His Secret Identity

It was sunny when Frances got inside the room. As Benedict looked up from the window he saw a sunlit cloud drifting across the blue sky. The room was peaceful when he had just got out. He left Frances when his boss summoned her to make a deal. Benedict never expected she'd knock the hell out of him. He quickly slammed the door open after he heard a loud shattering of glass and found his boss laying down on the floor. He crouched down as he shouted,

"Hey! I need help here!"

Then two men in their black suits came to help him. They were both tall. One was dark, muscular with deep eyes. The other one was on average height and was asian-looking. Benedict lifted him up as the both of them supported him.

"Call our doctor," he said as he handed the boss over to them. He immediately ran towards the open window and found Frances running for her way out.

"You stupid woman" he uttered and swore, then leaped out of the window. He dashed his way following her.

The woman has always been a pain in the ass for the organization. First, she blew one of their highest earning drug cartels, and now she is about to expose his boss's real identity. There is no way he'd let that happen.

As he ran towards the gate, he saw her disarm one of the bodyguards in a very offensive way. She bends his hand away from her, taking the colt m1911a1 out of his grasp and swept his legs and he fell down on his back. She clenched her hand into a tight ball and thrust it towards his throat and then to his chin making him unconscious...dead rather. The gun came up effortlessly, and Frances realized just how ready she was to fire it. She aimed the gun towards the guy who was about to take his gun out of his holster and she started shooting him and he laid down dead. Benedict wasn't surprised when she successfully took the gun from the guy considering she was a police woman. He expected that since the first time he had heard of her. There was always something with regards when facing an officer. Something that would take captive one's ego. But not Benedict, not even the slightest regret he endured as he faced her.

He put on a hold and paused his flight when she pointed the gun at him. He extended both his arms out with palms forward.

"You idiot!" she grumbled.

"If only I knew you were part of this organization, I should have killed you back in Carolina."

Slowly, he shook his head and fixed a grin on his lips.

"You wouldn't do that Frances. You wouldn't do that to the man you love," he uttered.

"I once loved, Benedict, once loved. Luckily, I found out your true identity, if it didn't happen I'll probably regret it because I know I was going to marry you!" she snarled. He took a step but paused immediately when she threatened to kill him mercilessly.

"This wouldn't happen if you just let me be someone you believe I am,"

"What for? for me to regret being with you for the rest of my life and keep having nightmares till I sleep?" she asked.

"Okay, you regret meeting me. How about meeting that teacher? Was he the most amazing person you met?" he asked as anger began to rise up inside him.

"I regret meeting the both of you, you scumbags! Especially that Roy Williams! That fake teacher! Fake decent person, I don't even know if his real name is Roy!" she answered, still pointing the gun at Benedict.

"At least you hate him more than me," he said, still smiling.

"I equally disgrace the both of you, you liars!" she answered. This wouldn't have happened if she didn't investigate him. He once thought, was his love not enough for her to not doubt him? He loves her, and she knows it and she believes it. But he can't blame her. She's a cop doing her police job. But she can't blame Benedict as well. He was a criminal, doing criminal things.

"What are you gonna do?" Benedict asked

"Are you gonna kill me?"

She didn't answer. Despite the anger he sees in her eyes, he knows she is still in love with me.

"If that's the only way to avenge my father's death then I'll put a bullet inside your head and blow your organization–"

"Ah Frances! How many times have I told you, we were not responsible for your father's death, it was that cop," he answered, scratching his head, pissed off by the fact that she still wouldn't believe him.

"Of course I know that. But how do I get rid of this anger when I wasn't the one who killed him!" she yelled.

"That's why I came to your life Frances. I wanted to get rid of that anger in your heart and replace it with love."

"Stop fooling me Benedict!" Frances answered.

"Love, please," begged, Benedict as he knelt down in front of her.

"Let's go back to the first time we meet and forget that this ever happened. I want you, love, and you know that. I want you to be the one that I first see whenever I open my eyes."

