Mafia King's Paradise

"Midnight," Stanley breathes as he studies the black and white image of himself, clutched in his right hand. A moment ago when he walked into his office with his team behind him; he noticed a picture and a note pinned by a dagger to the oakwood desk. She didn't have to sign the note for him to know it was Midnight. Her infamous M/O was enough to send shivers of fear down anyone's spine. No matter how fearless you think you are or how untouchable you are, no matter how much you think you can run from her; you can't.

Once you're marked by Midnight you'll be dead within the next twenty-four hours.

"You've been marked," Mario, Stanley's explosives expert, gasps in shock.

"Yes," He confirms. "Although, for some reason, I don't feel as if she wants to kill me." Seeing their looks he adds. "Not now, at least."

"What do you mean?" Alessio, his head of security asks. "You know how it works with Midnight. Once you're marked you'll be dead come next evening."

"The note," He says sliding the note across the smooth desk towards his team. "They say you know when you're about to die. You have a feeling. No matter how much you crave death, no matter if you wish it upon yourself; you know. For me, I'm not afraid of dying. I've felt the presence of death far too many times. I don't feel like I did when I was shot in Bangkok. I don't feel like I did when my father attempted to assassinate me. I don't feel anything."

"Perhaps you feel nothing because you've accepted death," Devina, his weapons specialist remarks. "You have welcomed death far too many times. You don't fear dying. You've embraced it."

"No," Says Marvin, his right hand and the most intelligent person Stanley has ever met besides her. "The quote Midnight used talks about life going on. She is either mocking the fact that she will be killing you in the near future or she is saving your life. The quote could mean someone is after you and beseeched of her assistance to take care of the job and she left this as a warning to watch your back."

"Marvin, have you lost your mind?" Devina asks her brother seriously. He quirks his right brow at her question. "Midnight is ruthless. She kills with no mercy, she'll kill anyone no questions asked. The woman is a legend for a reason. She has and will never leave a target breathing."

"No, Devina I have not lost my mind." Marvin huffs. "It's just a theory. I've never seen her mark in person, but I've also never heard of her leaving anything other than the picture. This is a message of some sort."

"I completely agree," Anderson, Stanleys' hacker says.

"As do I," Mario and Alessio say in unison.

"Robert Frost," Stanley muses. "The world's deadliest woman enjoys poetry."

"Indeed I do," A voice says to the left of him. All seven heads, including his sharply turn towards the balcony where a woman dressed in a black trench coat and a fedora leans against his open balcony door. Her head is angled down so the only thing visible is her tan sharp angular cheekbones, her blood-red lips, and her thick black hair. Hair so black the black hole would be jealous.

"You'll look at me when you speak," Stanley commands in a deadly calm tone. She throws her head back and laughs. He glimpses a black lace mask covering half her face. Her eyes shine bright with amusement, overshadowing the pain and emptiness her eyes are rumored to hold.

"I'm sorry," She speaks once she recovers from her fit of laughter. "I just find it amusing you think I'll give in to your commands." She pauses to put her hands in her coat pocket. "The only time I'll look at you when I speak is when the life is draining out of your eyes by my hand."

The room is silent. Not a single sound is heard.

"Fortunately, for you, that won't be for a long time." The corner of her mouth tilts slightly, not enough to be qualified as a smile. "Scruffy is right the note I left is a message and I will continue to leave you a message every day until I decide to kill you." She slowly walks backward to the ledge of the balcony. "Now all you have to do is figure out that message." She gracefully hops onto the ledge of the balcony. "Have a nice rest of your evening, ladies and gentlemen." And with those parting words, she falls backward off the ledge.

Alessio, Mario, and Devina run to the ledge, looking down trying to find where she went while Anderson, Marvin, and Stanley stand dumbfounded, trying to wrap their heads around what just happened.

"Scruffy," Marvin hisses. "She called me scruffy."

Devina, Alessio, and Mario come back from the balcony just as Raymond and Mia walk through the office doors. Mia frowns when she notices the expressions of her friends.

