The music from my stereo blasted through the room, vibrating so heavily that my bed frame shook. As though it weren’t loud enough, I took it as a signal to turn the music higher. I needed to drown out my thoughts. I’ve found that the more you ignore something the quicker it goes away. Now, if my emotions would comply that would be excellent. Anything would be more favorable than the thoughts circulating in my mind. The thoughts of who I am, what I’ve done, what I’ve become are inescapable as I stare at my reflection. I feel trapped like the girl in the mirror. Worse than that, I’ve become dependent on this flow of anxiety. The choked breaths, and elevated pulse, the suffocating presence pressing over me. This new normal felt right; a fitting punishment, and one I duly deserved for my sins.

Why should this end when it isn’t triggered by others?

Their screams constantly echo in my mind. I’m possessed by the never-ending cycle by the voices of those I’d murdered.

I see their bodies; their faces are a blur to me but what does it matter? They are dead anyway. The remnants of rubble all seem to fade out of focus, hazily blending into the collapsed disaster swallowing us. I’m afraid. It’s ironic because I had never genuinely known fear before. I’ve learned to be brave, to be strong but now at my strongest, I experienced the heaviest weight of fear. I can’t fight it so I embrace it.  I can control it, this is what they’ve turned me into and they will pay for it with their lives.

I jump out of my bed reaching for the remote to switch the playlist off, as if stopping the music will somehow stop my troubles but I know better. I’ve been struggling to suppress the memory of what happened, but although I am surrounded by everything designed to make me forget, it isn’t helping. More hauntingly I don’t want to forget.

I don’t deserve to.

I want to scream, cause a fit, and throw something, hurt someone - hurt myself but the rest of me can’t allow myself to come undone again. I am stronger than that, Lucchesenes’ don’t break under pressure, we rise. I know that’s what my family expects of me. That’s what my father expects of me and I can’t let him down. I won’t. Everything, I did was justifiable and I just need to remind myself of that. I did what I needed to do, to survive and I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with that.

That’s what is terrifying, I’m okay with being a murderer.

And I’m not scared of the consequences, I know who backs me up. I’m the daughter of the Lucchesene Mob. I own this city.

It’s daunting to know the kind of power and responsibility. I possess all because of my last name. Finding a balance between protecting and preserving my family's legacy, honor, and reputation from outsiders while commanding the authority I need is difficult. Leadership is a skill, some people are born with it and others develop it over time, I like to imagine that I possess both the natural inclination to lead and the drive to develop it, however, I’ve never met anyone as suited for leadership as my father, he could command respect. When the whispers first started of me being too weak to lead I knew that it was my duty to silence them and the people who spread them.

I would do it again.

I’m rescued from this trail of thought by the rhythmic pounding on the door. I’d know this knocking anywhere. My tiny beacon of hope signaling human interaction after being trapped in the house for over eight weeks.

Tap tap, slam slam, tap tap, slam, tap.

Tap tap, slam slam, tap tap, slam, tap.

I let him repeat the knock out of spite for him locking me in my room, after how badly our last conversation went. The conversation that broke my heart a little; his tells, of aggravation were obvious, if like me you were often on the receiving end. He always started with a narrowed half gaze; followed by a closed stance, signaling that his decisions were and always will be the final say on the matter. It’s easy to get the upper hand when you observe your opponent. My father would often tilt his eyes upward, as if he was above reproach and purse his lips at any opinion that opposed his own. His true sign of disapproval though was his up tilted frown, he had a way of sneering at people that could make anyone feel like the scum of the earth. I could be misreading things after all he replaced me because of my recklessness and I couldn’t have predicted how useless I would become in his eyes.

Imagine being replaced by an outsider. I know my oldest brother, David, has struggled with mental health issues. I can't imagine having to hide such an intrinsic part of yourself. Outside our immediate family, it must be incredibly difficult. I've often found myself wondering what kind of person could replace me.

“Who could be good enough for my family?” I mutter out loud.

I know that no one is irreplaceable, but the thought alone is painful. It makes me question whether someone else could fit into my life more easily than I could. My father has proven his love for me in the way he rushed to save me during the New York Thing, but I don't feel respected by him. Even surrounded by gifts, I'm deprived of my freedom.

I'm used to being watched, and the laptop on my bed must have a tracker. I've tried asking my siblings if they feel the same way, but they brush me off. I'm not particularly close to either of my brothers; they are inseparable, and I've always been jealous of that.

Tap tap, slam slam, tap tap, slam, tap.

I brace myself for a continuation of our fight, but as soon as I turn the door I find myself staring back at the mirror image of myself, and the familiarity sets me at ease. There’s a moment's pause between us and I force myself to hold his gaze, preparing for round two of our fight but he gives me a smile and diffuses everything.

I precipitate by rolling my eyes then he ruins it.