She started smiling as she still wept. His words brought tears in her eyes, in her sparkling blue eyes. There was nothing she ever loved than being with him, feeling the warmth of his chest against her face, the euphoria brought by being with him. But it never took long. Behind the wrath he saw in her eyes before, Benedict still hopes she'll forgive him and come back to him.

He should have pursued her if it wasn't only because of the sneaking guy with an empty bottle behind her. He slowly walked towards her.

"I want you to be the last person I see after I fall asle–" he paused when the guy slammed the glass against the back of Frances' head and she fell down, lying unconsciously. Benedict looked down at her with mixed feelings. He bent down to reach for the gun.

"Thank you," he said to the guy wearing a suit.

"You're welcome sir–" he wasn't able to finish what he was about to say when Benedict pulled the trigger of the gun aiming at him.

"You asshole!" he snarled. He wanted to keep the gun away from him but he didn't mean to knock Frances out. He was undeniably frustrated at her, but he still didn't want anyone to hurt her.

Benedict slowly lifted her up at his shoulder.

Do they even learn a lesson? He thought to himself. He had killed several of his men after they hurt Frances and now they'd still do it. He'd even beat the shit out of his boss if he saw him beating Frances. Benedict would do anything for her. But he doubted that would ever happen because of the fact that he and his boss are both in love with Frances and this turned out to be a love triangle. He does not know. What the heck was with her? How can she lure a criminal like them at the same time? The boss and his right hand? How did she do it? But that is not important, what's important is Benedict won't let anyone steal her from me. Even his boss. If killing him means Frances being with him, then without hesitation he will put a bullet between his eyes.

Three months ago in one of those overwhelmingly beautiful resorts of New York City. They were all seated on the chair inside a giant room. The interior was architected with modernity and beauty. Low lights with hanging chandeliers. Walls made of soft limestone and stairs made out of well-furnished mahogany plank, mixed with the dark brown furnitures made it even more soothing. Just looking at the exterior, the indication of such architectural experience was spot on. Three giant entrances and on top of each were giant fixed windows. Benedict glanced at the people wearing suits seated on those arranged chairs. It felt so strange. How come most of the guys attended were the guys he does not usually see. He figured perhaps the boss wanted it this way. He stopped in front of them and gestured for them to minimize their voices. They obeyed and the room grew silent.

"Good evening gentlemen," greeted by him. Seated in the front row were the executives.

"Are the executives complete?" asked, Benedict. They glanced at each other, searching for other executives.

"Yup, we're complete here" one of the executives answered. He should have started, but he then realized there was something missing, someone is missing. Benedict glanced at the seat on his back which was reserved for someone. The underboss was missing. Maximo Fargo was missing. How irresponsible of him, doesn't he know that the declaration of the new boss is exactly at seven. Benedict peered at his watch. Luckily, there was still three minutes left before the declaration starts.

Maximo "The executioner" Fargo. Fifty six years old, ten arrests, five for murder, five for illegal used of drugs, one conviction, five days in jail. He was one of the underbosses of the late Capo, but when the boss died, Maximo's position did not change at all. There were two traditions of the family in terms of choosing the next crime lord. First is the choice of the association among three underbosses. Second, in order for the family to not disparate, the crime lord should stay alive, and the only way for him to stay alive is to choose anyone on the lower rank and hide his identity. That is why the next kingpin came in with a plain white mask on his face. There were three chosen underbosses. That includes Maximo Fargo. The second is Dante "The Kid'' Giovanna. The youngest of all the underbosses in history of the crime family. Full blooded Italian but speaks english. Thirty two years old, two arrests because of murder. Third is Carlos "Big Boy'' Grahams. Forty five years old, sixteen arrests all because of murder, one conviction.

He glanced at Carlos, he folded his hands across his fat stomach as he leaned back in the chair and exhaled a curling smoke from his mouth. He was wearing a brown fedora. Benedict looked back at his watch and it was already seven so he decided to start the declaration. He then gestured to minimize their voice again as the room was filled with noises.

"Tonight is a mixed feeling for me," he uttered over the quiet room.