"What the hell did we miss?" She questions.

"Oh you know, just your everyday death threat." Anderson shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"Was it the Columbians?" Raymond asks.

"We don't know," Stanley holds up the picture for them to see. Raymond and Mia gasp in unison. "Midnight just paid us-me a little visit. Marvin will explain everything I need to kill some people." He sighs before starting towards my office door.

"Wait!" Mia shouts. Stanley stops in his tracks with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn't bother to turn around as she continues. "Don't you want to know whether you're having a niece or nephew?" Stanley turns around. Raymond and Mia now have the room's undivided attention.

"We're having a girl!" She says excitedly as tears stream down her cheeks. Devina and Mario engulf her in a hug as Anderson punches Raymond in the jaw. Alessio rushes to check on him as Marvin and Stanley stand still not knowing what to do.

"First you knock my sister up!" Anderson seethes. "And with a girl imagine the amount of people we are going to have to kill for looking at her inappropriately." His eyes widen in realization before a smile graces his features. "Imagine all the little dicks I'll get to cut off. Oh, I love you, Zozo! Thank you for knocking my sister up!" He gushes going in for a hug. Raymond pushes him away in disgust as they all laugh at Anderson's antics.

Anderson goes in for another hug, this time successfully succeeding. "Get off of me you fat fuck!"

"Mia!" Anderson whines. "Tell your baby daddy to stop being mean to me."

Mia gives Anderson a deadpan look. "Did you not just punch my baby daddy in the face?"

Anderson smiles innocently. "That's ancient history just like your baby daddy." Anderson lowers his voice to a whisper. "You had to pick the old man?"

"I'm only thirty-two," Raymond protests.

"Like I said old," Anderson replies. "Once you hit thirty you're old."

"You do realize you will be 'old' soon, right?" Raymond deadpans.

"I got six years," Anderson dismisses.

Sitting at the bar, sipping a whiskey as she plays chess with one of her regulars is Midnight. Mr. Justin Lucas was her favorite person in the world. He knows what she does, he knows the type of person she is and he willingly for almost three years now still comes to the speakeasy to see her every night. He was one of her first customers. Last month he passed down his billion-dollar company to his son and now claims seeing her is the highlight of his day.

"My Dear," Mr. Lucas sighs. "Your heart isn't in the game. What's bothering you?"

Mr. Lucas can tell when something is bothering Midnight. Despite only knowing her for three years and not even knowing her true name; he has a better bond with her than he does with his own two children. He considers Midnight the daughter he always wished he had.

Of course, he loved his biological daughter, but even he could admit she was not the sharpest tool in the shed. With Midnight he could talk about business, literature, history, money, jewelry, etc, and a bonus as she always has the best gossip. Being friends with a woman who knows everything and every one has its perks.

"Isn't the saying your head isn't in the game, old man?" She quirks a brow.

He chuckles. "Indeed it is, but right now your heart isn't in the game."

"I don't have a heart," She whispers. She hasn't for a long time. Five years ago she sold her soul to the devil to become who she is. Seven years ago she left her old life behind to start a new one, a better one. She wasn't the same weak little girl who hid in the shadows of others. Now she is the strong woman who hides in the shadows. Ironic isn't it? She still hides in the shadows.

"Yes, my dear, you do have a heart. You just haven't found the one to touch it yet." Mr. Lucas places his hand on hers. A risky move. If it was anyone else they would be on the floor dead in a puddle of their own blood. But this was Mr. Lucas, the man who she considers a father.

"Today," She starts. "I saw someone, someone I haven't seen in a very long time."

"Do you have to kill them?" Mr. Lucas asks curiously.

"No, not unless given a reason to." She replies immediately while examining the chessboard.

"Ahh," Mr. Lucas moves his queen three spaces to the left. "And here I thought you didn't have morals."

"I have Morals, old man." She states. "I don't kill children and I don't kill pregnant women." That's not entirely true. She has killed a couple of teenagers, they were both involved in human trafficking, along with their fathers. Midnight hates sick little twisted shits like that and the fact that one of them was a sixteen-year-old girl doing it to other children much younger than herself disgusts her.