“I hope that you’re feeling better.”

It’s a statement and not an inquiry. I should have cooled down by now, as always my views were dismissed as irrational. In my father’s eyes I should come around to see things his way, the right way. There’s something about being around my father that turns me into a child again, searching for his approval. He’s never made his affections easy to earn but that’s always been part of the thrill in pleasing him. What good is anything if it’s given so freely?

I nod.

Anything to end this conversation if you could call it that, it was one-sided as always but I’m not going to be stupid and back-chat when I want my freedom. I don’t know what to say and his discussion passes quickly, I’ve been released. I can go outside, I go places and in return, all I have to do is go to dinner with him tonight. I don’t hesitate to say yes and I even receive my phone back. After he leaves I power it on and it bursts with a stream of activity displaying a ridiculous amount of unread messages and emails.

At the top of the list is the closest thing I’ll ever be allowed to have as a best friend, Athena.       I skim through countless messages of her bubbly chatter. It feels nice to talk to her, even if it is only through text and to talk to other people who aren’t related to me.

Dinner goes worse than I expected. I should have known that it would be horrible simply from the car ride, all the way over, my father just lectured me about the origins of our militia, and he also “refreshed” me on our codes – as if I hadn’t memorized them and their meaning by the time I was four years old. This was the reason I ran away, the reason I’m in this mess. I tried to escape his pressure to lead and here it was being forced down my throat. As he talks everything crashes into one and his words echo around the room suffocating me. I become numb as each syllable is beat into my brain. I just wish he would stop.

“Look, Emerald, I’m getting really sick of this.”                                                                                                                                                                          He frowns, re-folding his serviette and for the first time it strikes me that if I wasn’t his own daughter, my own father probably would have had me killed by now. I was a liability after all. He continues his lecture. “I know you think I’m evil, and that everything we do is bad but I’ll have you know that we’ve clothed more children, jump-started more businesses, aided more single parents, opened and funded more charities than any other damn business in America by doing what we do and being who we are...So get off your high horse, get your behind back to training tomorrow, and start contributing to this family.”

He takes his eyes from the dance floor, to my face and leans in  “I expect this to be the last time we have to have this discussion.”  His eyes promise me trouble if I push matters further but I can't help it.

“We are monsters, who destroy people’s lives,” I grit through my teeth, daring to look in his eyes. Who was I to lecture him about Morality?

I was a mass murderer and there was no turning back for me now. Yet I did not want to get myself deeper into this hole because once you climbed in, there was no crawling back out. There never was with my family, you were either all in or completely out.

I find I can’t breathe.

“Emerald?”

My father sounds concerned, but distant and I can’t make out his face, I just see white space. His voice fades away, familiar but strange nonetheless and all I can feel is my chest tightening constricting my breathing. I try to take control but I can’t breathe.

I  need to get out of here.

I need to take control. I can't let these thoughts overpower me, again. I killed them and now I have to live like this. I deserve it… even if what I did was necessary I continue convincing myself as I leave but I don’t even know where I’m going. Before I realize it I’m outside in the cold, inappropriately dressed. I probably look like a hooker. As if on cue, I feel arms wrap around me and I try to escape the stranger’s grasp. Instinctively I reach for the knife in my slip and pull it on this stranger. I quickly spin to face my attacker, closing the distance between us and pressing the blade close to his throat.

At least my body is still obedient.

I look from my knife to the man and his hands are up passively. As I take him in, I´m met with a pair of the most striking eyes that I've ever seen. Flecked with confusion, they vary in different shades of blue like an ice globe. As he blinks back the blue recedes, blending in with the grey, framed with thick lashes. I feel trapped as I hold his gaze and it’s only after he clears his throat, that I realize I’ve been staring. I take in everything noticing, the way his eyes flicker from my face to my dress and he shyly smiles and begins to blush.

“So… are you going to put that thing down?¨ He glanced nervously at my blade but otherwise he looks confident, as if he's often held at knife point by girls in dark allies. My guard rises but I can’t help but note that he's gorgeous.

¨I think that I'll hold onto it for now, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?¨

¨I could ask you the same.” He says coyly before remembering his position and mine. I laugh at the absurdity of the evening and remove my knife from him.

He has an even complexion, envied by both sexes I’m sure with an olive coloring further up his skin I notice scars, he’s brave or stupid. He’s ridiculously pretty in an old- school movie star type of way and his confidence - arrogance- only helps him. It’s impossible not to picture him tilting his head back smoking a cigarette as he leans against a Benz to pick up his girl. I smile picturing this image and again let my eyes drift lower to how well his clothes hug his body. He’s also in remarkably good shape with a lean yet muscular frame.

“Well, this seems as good a time as any for us to get introduced. My name is Ageon. Ageon Edinburgh.”

It clicks. That was why he looked so familiar. I have just met my replacement.