"It has been a disappointment knowing our recent boss passed away. But his death was also a solemnly reverent way to die. Ten years of serving the family, most of those days were almost his death. And now this has to come."

He shifted to silence, showing respect.

"But that should not be the reason for the destruction of the family. We are the strongest crime organization in all of new york and we can't just be destroyed that easily," said Benedict. All nodded as the inspired feelings rose unto them.

"This very moment, for the family to stay strong. I introduce to you and declare...the newest boss!" I shouted as their shattering voices came along with me. Exhilaration in simply being among the crowd. They broke into a loud cheering when the boss stood beside me. I knew him for almost my whole life. I was one of the executives when I found out he was chosen as the next leader. The next morning, he came into my house and asked me to be his right hand. He accepted his offer and now he is about to declare him as the godfather. One of the members came and handed him the small black box. He opened it and took the small blade, Italians usually use. A stiletto blade with a red handle. He returned the box to the man and held out the masked man's hand.

"Words aren't enough to ascertain that you will serve the family well," he said to him as he placed the blade to his palm.

"Neither does actions. Your blood shall testify us what your insides are telling."

Benedict slid the blade against the boss's palm and his scarlet liquid flowed out of his flesh. His blood stuck on the knife and Benedict raised it for the family to see. He placed it back inside the box and glanced at the boss as he wiped his blood and put pressure on it. One of the members stood up and shouted,

"Long live the family!" the room answered with cheering and smiles were everywhere. Shouting, jamming against each other, shoulder to shoulder, stepping on toes. It would have been happy if it's not because of Maximo. Benedict darted glances around to look everywhere and found a mysterious man wearing a trench coat and a fedora. Behind him were two other guys in suits. Then comprehension came to him as the clacking sounds of racking guns allowed just the slightest idea to make headway to his mind. He dashed his way and leaped to cover the boss when Maximo and his companions pointed their tommy gun and started firing through the air behind them. The room shattered in scream and yell. The deafening sound continued, ear-shattering roar as they were about to kill everyone inside the room. Benedict took the revolver out of his pocket, aimed it towards one of the shooters. The trigger bit into the calloused pad of his first finger. Fired once, or twice perhaps. The bullets pierced their way towards his abdomen, causing gaping holes in its wake that quickly filled with blood and gushed out. He laid there dead. The other turned to him. He was about to pull the trigger but Benedict fired first and he laid beside the dead man. He rolled their way towards a group of furniture when Maximo started firing at them as he swore. He called out his other bodyguards. Then another group of people came in.

"I don't want to see anyone escaping this building," he said to one of his bodyguards. With the boss behind Benedict, they sneaked for their way out as he still made glances behind. They started for the elevator, looking at every side just to be sure harm is nowhere near. Then a guy came out of the room and Benedict fired twice. The first bullet came to his throat and the second to his head. The guy fell down. He took cover inside the elevator as the guy's companion filled the empty air with pellets behind him. The door closed and finally he was able to let out a sigh of relief.

"How did this happen Benedict?" the boss asked, gasping for much needed oxygen.

"I don't know boss, I never expected this would happen," answered Benedict.

"That fucking Fargo," the boss swore.

"I want him dead Benedict, dead."

Then the door opened. They still took cover, checking for danger within the bounds of possibilities. When they realized they were no longer at harm, they went out of the resort and the members on their side met them. The boss went inside the limousine. There were about five cars and Benedict was certain there was no way Maximo could get out of the restaurant alive.

"Kill him immediately," he ordered the guy and got in beside the boss. He examined the restaurant as they drove away inside a black limousine.

She found out that every single day she usually wakes up not because of the alarm clock, but because of the warm light the sun had casted through her window. She opened her eyes and glanced at the outside. The sun had just risen from the horizon filling the sky with hues of orange and yellow. The dandelion-colored sphere greeted the rich green and the flowers stretched outwards. She breathed deeply and stretched her hourglass body in front of an open wide window. She then looked at her reflection on the mirror. She wasn't ugly, perhaps it was her bed hair that made her look dirty.