She doesn't care how old, disabled, or sick in the head you are, if you rape or beat another person she will put a bullet in your fucking skull. Rape and abuse is one thing she will never tolerate.

She moves her queen five spaces to the left and announces. "Checkmate." Mr. Lucas sighs as he takes a sip of his Merlot. She can't for the life of her understand how this man or anyone enjoys wine. She finds it repulsive, the flavor. The color; however she loves. Red, the color of blood, is her favorite color. Everything she owns consists of three colors; black, white, and red.

"Congratulations, My dear, you won, again."

"I'm starting to entertain the thought that perhaps you let me win," She suggests. Midnight finds it quite peculiar that a chess champion of Saint Parker's Academy loses to a woman with up until three years ago had no experience in the game of chess.

He chuckles. "My dear, I had not played chess for thirty years prior to meeting you. I'm a tad rusty and you are you." She looks at him with a quizzical expression."What do you mean, 'you are you."'

He sighs and gives her a deadpan look. "Midnight, you are the most intelligent woman I've ever met. Your IQ is through the roof. You speak twelve languages. You can disable a government security system in less than twenty-four hours, need I go on?" He clutches his chest and takes a deep breath. "My point is there is nothing you can not do. You are the epitome of a perfect person, a robot as you will."

Midnight makes a deep noise in the back of her throat, one that could be classified as a scoff. "A robot who kills people for a living." He grins, cheekily. "What else do robots do?" She lets out a laugh. Mr. Lucas always knows how to make her feel better. He is not just her first customer, he is her best friend, her confidant, and the only father figure she's ever known. He knows everything about her except her name, of course. He knows about her upbringing. He knows her deepest darkest secrets. And what she loves the most about him is; he doesn't judge her.

"And for the record," She takes a sip of her whiskey. "I can't cook."

Sauntering into Rodgriguez's office, like she owned the damn place; Midnight didn't expect to see Stanley Rodgriguez himself drinking a glass of dark-colored liquor. It was three in the morning after all. He sat on his leather couch, facing her, drink in hand, blood splattered his white dress shirt, hand veins casually showing.

She practically salivates as her eyes zero in on his hands. The veins running down his tan slender fingers look like thick roots one would see if they were to dig up an Aspen tree. He looks at her with a blank expression. His eyes scream pain and emptiness. To anyone else his eyes would look, hollow, devoid of any emotion, cold. But to her, they mirror her own.

"Do you stare at all your targets?" Stanley asks. His voice is raspy, sexy, in a deprived-of-sleep kind of way; much different from his voice from yesterday afternoon.

"Only the hot ones," She retorts, sending him a cheeky grin. He smirks in response, amused by her cynical humor. "Would you like a glass?" He asks, gesturing his hand out to the side table where a glass bottle of amber-colored liquor resides.

"Why not?" She shrugs. He tried to hide his baffled look with a smirk, but she caught the quick second of bafflement before it left his face. She sits on the leather chair across from him as he pours her a glass of the amber liquid.

"Bourbon," He slides the glass across the coffee table. "If you were wondering."

"I was," She picks up the glass and takes a small sip, tasting the sweet liquor she loves so much. A drop of bourbon trails down her red lips. Lips the color of blood. She raises a finger to her lips, wiping the liquor before placing her finger in her mouth and sucking the bourbon off. Stanley's eyes narrow in on her lips, staring at the movement intensely.

"Do you stare at all your assailants?" She asks with a cynical grin. He sends her an amatory smirk and says, "Only the sexy ones." She sucks on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. At this very moment Midnight thanks whatever God will listen for ridding of her blush reflex in high school.

"The message," He starts, loosening his tie and slumping a little in his seat. "What is it today?" She takes the handwritten message out of her leather jacket pocket and slides it across the coffee table. He picks it up and reads it aloud. '"The only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing."'

