Eighteen years old.
Two families have been at war since I can remember.
Mine and the Benedettis.
My family comes from a long line of lawyers who have ruined many of the Benedettis’ lives. My father always says, “Guilty men should have guilty charges pressed against them.” But, like many men, people can be bought for their loyalty and indiscretion. My father has waived his morals once or twice for the right price, and I never cared.
I’m just a teenage girl, looking at what makes the world spin. My parents think I’m not very bright, that I have no idea what’s going on in life because I’m too busy with headphones in my ears listening to too loud music to pay attention. Just because I don’t say much does not mean I’m not smart or that I don’t pick up on things happening around me.
I know my father stays up late working, and I’ve overheard him on the phone with a few of the Benedettis. Those calls always end with him yelling at whoever is on the phone.
And I know Mom makes her ‘special drink’ around ten at night.
Every time she tells me that, I snort to myself, as if I don’t know what alcohol smells like.
She also thinks I don’t know that she chases a pill down with that same glass of her ‘special drink’ before making herself another.
It’s better they think me inconsequential. I’ve learned a lot about life just by staying quiet and watching them—watching them make mistake after mistake and then scramble to undo it.
For instance, I know my father pissed off the wrong man. Last night around midnight, a loud banging echoed through the house from the front door. I crept out of my room, tiptoed across the floor, slid down the wall, and peeked around the corner so I could look downstairs. I could see the front door perfectly.
And when my father opened the door, he didn’t invite the man inside.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the car window as we drive, replaying the conversation in my mind.
“What the hell are you doing at my home, Benedetti? I have a daughter who is upstairs asleep.” He stood in the doorway to make sure Benedetti couldn’t get in the house.
“If you answered your phone, I wouldn’t have to be here. But you have to get out of here, Porter. I’ve come to warn you. One of the men you put in jail for me has put your name on a list. Your entire family is up for sale, Porter. You need to go.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Who?”
“Leonardo.”
Silence falls and I watch as my father runs his fingers through his hair. “He isn’t supposed to be out yet.”
“You know better than to think he wouldn’t try and get revenge. I have my ear to the ground and I’m only here because you’ve been there for my family more than once. You need to leave. And you need to make sure you never come back.” My father tried to shut the door in Benedetti’s face, but the mafia boss’s hand shot out, stopping it from closing.
And when the hinges squeaked, the French door swinging open again, a gun was pointed at my father. “Don’t make me force you. Don’t make me take your life, because if you don’t leave, it’s suicide. Your daughter won’t make it to her next birthday if you don’t listen to me. Please, Porter. Get out,” the man pled.
“And go where?”
Benedetti slammed the butt of the gun against my father’s head, then shoved the barrel into my father’s mouth.
I covered my heavy breaths with my hands, so I didn’t make a sound, and my eyes watered from being so afraid. I heard the click of the gun as Benedetti cocked it.
“You’ll do this, or your pretty wife and daughter will die, Porter. I might as well kill you now if you won’t listen to me.”
I watched as Benedetti slammed the door behind him, and my father became afraid. I’d never seen him afraid, but he rubbed his hands down his face and flew up the stairs.
That’s when I ran to my room and slipped under the covers, only for my father to burst through the door, yank the blankets off me, and tell me to pack before I’d had a chance to calm my racing heart.
The car jostles when we hit a pothole, making me slam my head against the window. “Ouch.” We’re heading out of town, away from the Benedettis, away from the life of crime my father has caught himself in, and away from the threats of the mafia. He thinks I don’t know it’s the mafia he’s been dabbling with these past few years. I’ve heard him and Mr. Benedetti having conversations a few times in my dad’s office.
“Holden, slow down. We need to make it out of the city alive,” my mother scolds my father, just as the tires squeal as he takes a turn too hard.
“No, Melissa. We are getting the fuck out of here. No one threatens my family. I should have never gotten involved with such dangerous men, but the money was so good.”
“Blood money usually is,” I grumble low, but not low enough for them not to hear me.
“You watch your mouth, young lady. Your father did what he had to. He supported us.”
I roll my eyes because he didn’t get involved with the mafia for us; he did it for his own good. He wanted more money.
My father peeks into the rearview mirror to look at me, then does a quick double-take, narrowing his eyes.
“What?” I ask, rubbing my cheek. “Is there something on my face? Is there a spider?” I yelp, brushing my shoulders off to make sure it isn’t on me.
“No, that car behind us. It’s been following us for a while.”
“Sweetie, you’re paranoid. We are on the highway now. All of us are going in the same direction. Cars are going to seem like they are following us.”
“You’re right,” my father says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re right.”
I turn to peer out the back window, ignoring how the seatbelt is cutting into my arm, to see what car he is talking about. It’s a black SUV, nothing special, so I shrug my shoulders and flip open the book I’m reading.
“Just in case,” my father says, turning on the blinker to take the next exit.
I twist again and notice the SUV following us. “Dad,” I whisper when my breath catches.
“It’s okay. Everything will be fine. Let’s not panic.”
But I hear the panic in his voice.
He is worried.
The car lurches forward as he presses on the gas, and he turns the wheel at the last second to miss a vehicle. The momentum throws me and I smack against the door.
The car takes a sharp left down another road. I look out the window again, not seeing anything, and I take a deep breath, wiping the sweat from the back of my neck from the anxiety this paranoia has caused me.
My father takes another turn, this time a right down a back road, and he begins to laugh. “Wow, he got in my head. I’m sorry,” he says, taking my mom’s hand and kissing her knuckles.
I peek out the back window again and swallow when I see headlights. “Dad…” I whisper, watching the SUV speed closer to us.
“Fuck! I knew it. Hold on.” The car flies forward, and before we get momentum, he slams on the brakes again when another SUV is at the end of the road.