Now that she thinks about it, what was exactly the reason why male's sense of absorption or interests in women can nowhere be seen in her. Perhaps because her position of employment is less feminine. But would such a job make her less attractive to ordinary men? She had a beautiful face. Thin arms that exceeded the standards of stereotypical femininity. Round blue eyes you'd want to meet an eye with. The scarlet outline where her skin met her mouth, and a lips with such beauty And the indication of best of breeding was spot on.

She was a typical woman, Frances Mitchell, with a typical everyday routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, take a bath, put on her police uniform and walk to duty. She had been a police woman for four years now and believe it or not, between the gap of those years Frances have experienced a lot of danger, lots of troubles, ordinary women usually wouldn't. She almost lost a leg, almost died and almost lost a partner. She had always been told by her co-police that she was one of the most beautiful and strong women in the station. Well that's what she usually hears of what they say about her. It feels so strange for them because her job does not fit her femininity. But she has a reason why she chose to become a police officer. When she was only fifteen, Frances lost a father, and that is because of the largest crime organization in New York City which he was assigned to. He was a good and righteous policeman when he was still alive.

Frances started for the bathroom. Took off her bathrobe and stepped into the shower. The warm and soothing water hissed all over her as though it was a venomous snake, but not terrifying, in fact; very calming. Her hands started to wander around her body as the water slid down along with it, then to her breast. She started to massage it with her bare hands and slowly pinched her nipples. The sensations spread throughout Frances' whole body as the pleasure builds slowly and gradually. How long has it been since a man played with her breast, she wondered. It's been a year since she last had sex with a man. The reason perhaps is because of her job. Most men only flirt with those who they reckoned they'll be the dominant one in bed. They are way too cowardly.

She wend her way out of the house and closed the door behind her and distinguished a familiar man. It was her partner, AJ. He was an inch taller than her. Well built with his wide eyes. He has been her partner for four years.

"Morning," he greeted. The tip of Frances' lips rose and she greeted back.

"Morning."

Her whole life, New York has always been the place where crime organization lurks. Narcotics, illegal firearms, prostitutions, gamblings, and any other form of illegal activity conceived by the mind of man. There were three most known members of the organization. Carlos Grahams, Dante Giovanna and the most known one, Maximo Fargo. They were the underbosses, the mini dons. It was so difficult to get to the top. To the underbosses and the dons. Sure, the small criminals kept falling into their traps with statistical regularity; but the mobs always got away. They always have someone inside the station.

She had just finished clearing her desk when her partner came over and placed a brown envelope on the table. She took a quick look at him then to the case. She opened it and took out the picture inside. The image brought a bitter smile to her lips.

"Is this real?" she wanted to know. He shook his head up and down.

"They brought his body," he answered.

"He died last night inside the restaurant. Witnesses say he was on a killing spree before a group of men wearing a suit brought him down."

"Do they have an idea who killed him?" she asked.

"Yah. The one holding this case said it was the member of the syndicate that killed him,"

"You mean?"

"Yes, he betrayed and attempted to kill the newly declared crime lord,"

"What do you mean, newly declared crime lord?" asked Frances. He took a chair and sat beside her.

"The boss was assassinated, didn't you hear?" he asked. Frances shook her head with no knowledge of what he was talking about.

"Well, one thing's for sure; we only have two underbosses left to take down," he smiled and stood up.

"Remember, after we kill the underbosses, there is still one to take down...the masked boss," answered Frances.

They were inside a patrol car as they drove around downtown. She found herself contemplating what happened. For real? Did Maximo Fargo really die? If it's real, that might be the turning point of this year. The thought built a border on her auditory senses that she didn't hear what her partner was saying.

"Frances!" he yelled a bit and she startled.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yah," she nodded.

"What's wrong?" he asked, quite concerned as he moved the steering wheel. Frances hesitated to answer for a moment. Then she answered anyway.

"I'm just overwhelmed," she answered.

"Overwhelmed by?"