"You're being cynical," He muses, shoving the piece of paper into his pocket. "It's my favorite thing to be." She replies, a smirk forming on her face. He looks at her, really looks at her. His eyebrows scrunch together as he tries to analyze her. Her body language at first glance shows relaxed and unbothered, but as he studies her he comes to discover she is far from relaxed. Her left finger is twitching against her thigh. A clear sign she is nervous. Now why would she be nervous if the ball is in her court?

Her phone buzzes in her jacket pocket. A silent reminder she has a target or targets to go after. She swallows the contents of her glass before standing up gracefully. Stanley looks at her intently, his eyes boreing holes into hers. "Unfortunately, that's my cue to leave." She doesn't bother waiting for a response instead she walks towards his glass French doors that open up to a balcony. Before her hand can turn the knob he speaks. "You lied."

"About what?" She asks, not bothering to turn around. "You said 'the only time I'll look at you when I speak is when the life is draining out of your eyes by my hand,' yet you held my stare tonight and I'm still breathing."

"We can change that if you like." Silence is what she gets in response. She turns the handle and steps out into the chilly night air. She softly closes the door behind her before diving head-first over his glass railing.

*****

Drinking, it's what Stanley does whenever he can't fall asleep. Whenever the nightmares come to plague his dreams, nightmares about her, nightmares about his father, nightmares about his mother. Drinking doesn't take the pain away it just numbs it. For a brief period he can feel free, no pain, no emptiness, no sadness, no mafia life.

In the moments in which his conversation with Midnight took place, he felt normal; he felt like a guy, in a bar, drunkenly flirting with the pretty girl next to him. He felt like he wasn't himself. They were talking about his inevitable death, but it felt different. It felt like they were just two strangers talking. She didn't know him and he didn't know her. Which he supposes is true because they don't know each other. It was comfortable, he felt at peace.

Pouring himself another glass of rum, he watches as the amber liquid flows out of the glass bottle like a waterfall. Watching it flow he can't help but wonder why Midnight accepted his offer for a drink. For one of the most intelligent women on the planet, it was a careless mistake that could have ended up with her foaming from the mouth.

"Have you gotten so lonely you resorted to drinking rum with imaginary strangers?" A voice asks from the doorway. He looks up, realizing the liquor spilled over the rim of the glass and is now leaking onto the floor. He lets out a string of curses in Italian takes his suit jacket off and tries to soak up as much liquid as he can.

"I wasn't talking to imaginary strangers and I'm not lonely," He tells the person while throwing the suit jacket in the fire. The fire spits and crackles at the new fuel-filled jacket.

"Then who else were you drinking bourbon with at three in the morning?" Anderson asks, suddenly appearing beside him. Stanley doesn't bother to look at him instead he takes the handwritten note out of his pocket and hands it to Anderson. He takes it with raised eyebrows and reads it, sucking in a breath.

"You were having a drink with Midnight?" He asks in confusion. If Stanley were him he would be confused as well. It's not every day one has a drink with their assailant who seems to be toying with him. He nods. "She's being cynical," Anderson says while looking down at the piece of paper.

"I know," Stanley mumbles. "We will deal with this later, there's not much to be done, it's a waiting game with her. But for now, we need to prepare for tonight's mission."

*****

Walking away it's what men do best.

Women do it better.

Walking away, AK-47 in hand, slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder. She leaves seven bodies behind. Three were her targets four were witnesses or liabilities as Midnight likes to call them.

The men betrayed Sanchez Romano, the drug king of Spain by stealing some of his shipment. In turn, Romano, a dear friend of hers, hired her to kill them and return his shipment. She had some of her men haul it on one of her cargo jets and ship it back to Barcelona while she sat and watched the scene unfold, slashing her favorite whip out at the air.

The men and women that work for her are mercenaries who much like herself have nothing to live for. They are not loyal to her, they take jobs for others like herself, and they'll do anything for money, whether it's torturing someone for information or carrying crates of drugs. They'll do it for a price. She calls them, she gives them a price and they either accept or don't; it's as simple as that.