slow down, don’t—' Then came the screech of tires. My stomach dropped. 'Mom… MOM?!' I screamed into the phone. Emily grabbed my arm, shaking. 'Amber… what’s happening? Where’s Mom?!' 'I… I don’t know!' I choked back tears. 'She… the phone… it disconnected!' We both froze, fear locking our movements. I glanced at the counter and saw another car key gleaming in the sunlight. My pulse raced. I grabbed it, my hands trembling. 'Emily… we have to find her. Now,' I said, voice steadying despite the panic bubbling inside me. Emily nodded, eyes wide and glassy, a mix of fear and anger swirling in them. 'Okay… let’s go,' she said quietly. Almost immediately, my phone rang. It was Dad. 'Amber… Emily… your mother—she’s at the hospital,' he said, voice tight, strained. I didn’t hesitate. I jumped into the car, keys in hand, Emily sliding in beside me. The engine roared to life, and we sped toward the city, adrenaline pumping so hard it hurt in my chest. Every red light felt like an eternity. Every siren we passed made my stomach lurch. I kept glancing at Emily, her fingers gripping the seat, knuckles white. Her eyes were wide with fear, and for a moment, I realized she was looking to me for strength, even though I felt just as helpless. 'It’s going to be okay,' I whispered more to myself than to her, trying to steady my own voice. The city lights blurred as we raced through traffic, weaving past cars, heartbeats syncing with the thundering of the engine. I kept dialing Mom’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. And then… the sound of a distant crash, a scream carried on the wind, made me tighten my grip. My stomach flipped. 'Emily… hold on…' I whispered, trying to sound braver than I felt. Everything in my mind started clouding, like I was trapped between panic and disbelief. Thoughts spiraled. What if… what if I didn’t make it in time? What if… Mom… Dad… Emily… everything… everything could be gone in a second… And then, I saw the flashing lights ahead. Hospital. Finally. Relief slammed into me, cold and sharp, but it didn’t calm the storm in my chest. I parked, jumped out, and ran toward the entrance. My body felt heavy, legs weak, as I pushed through the sliding doors. Inside, the smell of antiseptic hit me, and my heart sank. I caught sight of Dad sitting on a bench outside the ward, staring at the tiles on the floor like he had been carved into them, rigid, unmoving. I ran to the door, leaning against it, my body trembling. I peeked inside. Mom… she was lying there, hooked to machines, pale, her chest rising and falling with difficulty. My stomach sank. I couldn’t breathe. Emily was beside me now, voice trembling but fiery. 'What did you do to her…?!' she demanded, fists shaking, eyes accusing. Dad didn’t move. He stayed silent, staring down. Then the doctor emerged. 'I’m sorry… we couldn’t save her,' he said softly. Time froze. My body didn’t move. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even blink. I could feel the weight of the world pressing down, crushing me into the floor. Emily’s face twisted, a pistol appearing in her hands. She stepped toward Dad, trembling but resolute. 'You killed her… now I’m going to kill you too.' Dad’s eyes widened. 'Emily… drop the gun, honey,' he said calmly. 'Don’t ever call me that!' she snapped, voice raw and broken. 'I said drop the gun!' he shouted, louder this time, voice rough and commanding. Emily reloaded, hands shaking. 'f**k you…' she spat. And then—gunfire. Five shots rang out, echoing against the walls. Dad fell, chest bleeding, crumpling to the floor. Emily turned to me, eyes wide, tear-streaked. 'Amber…' she called out, broken. I couldn’t move. My body froze. I could see the sirens approaching, flashing through the windows. Fear and reality collided. I started running. I glanced back once—Emily still standing, gun in hand, broken and afraid. I kept running, heart hammering, until I reached the car. My hands shook violently as I fumbled with the keys. I started the engine, feeling a rush of helplessness as the car roared to life. I drove, destination unknown, tears streaming freely. Everything that had happened felt unreal, like a nightmare that refused to end. My thoughts spun, clouding my mind. I broke down completely, sobbing. Then came the loud tud. My head shot up through tear-filled eyes. I had hit someone. 'Could this day get any worse…?' I whispered, my voice lost in the chaos. I hesitated, heart hammering, and looked down at the man beneath my tires." "And that was how I met your father." I said it to my two ten-year-old sons, Isaac and Gabriel. "Whoa… did you run Dad over?" Isaac asked, eyes wide. "What? You think your old man can’t handle a little car?" Cole added playfully, lifting both boys effortlessly into his arms. "Then what happened, Mom?" Gabriel asked, his voice innocent, full of curiosity. Before I could reply, Cole chuckled softly. "I think that’s enough stories for one day… it’s almost ten, you know what that means." "Bedtime!" the boys chorused in excited unison. "Good night, boys," I said, leaning in to plant a kiss on each of their cheeks. Cole carried them off to bed, their laughter echoing down the hallway. When he returned, he found me standing at the balcony, arms wrapped around the railing, staring at the city lights. He came up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist, resting his chin near my shoulder. "Babe… did you really have to tell them about your parents?" he asked softly. "I know it’s a sensitive topic for you." I leaned back into him, looking up at his face. "Yes… they needed to know at some point," I replied quietly. Cole held me a little tighter, his presence warm and protective. "I just… I don’t want to see you hurt again." "Hey… it’s okay," I murmured, leaning further into his shoulder, letting my gaze drift across the city skyline. He lowered his head to meet my eyes, voice calm and steady. "What’s on your mind?" I turned to him, a small, soft smile playing on my lips. "You," I admitted. His eyes softened, and he pressed a quick, tender kiss to my lips before pulling me into a firm, reassuring hug. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you too," I said, and I meant it—I truly did. But I lied… not about loving Cole, because I loved him to pieces. The truth was, he wasn’t the one occupying my thoughts. Emily was. After a whole decade, I hadn’t thought of her, hadn’t reached out, hadn’t even imagined her face. And now… I couldn’t help but wonder… how was she doing?