"I don't know, maybe because finally, for fifty years of the organization, we found its weak spot," answered Frances, glancing at the rear window.

"What do you mean finally we found a weak spot? We always have found their weakness, it's just that our seniors don't want us to act without the basis of law," he answered, steering the car on the left side.

"That's what I hate about this thing we call law. Clearly, we should have imprisoned him," she retorted.

"You know what, it seems that the law isn't always right."

A few seconds passed, the radio crackled to life and the officer's voice amplified through the PA system.

"Patrol units be advise, an armed robber has been reported eastbound, past Washington Square Park. Requesting nearby units to head up," the raspy voice chattered over the car. An adrenaline kicked up on him as the sirens blare and the vehicle takes off. He quickly rolled the wheel on the right side and the loud siren wailed in the street. He took the next left turn and weaved between cars.

"Suspect's wearing a blue cap, red shirt and a jean," the woman on the radio uttered. AJ reached for his speaker and answered,

"10-4, we're on our way."

He began to drive faster and reached the location. He looked around, searching for the suspect. When he found him, he moved the car towards the guy with matched descriptions, who was running away. Frances placed her hand on the door handle and prepared to bolt out of the car. AJ pulled to a stop and they moved out of the vehicle.

"Freeze!" Frances shouted pointing the gun at the suspect. He obeyed and slowly raised his hand.

"Drop your weapon!" said AJ and slowly walk towards him.

"On your knees!"

But the suspect no longer moved. It was as if he was planning to do something stupid. With quick motion, he took out his pocket revolver and fired it towards them. AJ fell down when the bullet punched through his right biceps. She quickly pulled the trigger. An adrenaline kicked up and she was hyper focused and aimed accurately at the man's throat. He fell down clutching his neck and a pool of blood formed around him. Frances bent down to check on AJ

"Are you okay?" she asked, examining his wound. He smiled and nodded.

"Nice shot officer," he grinned. Frances reached for the radio and said,

"10-999, officer down, I need help immediately."

"You'll be alright, they are sending back up now," said Frances, keeping him calm. As expected for a man, he just smiled like nothing happened. He even had the balls to start a joke.

AJ and Frances had always been partners since she started. He was a noble family man. A good husband, a good father and a good partner. He had told her that he always wanted to be a police officer since he was five. He always wanted to serve his country and protect the weak.

The individuals wearing different kinds of clothes and each contrasting face clustered around the park. They were on each foot as they gazed at the dead man. The yellow tear-proof plastic polyethylene kept them away from getting near the body. The park wasn't jam-packed ten minutes ago. After she had shot the man, there was only shattering of muttering voices.

Frances fixed her attention to her partner as the medic treated his wound. She was used to death being with them all the time. She was aware of the potential of the both of them being killed. Still, she possessed the terror of being deceased. It is though when danger is far from you, despite expecting it, the fear is far as well. But when death gets near, fear gets near also.

Perhaps it was too obvious that she was concerned about him that he asked,

"Are you okay?"

Seriously? Wasn't he the one who was shot and now he's asking her that question.

"Are you not afraid?" asked Frances, shooting a serious gaze at him.

wondering. He fixed a smile on his lips.

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of dying,"

"Don't they say that none of us will leave this world alive?" he responded.

"So what's the point of worrying and being afraid of death if we'll face it eventually?"

"How about your family? Won't you feel even the slightest regret knowing that a daughter and a wife lost someone important to them?" she wanted to know...she needed to know.

"Don't you get worried about what their future may bring?"

He remained smiling. Frances saw the worriless through his smile as if the thought made no disturbance to him.

"You're no longer anxious of your family's future if you have God by your side," he said in response. Frances waited for a few moments to drop a question. He was a christian, and she didn't want him to feel bad or lose interest in his religion.

"What if God isn't real?" she asked.

Don't get it wrong, it's not like she's an atheist or something. She did believe in God, but a hint of doubt was still in her.

"You kept on asking about the existence of God but you won't even ask yourself what he would feel about the fact that the creatures he made on his own, doubted him," AJ answered promptly.

