Don Marco Vescovi's Daughter

The silence in my father’s office didn’t feel safe. It was the kind of silence that settles right before the ground splits open. Thick, tense, yet quiet. like the air knew something was about to go horribly wrong,the match from corner to corner, juggling between thoughts, the deep breath that ends with a sigh,a tired one. I was tucked behind the bookshelf, knees pulled tight to my chest, fingers twisted against my shirt until my knuckles ached. I could see him,Dad. through the one-way glass. Calm. But even from here, I could feel the pressure building in his body, almost restless,like a ticking clock. “They’re coming,” the voice on the phone said. “You know what that means. There’s no walking away. You’re in or you’re dead.” He glanced in my direction, just once. And I knew he knew. He got up, walked to the shelf, moved the image of Mother Mary facing the exit door, The bookshelf creaked open. “Everything’s going to be alright,” he said gently, kneeling in front of me. He handed me a folder and quickly scribbled something into my palm a code. The ink burned,it was quick,he looked at me,his hands on my hair as he admired. “No matter what you hear. No matter what happens. Stay quiet.okay?.” Then he kissed my forehead, And Gently closed the door, My ears settles in the silence that followed,feet tap,eyes dart. Earlier that day, I'd overheard him talking to his secretary. “Tell them I’m out.” He hadn’t even looked up. She’d paused, confused. “Out? Sir, I don’t understand” “Then pretend you do,” he said flatly. “When they arrive, I’m unavailable. Permanently.” I was fourteen. I wasn’t dumb,I suspected he wasn't into something legal. I stopped asking questions the day I found the gun vault. It was buried beneath the floorboards of our home. Another safe. Bigger. Heavier. That one held stacks of cash wrapped in plastic, right here in his office. The clothing brand, the polished storefront, the fake receipts left out like bait, all of it was just smoke. A performance for the world. But I’d never seen fear in his eyes before, Until today. The door burst open. It wasn’t the secretary walking in, In her usual elegance. It was her being thrown across the floor like luggage. Her blouse was ripped, shoulder bleeding. Her perfect bun undone, hair tangled across her face. “Mr. Vescovi,” a low voice danced from the exit. “You’ve made this very inconvenient.” Four men entered behind her. Not the thug types you see on the news. These were polished. Suits tailored . Faces sharp enough to slice through steel. But it was their eyes that chilled me. Flat. Soulless. The kind of eyes that had seen too many bodies fall. Dad stood slowly. No panic. Just presence. “Let her go.” “You’re not in a position to negotiate, Marco. But thanks for the effort.” The one in front, tall, buff, scar down his jaw. “She has nothing to do with this.” “Marco,” he said, almost mockingly, “no one’s ever really uninvolved. She’s collateral. A receipt, if you like.” He shoved her into the corner. She hit the wall with a groan I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “We had a deal,” Dad said. “I served. I bled. I’m done.” Scarface burst out laughing. “Right. ‘Done.’ Like this is some part-time internship.” Another man handed him a folded document. “sign the paperwork,” Scarface said. “Go on. Sign it. Let’s keep this civil.” Dad didn’t even look at it. “No.” Scarface chuckled and looked at the others. “See? Always the brave one.” He leaned in. “Too brave for your own good.” In a flash, he struck. Dad ducked, twisted, and a blade glinted in his hand, fast and clean. The knife carved a fresh line across Scarface’s cheek. Blood sprayed, The others surged. One slammed Dad into the desk. Another yanked his arms behind him. “Still got fight in him,” one said. “I like that.” Scarface wiped the blood from his face with a silk handkerchief, then casually pulled a gun. “You think you're protecting her?” he said coldly. “Your little witch? The prodigy?” Dad’s jaw tightened. “We’ll find her. It’s just a matter of time.” “She’s not part of this,” Dad growled. “You said the same about your wife,” Scarface said. “Remind me how that ended?” He crouched next to Dad, voice a razor-thin whisper. “You really could’ve been one of us, Marco. A legend. But no, your family made you weak. The girl... made you soft. And now? Well, we'll find ger marco and I'll gladly send her to you” He smiled. “We’re going to finish what you started.” Then he pulled the trigger. The shot screamed out like thunder. The secretary crumpled. No scream. Just the wet thud of her body hitting the floor. Dad didn’t move. But his fists were white with panic,fueled by rage. “Didn’t like that?” Scarface sneered. “That was the warm-up.” He aimed at Dad’s leg, and fired. Dad grunted, dropped. Another shot. Second leg. Then Scarface knelt and pressed a finger into one of the wounds, twisting it. The sound that came from my father wasn’t a scream. It was worse, low, broken, inhuman. They laughed. Monsters with human skin. “You’re loyal,” Scarface said. “But loyalty’s just a prettier word for stupidity.” He stepped back and leveled the gun at Dad’s chest. “Goodbye, Marco.” The shot was final, Dad’s body dropped. Still. Silent. Blood pooled across the floor,They began tearing the office apart. “Find the drive,” Scarface barked. “He had it. I know it.” My throat closed,my leg froze,hands to my mouth,the tears wouldn't stop. The drive. The one in my bag. The code still burned into my palm,I could smell the ink. “Try behind the bookshelf,” one said. I didn’t move. Not even a breath. “Found something,” another called out. But they weren’t looking at me. One of them approached the statue of the Virgin Mary in the corner,says a short prayer. “Here it is.” He twisted the base. A panel slid open. Stacks of cash tumbled out—bricks of it. They laughed like they’d won the lottery. "this should be enough to fund the new construction." I stayed there. Frozen. Eyes wide. Mind screaming. Until.... “Zara! Zara!” A voice. Distant. Familiar. Real. Then the music hit me.....loud, bass-heavy, vibrating through the penthouse. I blinked hard. The glass in my hand trembled, Emily stood in front of me, unimpressed. “Earth to drama queen. We’ve got rich guests and empty glasses. Pick a struggle.” I nodded, barely able to breathe. “Seriously,” she sighed, turning. “If you’re going to zone out, at least do it with a tray in your hand.” I forced a smile. Grabbed the tray,But I wasn’t really here. Not fully. Because in my mind, I was still in that office. Still behind the glass. Still watching my father die, And as I moved through the glittering room, my heart whispered what I’d been trying to forget: They promised they’d find me. And tonight… something tells me they already have.