Beauty & The Crime Boss

Two

Mia

I let myself into the house after a long day at work. Working in a care home, even as an administrative assistant, is demanding and the extra shifts had left me with aching feet and a feeling of fatigue that was hard to shake. No two days were ever the same, and despite how difficult it could be some of the residents had managed to make their way into my heart. I wouldn't change it for the world. It also helped that the pay was decent enough that I could contribute towards the bills and keep the house running.

It felt like more effort than it should to shower and change before I could finally drop onto my bed. Burying my face into the pillow, I let the faint scent of lavender take the edge off my tense mood. It would be so easy to just stay like this and let sleep consume me, but considering I didn't get a lot of free time I hated to feel like it'd been wasted.

Lifting my head, I looked at the stacks of books that took over every inch of free space in my room in an attempt to decide on something to read. Many of them had been gifts from Dad over the years. He'd done his best to raise me ever since Mom passed away. I was so young when cancer took her that I couldn't remember what she was like. The only way I could familiarize myself with her was through the photographs that Dad kept. The older I'd gotten the more I realized that I was her double in every way.

My Dad was by no means perfect. He had a temper and he was partial to one drink too many, but how could I begrudge the man who picked up the pieces when he lost the love of his life, to raise me? I'm not sure I would have the courage to carry on if I had gone through what Dad had.

"AH!"

A scream followed by the sound of a door slamming shut hard enough to shake the house caused me to jump. My heart thumped against my breastbone as I tiptoed to the top of the stairs to see Dad muttering to himself as he paced the floor. Initial panic fading, I made my way to join him.

"Dad?" I asked as he whirled around to look at me. His eyes were wide, the whites of them bloodshot and my heart sank as I caught the vague scent of alcohol. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Mia?" he said, taking me in. "Mia! Mia, pack a bag. We need to go. We need to leave!" He grabbed my upper arm and started to pull me back towards the stairs.

"Ow!" I attempted to pull my arm away. "Dad, you're hurting me. What's going on?" It was strange to see him in such a panic. Why was he talking about leaving?

He let go of my arm and I rubbed the spot, which was sore from the way he'd sunk his fingers into my flesh. It wasn't like Dad to be so rough. I'd been raised in a relatively gentle environment. Even now, I couldn't remember a time he'd raised his voice at me. I'm not sure he could allow himself to when I was the spitting image of my mother.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But please listen to me. We need to go."

Again, he spoke about leaving. He said it with such desperation that my stomach knotted, and I felt the anxiety start to claw up my chest at the thought that we might have lost the house. In a life where we didn't have much, Dad and I had done everything in our power to keep the house. If nothing else, we would have a roof over our heads.

"Why, Dad?" I asked him. "What happened?"

Turning away from me, he walked upstairs, and I trailed behind him trying to get an answer. "Dad, please!"

He spun around on me as we reached my bedroom door, and I thought he was about to answer my question. Instead, his face crumpled as a tear rolled down his cheek. My heart ached at the sight of him so upset and I pulled him into a hug. Keeping an eye on the floor, I carefully walked us into the room and sat us on the bed. I'd seen Dad cry, but it was usually only when we went to visit my mother. Silent moments at a graveside punctuated with mournful sobs.