"If God does not exist, do you think you would?"

A bitter smile shaped on Frances' lips.

She didn't know what to believe. She still has the pain and anger when her father died. She often asked back on those times, does God really exist? If he did, where was he when my father died? Did he plan it all? Did he do it for a reason that may benefit my father or me? She still hoped an answer would come for her question of multiplicity.

"Nice work officer," a tall, dark man spoke. She stood erect, raised her right hand sharply. Fingers and thumb joined, meeting the end of her eyebrow. He gestured and Frances let fall of her hand. It was the NYPD Chief of police, Caesar W. Dickson. He was the type of police who she held in high regard. She admired him. Not only because he was a Chief, but because he tried saving her father too. He was her father's partner before he died.

It happened fifteen years ago. Someone was able to tip them the location of one of the organization's drug cartels. There were ten of them when they advanced to the location but it was Caesar alone who came back alive. He came out from the abandoned building with blood and wounds around his body. Luckily, he survived. She was not certain , but she does hope he doesn't get pissed by her whenever Frances asks him about her father's case. But he couldn't blame her, she waited long enough, she can no longer wait to punish the man responsible for her father's death.

Alone in her suite at one of those rooms in the building of The Westmont which contained more than a dwelling unit, Frances contemplated the view of the deepening shadows that made New York a city of ghosts. It made no thought of her how the night beautifully became art in cities, for she was looking at it without much interest. Her mind was on the other thing, the thing that kept her up that night. She glanced at her watch and she figured it was already eleven in the evening. She was thinking about Fargo with mixed feelings. Somehow, when he was still alive, Frances wanted him dead.

It is though whenever Maximo Fargo comes into her mind, rage is expected to pulse through her veins, feeling not just a hint but a flash of irritation. But now that he is already dead, anger was no longer within her.

Frances yawned, still staring through the window that the darkness had given a mirror-like quality. Her thought shifted to her partner, wondering what he was doing...whom he was with. Her right arm supported the elbow joint of her left which her fingers covered the glass of wine. She sipped onto her glass and it immediately supplied heat to her throat down her stomach. Then abruptly, over the door, the loud ding dong! echoed. She pivoted her body and slowly walked towards the door. She wasn't expecting a visitor, for that reason, she took a grasp of her Glock 22 as she peeked through the peephole. Assured the person was not a threat, she put her gun back to her holster and opened the door as a smile began to appear in her lips.

"Sam!" she exclaimed and covered the woman with her arms in front of her. They rubbed their bodies against each other as their grasp tightened. Then the woman pulled herself away from her and confiscated Frances.

"What are you doing here?" asked Frances as she bent down to carry Samantha's backpack. It was her close cousin, Samantha Erich.

"I'm here on a vacation," answered Sam. Frances guided her to her apartment and placed Samantha's backpack over the couch. She then sat down and laid her back against the sofa.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" asked Frances, looking at her.

"Perhaps a glass of juice wouldn't hurt," uttered Sam. Frances nodded and went to the kitchen.

"You should have told me you're coming, I should have waited for you at the airport," said Frances over the kitchen, making a juice for Samantha.

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise," answered Samantha as she looked around.

She was one of those women who wore clothes decently. Just looking at her outfit you'd figure the heritage of being a church woman. Covering her was the blue shirtdress with flowers printed all over it.

"I thought you were asleep already," said Samantha. Frances came back from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in her hand.

"I couldn't. I didn't drink coffee or something, I guess I had a dose of insomnia," answered Frances.

"Besides, if you believed I was asleep why would you come in the middle of the night, don't you think you'd disturb my sleep?"

She handed it carefully over to Sam, trying to not spill it off. In the same manner, Sam reached the glass. Frances sat on the caramel colored sofa next to Sam. She waited for her response as Sam took a long sip of the juice. The cold and sour taste slid through her throat leaving a trace of its acidity. She then pulled the glass from her lips as she let out a deep and long exhale of satisfaction as if she had been restricted to drinks for thousands of years.

"This tastes good," said Sam, savouring its aftertaste.