We’re blocked in.
The one behind us stops driving, and both SUVs are idling as if waiting for something to happen.
“Holden, what do we do?”
“I don’t know….”
My father barely gets the words out before my mother yells. “You better figure it out! We have two—”
“I know that!” he shouts, turning around and checking to ensure the SUV is actually there. “I know,” he repeats, sitting forward in his seat. “Mable, I want you to listen to me.”
“Dad,” my voice breaks when I hear that tone. He only talks like that when something bad is about to happen.
“I love you. Okay? I love you, and I’m sorry. Hold on tight. Just hold on, okay? Will you do that for me?”
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and his blue eyes seem brighter as they fill with tears.
I nod, reaching for the gray handle above me with a shaking hand.
“Good. That’s good, Mable.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, wanting to say one nice thing to my father. Now that I don’t know if we will make it out alive, I wish I had said things differently and treated them better, but I was such a brat and filled with so much anger. I only wanted my parents to notice me like every other teenager.
I’m eighteen and counting down the days until graduation so I can leave home. Now I wish I never had that thought at all as the Benedetti mafia surrounds us.
“I love you, Melissa. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you enough.”
“Tell me again when we get out of here,” she replies, and they give each other a quick kiss.
There’s only one way out, and that’s straight ahead. My dad slams his foot on the gas, and the back tires burn against the pavement as they try to gain traction. Our vehicle shoots forward, and the SUV in front of us does the same. My palm on the gray handle begins to sweat, slipping from the plastic, and because I’m too curious for my own good, I look over my shoulder again.
The other SUV is right behind us, and the one in front is getting closer and closer.
“Dad!” I scream, not knowing what else he can do, and the SUV hits us from behind. Metal crushes metal, and my head snaps forward.
Dad jerks the wheel to the left, missing the SUV in front of us by inches as if we are playing chicken in the middle of the road.
I must have a death wish because here I go again, staring out the back, and this time, I see a man with a gun. He’s leaning out the window, gun aiming at us, and I scream when I hear the bullet pierce the air. The back tire blows, and Dad loses control of the car. It fishtails, swaying back and forth, then spins in the middle of the road before flying through the air.
I can’t hear anything other than my own scream. Time slows as the car flips. My hair sways, and my necklace hits my chin. My jacket floats from the floorboard to the roof, then back down again with each flip through the air.
The roof of the car hits the ground first, and glass shatters, the shards prickling along my skin. I close my eyes to protect them, feeling the glass skim against my lids. The car rolls, more metal crushing and scrapping against the ground until, eventually, we are sliding along the asphalt.
We’re upside down, and I’m able to see sparks from the metal of the roof flying outside the shattered window.
I’m going to die.
The pavement disappears as we slide against the grass, kicking up chunks of dirt. We slam against something, and my head smacks against the dented roof. My head spins, and my eyes droop. Blood is rushing to my face as I hang upside down, the seatbelt digging into my neck, shoulder, and chest.
I groan, unable to open my eyes all the way when I hear footsteps crunching against the glass outside.
Without question, without hesitation, they stop at the side of the car. A man I don’t recognize bends down and aims a gun at my father’s head while another does the same to my mother. Small puffs of air sound next, their guns silenced as they shot my parents.
“Send proof,” he says to another, just as I hear the sound of a picture being taken.
“What about the girl?” a voice asks sounding younger than the guy in charge.
“Leave her. Consider it a gift. I’m feeling gracious today.”
Their voices seem far away, and something wet and warm drips down my face. My head sways, and it’s becoming harder to breathe. Darkness comes and goes. I can’t tell what is or isn’t. I’m trying to focus on breathing, but everything about surviving seems difficult right now.
I turn my head, watching as the SUVs leave. I close my eyes, tired, wanting to rest for a minute.
Just a minute.
That’s all I want.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I hear the rumble of another car. Opening my eyes again, I whimper and try to move, but I’m trapped.
They have come back to finish the job.
“Porter!” I recognize the voice. It’s Benedetti.
More glass crunches and my eyes flutter, barely seeing a face come into view. He reaches inside, cutting the seatbelt, and catches me when I fall.
“I have you. You’re okay. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, laying me against the soft grass.
I smell smoke from the car and blood.
My blood.
“How’s she looking?”
“Not good. At all,” my handsome savior replies while holding me.
“Damn it. It’s my fault. I should have—”
“There was nothing you could have done,” the man holding me says. “It’s too late now. All we can do is try to help her.”
He pulls out a phone and places it to his ear. “There’s been an accident. It’s really bad. One person is alive.” He rattles off an address, and the numbers fade in and out just as I go in and out of consciousness. “Hey, hey, stay awake. Help is on the way. Hold on for me, okay? Hold on.” He brushes a piece of my hair out of the way which sparks a jolt across my skin. My eyes snap open, and I inhale a deep breath, my ribs burning from the attempt, and I claw at his arm.
“You’re okay. Shhh, shhh, I have you.”
“Dri! We have to go.”
“I’ll go when I hear the siren,” my savior says.
“Who…are you?” I rasp, the dizziness taking hold of me.
“No one, sweetheart. I’m no one.”
“You saved me,” I say to him, licking my lips from how dry they are. “I can’t…my eyes…” I close them when it becomes too difficult to stay awake.
“No, no, no. Come on, sweetheart. Stay with me. You hear that? Help is on the way. The sirens are getting close. I’m sorry. I have to go. I have to…I’m sorry.”
I think his lips touch my cheek, but I can’t be sure since I can’t see him and can’t feel anything other than pain.
When he leaves, I’m left cold, and my injuries finally take me under.
And in darkness, I find peace.
It’s nice here.
I think I’ll stay.
