Mafia and His Dangerous Angel

The soft fabric of the evening gown felt like a prison against my skin as I shifted uncomfortably. Devon had insisted on this navy blue dress with delicate beadwork, claiming it was appropriate for the charity event. But after just two weeks back from military duty, I was far from comfortable in such attire. Trying in vain to adjust the bodice, I grumbled to myself, feeling out of place and suffocated. "Stop fidgeting," Devon chided, his exasperation evident. "We don't want people mistaking you for a stripper." I glare at him, hissing, "You don't get it. Dresses aren't my thing." With a sigh, Devon handed me a glass of champagne, his tuxedo impeccably fitting. We'd been friends since childhood, and his effortless charm always contrasted with my rough edges. Tonight, however, our dynamic was strained as we navigated the expectations of the charity event. "You have it easy," I gestured to his attire. "No heels, no restrictive dresses." Devon rolled his eyes. “I have an insane wedgie right now. Do you know how hard it is not to pick it?” I couldn’t stifle my laughter, the tension momentarily breaking as Devon struggled with his discomfort. "Why don't you just go to the bathroom then?" I suggested between chuckles, glancing around the opulent mansion. "I bet they have like ten of them in this damn place." He shook his head, a resigned expression crossing his features. "I can't. I promised Mr. Cleaver I wouldn't leave until after his speech." "Mr. Who?" I quipped, already reaching for another glass of champagne to replenish the one I'd quickly drained. “Remember the short old man with two sets of glasses who was flirting with you?” Oh right! Mr. Cleaver! He was an old man with severe grey hair and dead brown eyes, and he had two sets of glasses on him. He had been wearing one set and the other set on top of his head. I snorted, “Yeah, that was real nice.” Devon's exasperation was evident as he rolled his eyes again, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I had hoped you would be better company tonight," he remarked, his tone tinged with disappointment. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I shot back, feeling defensive under his scrutiny. With a resigned gesture towards me, Devon outlined his observations, his words hitting uncomfortably close to home. "You're cranky, being sarcastic, and you have a resting b***h face right now," he explained bluntly. "That's why people aren't introducing themselves." Sighing, I consciously tried to smooth out my expression, pushing aside the weight of my troubles for the moment. "I'm sorry, Dev," I admitted, leaning wearily against the back wall. "I just have a lot on my plate." Taking another sip of my drink, I attempted to summon a sense of determination, reminding myself of the purpose of the evening. "This night is about you and making it easier to get through," I stated, forcing a fake smile onto my lips as I straightened up. "Is this better?" I inquired, searching for reassurance in Devon's gaze. But his frown deepened, his disappointment palpable as he met my eyes. "No, it's not," he replied honestly, his concern for my well-being outweighing any frustration. "I brought you along to make connections, Grace. The more connections you have, the easier it will be to find employment." Nodding resolutely, I squared my shoulders, determined to rise to the occasion. "Okay. I got this!" I declared proudly, mustering the courage to face the challenges ahead. The evening progressed with a sense of forced camaraderie as we navigated through the crowd, engaging in introductions and small talk. Yet, the underlying tension remained as the music beckoned from the showing room. Joining the throng of guests, we found ourselves relegated to the back row, a silent reminder of our less-than-stellar social standing. Despite my reluctance to be in Mr. Cleaver's presence again, I resigned myself to endure the spectacle, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats.” A voice came over the loudspeaker, directing more people into the showing room. The more people filed in, the more nervous I got. I don’t like crowds for a reason. Being in a small space filled with so many people raised many red flags for me. Mr. Cleaver appeared suddenly, his smile shining bright as he took a microphone from a stage attendant. “Ladies and gents, thank you for being here today.” I frowned, watching him as he walked across the stage. That wasn’t the Mr. Cleaver we had spoken to earlier. This man was younger, with no gray hair, and he wasn’t as short either. I leaned over to Devon, “Something’s not right.” Devon frowned, “What’s wrong? Too much champagne?” I shook my head, giving him a serious look, “When I leave, you leave, got it?” Devon nodded, his face growing pale suddenly as he recognized I was being serious. Mr. Cleaver’s voice rang out suddenly, “I just wanted to gather you all one last time before we head out for the night. I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming to tonight's charity event. We sold some amazing art pieces today and even gave away some beautiful vacations.” He grinned, and that’s when I noticed the spider tattoo poking out of the neck of his tux. What the hell? I glanced at the closed doors and looked for an emergency exit. Something really was wrong. That wasn’t Mr. Cleaver, and no one else was noticing anything weird. I glanced at Devon, who looked like he would be sick. Before I could do anything, a loud thud came from behind us. We all jumped up and looked at the door. Another loud thud and some old ladies shrieked. “It’s alright, ladies and gentlemen.” Mr. Cleaver said, “It’s just a surprise I have set up for you.” He gestured to the chairs, “Please take your seats, and we’ll begin.” I made an estimated guess that since the lights were out and the spotlight was on him, moving wouldn’t be a problem. I grabbed Devon’s hand and dashed to the nearest window. I shoved Devon onto the floor so no one would see him. When no one said anything and Mr. Cleaver kept talking, I figured we were okay for now. When I ensured no one was patrolling the room, I reached behind me and flicked the window’s latch. I wanted to make sure I had a getaway as soon as possible. “Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you tonight with a heart filled with gratitude and admiration for your unwavering commitment to charitable causes. Let