Untouchable

I slam my bedroom door shut, the echo reverberating through the stillness of my once-peaceful sanctuary. I bolt across the room, collapsing onto the sanctuary of my bed, burying my face into the comforting embrace of my pillow before unleashing a cathartic scream that pierces the silence It might seem overly dramatic, but in this instant, the weight of my reality threatens to crush me. Everything I've ever known is on the precipice of transformation, and it terrifies me to the core. Pappa, my father, the enigmatic Mafia patriarch, has just delivered the ultimatum. He's been inundated with ominous threats, shadowy forces conspiring against him, and, by extension, me. To ensure my safety, he's decided on an unprecedented course of action. My final year of high school will not be spent within the sheltered confines of our family's estate, but rather within the ivy-covered walls of a boarding school in a distant land. A world beyond my controlled existence beckons, and I'm not ready for this abrupt unveiling. As I stifle my sobs and draw myself together, the footsteps approach, deliberate and measured, growing louder with each step. A gentle knock resounds through the door, and I swiftly wipe away the evidence of my turmoil. The door creaks open, and there stands Pappa, an unspoken sadness etched into his expression. It's evident that he doesn't desire this separation any more than I do. This is my chance to plead my case, to reason with him. As I reach for his hand, my gaze meets his, searching for any sign of wavering resolve. "Pappa, do you truly want me to go? You've trained me rigorously. I can shoot better than half of your own men. I could defeat Marcelle right now, in combat, and if I win, you have to let me stay." Marcelle, my father's loyal right-hand man, has been my tutor in martial arts, from boxing and judo to Muay Thai and Tae Kwon Do. I plead with my eyes, casting a glance towards Marcelle, hoping he'll intervene on my behalf. Marcelle grins, a mix of admiration and uncertainty in his eyes. He's silent, though, and my frustration deepens. I turn back to my father. "Pappa, please. Say something. Let's face the threats together. You and I. We can do it." But my father remains silent. His reticence speaks volumes, sealing my fate. Finally, he breaks his silence. "Mi amore, you know I only want what's best for you. We won't discuss this any further. In an hour, you'll be ready, and Marcelle will drive you to the jet. That's final." He presses my hand to his lips, a rare display of affection from a man who has distanced himself emotionally since my mother's untimely passing. As I descend the grand staircase an hour later, I expect Pappa to be there to offer some form of farewell. But he's nowhere to be seen. A tear escapes my eye, a solitary testament to my internal turmoil. I wipe it away hastily, reminding myself of Pappa's creed: "Emotion is a weakness." I don my best poker face, stifling the surge of vulnerability threatening to breach the surface and retrieve my sketchpad from my bag. Drawing provides solace, a refuge from the chaos of my reality. We arrive at the jet, and I muster my gratitude for Marcelle's companionship. He pulls me into a warm, protective embrace, swaying me gently from side to side. "We'll all miss you, princessa. Please stay safe and let me know if you need anything." His words wrap around my heart like a comforting blanket, and I blink back the tears that threaten to escape. "Thank you, Marcelle. I'll miss you too." He has always been the older brother I never had, and his warmth and support are immeasurable. As I take my seat on the jet, I whisper to myself, "Let's do this." The journey ahead looms uncertain, fraught with danger and transformation, but I'll face it with the strength and resilience that Pappa instilled in me, knowing that, ultimately, I'm doing this not just for myself, but to bring a sense of peace to the father who's shielded me from the storm for so long.