"Are you alone?" asked Frances

"No, I'm not," she answered at the exact moment she ended.

"I'm with Jeffrey."

"How come he's not with you?" wondered Frances.

"He's with his friend, he'll be here soon," answered Sam. Frances went over to the kitchen and took a bag of chips and went back to the sofa to sit down.

"Why did you come back here anyway?" asked Frances, tearing the side of the plastic. She then offered it to her.

"Vacation. To be honest, we should have flown here two weeks ago, but Jeffrey's mom got sick so he had to look for her," answered Samantha between bites of chips. Frances nodded in satisfaction as she shoved for the food.

"So how's the Philippines?" asked Frances. Sam fixed her position with the side of her body propped by the pillow. She crossed both her legs and turned to face her.

"It was nice. The people there are so hospitable," she answered.

"What I love about the Philippines is the dish. I like adobo, you know? The meat with soy sauce and vinegar on it...I love it."

"Was Jeffrey's family good to you?" asked Frances.

"Yeah, they were actually. I like the way they eat ...they only use their hands, you know–" she paused when a puzzled look was on Frances.

"No, don't get it wrong...they wash their hands before they eat," Samantha clarified. Frances then nodded. After a few moments of talking to each other, the doorbell rang. They both paused and they shot a gaze at the door.

"Is that Jeffrey?" asked Frances. Sam shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know, he told me he'll be coming on twelve and It's not twelve yet. The doorbell rang again but this time it rang twice. Frances walked towards the door, her hand on the gun. She narrowly looked through the peephole. She was then puzzled. The guy was wearing a white shirt and a cap. He was carrying a box and he darted glances at the hallway.

"Who is it?" whispered Sam. Still looking through the hole.

Frances answered,

"It's a pizza guy, I didn't order a pizza,"

"Oh, I did."

She ran towards the door and she pulled to open it. She took the pizza from the guy and went over to the sofa.

"Are you not gonna pay him?" she called after her as she hurried away to open the box.

"I don't have cash here...maybe you have some, I'll pay you later," she shouted as she took a slice of the pizza. Frances sighed and reached for her wallet from the pocket of her pants.

"How much is it?" she asked.

"14 bucks," the short guy answered. She slipped cash out of her pocket and handed it over to the guy.

"Thank you," said the man as he folded the money. Frances closed the door behind her and went back to the sofa.

"You owe me one," she pointed at her and sat down.

"No I don't. You were the one who paid for this and I'll be the one spending some cash for tomorrow," answered Samantha, taking a bite of her pizza.

"Why? What's with tomorrow?" she asked.

Leashed from the black fences, the organization had kept the terrifying dogs unfed, unloved, and hostile. Presumably it was to keep burglars and strangers away from the mansion. The eight thousand square feet mansion was located in a remote location and guarded with several armed men. Huge-sized house built of lyson stone with the darkest color one could ever see. The man opened the gate when a black vehicle stopped in front. His head popped out of the window only to be seen by the man. He drove his vehicle in and got out of the car.

"Caesar!" said Benedict, stepping out of the main door. Caesar turned to him and smiled.

"What brings you here?" asked Benedict. He was tall, well built, handsome and dark.

"I came to see the boss," answered Caesar, pulling his shade away from his eyes. Benedict quivered his head in a gesture of welcome.

"Come," said Benedict, guiding Caesar through the inside.

"I have heard that the organization was the one who killed Fargo," said Caesar, as they walked through the dining room.

"That's right," he answered.

"He attempted to assassinate the boss."

They went inside a small room and in front of them was a circular staircase that led them through another room but quite wide. They walked up one flight of stairs to the next floor.

"How was the boss?" asked Caesar.

"Fortunately, he was unharmed," he replied promptly.

"Did you figure out who attempted to kill him already?"

Benedict stopped and put a strange smile on his lips.

"We haven't...but I have an idea who"

"Who?"

He remained smiling as though the suspect was in his grasp. He moved a bit and was dangerously near Caesar.