us take a moment to reflect on the blessings bestowed upon us.” Everyone was silent for a moment, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I was overreacting until he said his next words, “You see, in the world of crime and chaos, where I often find myself navigating treacherous waters, it's easy to lose sight of the simple acts of kindness and generosity that define humanity at its core. Yet, in moments like these, where we come together in unity and solidarity, I am reminded of the profound impact we can have when we channel our collective efforts towards a common goal.” Devon looked shocked for a moment. I could see it in his eyes as he stared at Mr. Cleaver. “I don’t think it’s actually Mr. Cleaver. It’s just someone who looks extremely like Mr. Cleaver and has taken his place.” A few people began to mutter as they realized what he said. Mr. Cleaver laughed, “Together, we have the power to change lives, to inspire hope. We also have the power to destroy lives and inspire fear.” More people started to notice the difference, “And that’s exactly what I’m here to do tonight. Inspire fear, hatred, disgust, and transformation.” With that, a loud clicking sound began, and I immediately covered Devon, forgetting about the window because the blast would kill us first. The air reverberated with the deafening from the explosion, shattering the glass all around us. I didn’t dare look up as screams echoed through the halls and cries of help rang out through the room. My military training took over. I checked myself for injuries first. I noticed a few small cuts from glass being blown my way. I checked Devon next. He was fine except for a bloody nose from where the blast had knocked him into the wall. The wall was still intact for the most part, but the window was broken in several different places. I ripped off the bottom end of my dress, wrapped my fist in the fabric, and punched out the rest of the glass. Once there were no pieces on the window where someone could cut themselves, I helped Devon out. “Come on!” He yelled, gesturing for me. I shook my head, “I have to help!” I turned to go back to help the others, but Devon stopped me. He grabbed my arm, “You can’t be serious, Grace! Let someone else do it! The authorities are on their way! They will know what to do!” I gestured to myself, “This! This is what I do, Devon. I help people.” I stared at him, hoping he would understand. I pulled my arm away, but he grabbed it again. “Tell me what to do!” He yelled, the cries for help drowning out the sirens and alarms in the distance. I nodded, “Just stay here. I’m going to direct people over to the window, and you’ll help them through it. Have them get as far away from the building as possible if they can.” He let go of me, but not before telling me to come back to him. I watched survivors stumble through the wreckage, shock, and disbelief plastered on their faces. I immediately got to work. I hurried to the front of the stage where Mr. Cleaver had been. No Mr. Cleaver, but several dead and several wounded. I helped two older ladies over to the window, trading them off to Devon. I went back and helped out the governor, who had a broken leg. I helped those who could walk over to the window first, but then I got my hands dirty while carrying a few people. I was digging through the rumble when I heard a call for help from another room. I frowned and followed the cries of panic. A man had been crushed under a pillar that had fallen from the crash. “Please help me!” He screamed, clawing at the floor in hopes of dragging himself out. “Hold still, sir!” I said, grabbing some wood that had fallen from the ceiling. “When I say move, move as fast as you can, understand?” The man nodded. He looked terrified; his baby blue eyes had tears in them, and his black shaggy hair was a mess. I placed the wood's edge next to the man and pushed it underneath the pillar. It wasn’t budging, though. I huffed a little bit more and rammed my bad shoulder into the wood, finally getting it underneath. I pushed down on the wood, lifting the pillar up a few inches. I screamed at the man to go. 1… 2… 3… The wood snapped, and the pillar fell back down. I collapsed on the floor next to the man, dragging in deep breaths as he lay there, his legs now free. One looked extremely mangled, but the other one looked perfectly fine. Maybe a bruise or a sprain. Huffing a few more times, I pulled the man up into a standing position. “You good?” I asked, my hearing slowly coming back. He nodded, wincing as we stepped forward, “I stepped outside to take a leak, and then boom!” “I don’t know either,” I replied, focusing my energy on getting him to the window. That’s when the front door to the mansion flew open. Several men stood there dressed in navy blue polo shirts, black jeans, and, I think, Italian dress shoes. The man I was carrying waved to them, signaling them to come over. Oh great! Just what I needed. As they approached us, I noticed how good-looking they all were. I could tell that they were physically fit based on their body mass and leanness. Their black hair was neatly styled back, and they all had clean-shaven faces. They were projecting professionalism and respect to those around them. I glanced at the guy I was carrying and noticed he also looked the same. I made a mental note that they all had black hair, the same deep green eyes, and the same body build. The one difference between them was what they wore around their necks and their tattoos. The guy I was carrying said, “Get this, guys. This chick saved me! Can you believe me? A girl!?” I curled my lip angrily, “I could put you back where I found you as well.” He grabbed onto me, “Please, don’t. I’m sorry. I swear!” I smirked but gestured to one of his friends, “I have to go help others. Make sure he gets to the hospital, okay?” I handed the guy off to one of his friends, and he didn’t stick around. I dashed around the rest of the mansion, helping those I could. Soon enough, emergency responders were rushing in. Paramedics helped the wounded, and detectives helped those find loved ones that had passed. Devon and I gave our statements to one of the officers on sight. I stared at the mansion as we waited for a ride home. The charity event has been a ploy to get people together for the bombing. They had found the real Mr. Cleaver dead in one of the upstairs bathrooms. I wonder what’s going to happen now.