Cage Bird：The Boss’s Little Dove

Echoes from Many Years Ago The moment Mr. Marshall saw me, he offered to adopt me right away. He said he saw determination and an unyielding spirit in my eyes, something he deeply admired However, he made it clear that I would have to undergo a series of tests. After all, it wasn’t easy for an ordinary person to join his prestigious Mafia family. I broke through the wolf pack’s encirclement, using every weapon at my disposal to secure my victory. Almost there. My final test. A man was tied to a chair, his eyes wide with terror as he pleaded for mercy. I locked eyes with him, my gaze unblinking. Mr. Marshall emerged from the shadows and handed me a knife. “He’s a traitor. I’m sure you know what to do, right?” Marshall’s voice echoed in my ears. I swallowed hard and turned to face the man, slowly approaching him. A rush of power surged through me, a feeling of dominance over the weak. The knife in my hand felt alive, whispering that I now held the power over this man’s life and death. I needed to kill him, to prove my loyalty and capabilities to his entire mafia family. Taking a deep breath, I plunged the knife into his abdomen. I could feel Marshall’s gaze on me, cold and calculating, watching for any hint of hesitation, any sign of mercy toward this so-called traitor. Gritting my teeth, I yanked the knife out. Blood sprayed in a torrent. The man’s head hung low as he succumbed to his fate, his death sealed by the blood pooling around him. A round of applause erupted as I turned around, casually slipping the knife into my hand behind my back, meeting Mr. Marshall’s approving gaze. “Good boy. Tomorrow, I’ll come take you home.” Afterward, he and his men left. Whether it was the biting cold or the rush of fear and thrill from taking a life, my body couldn’t stop trembling. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. I kept a firm grip on the knife, though the man was already dead. I stepped forward, gently placing my palm over his eyelids to close his eyes. As I did, I noticed a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. I pulled one out, casually placed it in my mouth, and scattered the rest of the pack around him. Striking a match, I lit the cigarette and tossed the still-burning match to the ground, setting the cigarettes on fire. It was an ancient ritual a nun at the orphanage once told us about. She said it was a way to show respect for the dead and to acknowledge the guilt of those who witnessed death. I wasn’t sure if it was real, but in that moment, it felt right to do. As I watched the smoke rise, I lifted my head. Snowflakes drifted down, settling on my face. Home. I was finally going to have a home, right? It had come at a high price, but the outcome would be worth it, wouldn’t it? The streetlights flickered, casting a dim glow across the alley. I leaned against the wall, sitting in the shadows. My head dropped as I stared at the knife in my hand, the blood still warm on its surface. My mind raced, the bloodstains on my clothes serving as a constant reminder that everything was real. Suddenly, I heard hurried footsteps approach, stopping right in front of me. I looked up and saw a little girl, no older than ten, wearing a bright red scarf, staring at me with wide eyes. “Excuse me, have you seen a woman in a black coat, with a purple hat and scarf?” she asked. I stubbed out my cigarette and tucked the knife behind my back. “No, go away, kid.” But she didn’t listen. Instead, she sat down beside me. For a long while, neither of us spoke. She turned her head to look at me, freezing when she saw the blood on my clothes, her eyes widening in surprise. “You’re hurt?!” Before I could explain that the blood wasn’t mine, she took off her red scarf and wrapped it around my bloodstained arm. “I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s freezing out. You must’ve run away from home, right? Whatever happened, just don’t hurt yourself.” She kept talking, tightening the scarf around my arm. So, she thought I ran away from home after a fight with my family? And that the blood on my hands was self-inflicted? In the dim light of the alley, I couldn’t see her face clearly, but her eyes were so pure. So pure that I, the one who had just taken a life, couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze. I kept telling myself she was just a child. Though, I was only sixteen myself. In the distance, I heard shouting, and the girl quickly stood up, ready to leave. “Remember what I said. Never hurt yourself.” “Wait, your scarf…” I wanted to return the warmth she’d given me, but she looked at me, and through the misty air, I saw a faint smile tug at the corner of her lips. “It’s okay, you keep it. After all, I don’t know if I’ll still be around next winter, so you might as well use it.” I frowned, confused by her words, but something told me that wasn’t a good thing to hear. So, I stood up, holding the scarf in my hand, speaking seriously. “I promise you, if we meet again someday, I’ll return it to you. Deal?” The girl hesitated for a moment before smiling and nodding firmly. As she turned to leave, I saw tears glistening in her eyes, catching the light. Why make a promise? Maybe we’d never meet again. But I told myself it was to fill the emptiness in my heart after taking someone’s life. To keep going, to survive in this harsh and uncertain future.