"I am aware of what you're doing Caesar," he whispered, still smiling. A look of puzzled thought was on Caesar as he tried to keep his calm. Benedict knew from the start that Caesar wanted to be boss, so profoundly he wanted him dead.

"I have my eyes on you everywhere you go. The station, your house, your mother's house," uttered Benedict as he walked within steps, encircling Caesar.

"Do you really think a cop like you can replace the boss?" asked Benedict. Caesar tried to keep himself calm even though his anger was boiling up.

"You're a smart guy, Caesar. If I was you I'd stop such nonsense," he said, then after that he turned away from him. Caesar nearly lost his temper and held unto Benedict's wrist, turning Benedict to face him.

"If you are aware of this, then why won't you kill me?" he asked in a low voice as though he was whispering.

"You're a great threat, that is correct. But you, being a member of the family is also a benefit for us. Your account of your knowledge on whatever the law would venture to stop us...is a great assistance."

Benedict pulled his arm from his grip.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna kill you if you'd do something stupid."

He left Caesar standing, gritting his teeth as Benedict walked towards the door. Benedict stopped in front of the door and knocked on it. The door opened unveiling the boss seated over the table. Caesar followed Benedict towards the room. It was a comfortably furnished room. A regular business-office-looking room. Surrounding the crime lord were three men with their guns.

"Caesar," the raspy and low voice came from the crime lord's mask. It was the head mounted voice changer microphone that made his voice different. Caesar held his hand and he moved his lips near the boss's finger.

"What might be your purpose for being here?" the boss asked.

Caesar glanced at Benedict then to the man in front of him.

"But before you answer that question, take a seat."

Caesar pulled the chair in front of him and he sat down.

"Do you want a drink?" the man asked. He didn't wait for Caesar's reply.

"Benedict, give this gentleman a bottle of the hard stuff," he said.

Still looking at Caesar, he stepped back and reached for a bottle of brandy and glass from a hanging cabinet. He opened the bottle and poured the glass. A troublesome look was within Caesar's face when he stared at the brandy filling the glass. Benedict offered him the glass but Caesar didn't accept it immediately. He was troubled from what Benedict had told him earlier was still firm in his mind.

"So what brings you here?" the boss asked promptly, staring at Caesar as he reached for the glass.

"I just wanted to know how you are doing," answered Caesar, looking at his bottle.

"Grazie per essere un ragazzo così premuroso," the boss uttered.

"But I am no harm at all, thanks to Benedict for saving me. If he didn't I'd surely be dead right now."

Caesar nodded his head, still looking at the glass. The boss shifted to silence.

"That's not the reason why you came here, is it?" the boss asked. Caesar hesitated to answer but he then answered.

"One of my companions in the station has been asking about the case of the organization Godfather, longing for your death," Caesar answered.

The boss nodded satisfied.

"And why is the man longing for my death?"

"She believes that it was the organization that killed her father,"

"What's the name?"

"Frances Mitchell,"

"Frances? Is she–"

"Yes Godfather, she is a woman."

The boss shot a glance at Benedict then to Caesar.

"What do you want me to do?" the boss asked.

"Eliminate her, Godfather," he answered abruptly.

"That's the work of idiots, Caesar. My family's name does not kill women or even beat them up–"

"But Godfather she is a threat," his voice grew harsh. He then apologized to the boss for his manner.

"I understand your anxiety Caesar. But killing her wouldn't completely eliminate the family's treath. I have a better plan than killing her,"

"What is it, Godfather?" he asked just after the boss finished.

"What makes a woman weak, Caesar? Is it their thin arms or their tiny muscles and fists? Is it because femininity isn't used for battle? Or perhaps is it because they are less physically strong?

Neither of the three makes a woman weak, Caesar," the crime lord explained.

"What makes a woman weak is their feelings, their emotions. Women get so easily consumed by love and she is no different from the others,"

"Godfather, you mean?"

The boss glanced at Benedict. Then he turned back to Caesar.

"Romance is the key Caesar, Romance," he answered. Caesar finally drank his glass and smiled.