Mafially Yours

Elena

For those who like guys with warning signs.

Red is my favorite color too.

I can clearly remember the moment my dad got shot right in front of me, but what hurts the most is not being able to picture the face of the actual shooter. I wouldn't recognize him even if he walked past me. On that fateful day, my dad decided to take me on a trip to escape from work stress and spend some quality time with me. Little did I know that it would end in pain and sorrow.

Initially, I was afraid of the ocean, but that fear faded as I grew to love it. I started appreciating the gentle waves that softly approached my feet, creating a soothing crashing sound. The water's rhythm echoed my heartbeat, forming a beautiful melody. The breeze tousled my hair, turning them into wisps that touched my face and floated above my head. I cherished everything about the ocean and wished I could stay there forever.

"Are we ready to go?" my dad asked.

Wanting to savor the ocean a bit longer, I replied, "Not yet." He nodded and went to check us out of our hotel suite. He assured me he would join me shortly, and he did.

After settling the bill, he signaled that he was ready, and I followed him to the car.

"Wait, before we leave, I have something for you," he said, holding my hand and reaching for his pocket. He pulled out a box.

Smiling with curiosity, I asked, "You got me a gift?" and hugged him.

"Yes," he replied, handing me the box. I opened it to find a silver necklace with "Nana" on it - his affectionate nickname for me. My smile widened.

"This is gorgeous, Dad. Thank you," I put it on, admiring its beauty. He grinned.

"Come on, let's go. We'll be late."

The drive was quiet but comforting. Although the silence tempted me to close my eyes, I resisted. I wanted to stay awake. Time with my dad was precious, and I didn't want to miss any part of it, even the journey home.

"Sleep, Peach, if you want," he suggested.

"No, I'll stay with you," I blinked repeatedly, trying to stay alert. "I really enjoyed this trip. It's kind of sad that it's over."

"We'll have more. We can come here again next time I take a break from work."

"Your work is tough; you never get breaks."

He chuckled, "I promise I'll try to make the next break sooner than this time."

"We'll see," I teased. The silence returned, and I gazed out the window, watching the trees pass by like scenes from a movie. The wind brushed against my face, but I refused to close the window. I enjoyed the feeling, captivated by the beauty around me, even if my eyes teared up from the wind. I guess something in the breeze was to blame.

"What's wrong?" He concernedly asked.

"Something got in my eye," I whined as I wiped it. I hissed, "Damn it."

"Do you have tissues? Try to wipe it."

"I don't. Do you?" I started looking with one eye open around the car to find anything to wipe my eye with. "Do you have it here?" I opened the glove box in front of me. I silently gasped. It was a picture of my dad with a woman. My heart dropped. Is that mom?

"Elena! Close that." He pushed it back. My brain was acting so slowly that I didn't move for another minute, trying to comprehend what just happened. Was that really mom? Why did I never see that picture? Why didn't he want me to see that picture? We never talked about her. I knew talking about her made him sad, and I hated seeing his widened eyes closed and the disappointment that filled his face when I mentioned her. But I knew nothing about her.

"Was...was that...mom?" It felt weird saying that. His silence made me sure it was her. That was mom. I saw what my mother finally looked like at twenty-three years. I never met her. I never knew what she looked like or what she acted like. Whenever I ask about her, he changes the subject. I never knew if she was even dead. I grew up making myself believe that she died when she got me, and he is scared to tell me that. "Dad, I'm old enough now to know what happened to her."

"Am I not enough for you?" he jokingly asked.

"Dad," I sighed. The same sentence he says every time I mention her name.

"I don't get why you want to know, seriously. It's not important." He said, "She's just not...around. She never was." His calm voice became aggressive, and I didn't know why.

"Did she cheat on you?" I brutally asked, expecting him to be broken or angry. But he laughed.

"What are you saying, sweetie?" He hit the wheel, laughing some more.

"Then what happened, Dad?"

He coughed. "Let's talk about this later. Now tell me, what are you planning on doing when we get back? I don't think I will be staying the night at home. I have to go check on the company."

"Dad," I paused, "I'm letting it go this time, it's long overdue. No! Not this time." I insisted on knowing. Before, I didn't care much, I only asked when she crossed my mind, wondering where she went, what she did, if she died, and why she died, but he didn't answer. I would drop it and get taken aback by whatever he said next. But her picture choked me. Why is her picture in his car? And why did he never show it to me?

"What would you like to know?" The way he asked this made me sure that whatever I said next, he would not take it seriously.

"What happened to Mom? And why is her picture in your car when you never showed it to me? You told me you don't have pictures of her because she hates taking pictures."

"She did."

"Then what is this?" I opened the glove box again and pointed at the picture. I stared at her some more. She was beautiful. I softly smiled. She looked kind of like me. She had wavy, dark hair and hazel eyes. Her smile was flawless.

"I...didn't know I left that there."

"Still?" I raised my eyebrows, "when did you think you didn't have it anymore?"

"I don't know, Elena. It probably got here with some documents I keep there or something. I don't know."

"What is wrong with getting to know her or even seeing her? And why are you never telling me about her?"

"Because it's best for you that way."

"Dad, I want to know."

"I don't want you to; it is what is best for you and me even." His voice became louder.

"Dad, but I'd like to know; she is my mom, and I deserve to know, don't deprive me of this."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why is mom not around?"

"Because she left."

The tension died, and the loud voices were replaced by silence. But this time, it wasn't comforting.

"She left us, Nana." He paused, his eyes never leaving the road. "She chose to leave us when you were a little child. A baby. A three-month baby." He gulped and shook his head. "You were a baby that still needed her milk and she left me with you, with me not having a clue of what to do and raising a child. I panicked every time you cried because I didn't know what you wanted. I had to try everything to find out why you were."

I adjusted myself in my seat, staring at the road too.

"No matter how much I begged her to come back, no matter how many letters I sent her, her parents, her sisters. I got nothing. I even went to their house and knocked for hours and waited and waited for someone to walk out just to help me with you. I stood there for hours in the cold with you, little girl, between my arms, helpless, not knowing what to do. Then I realized that all that time I came and stood there in front of an empty house. They moved. I even tried to find them but I didn't know where to look except around their house."

My eyes watered and I didn't know what to say.

"I know you want to know about her and you want to know if your mom exists, but she doesn't deserve to be your mom, Nana. Why would she be a parent to you if she left you? Why do you care to know her when she doesn't care to know you?" He paused. "When I gave up on finding her, I was angry, and that's when I promised myself that I would let no one know what happened and that she's never going to see you again as long as I'm alive and breathing. No matter how much she begs me. No matter how much she looks for us, she's not going to see you again. So I took you, and I moved, way further than she would ever go." He closed his eyes for a few seconds and gripped the wheel tighter. "It breaks me when you say "mom," because she doesn't deserve to be your mom. She doesn't deserve to be called mom."

We stayed silent for a couple of minutes, letting the road noises be our only background. I needed this time to let his words sink in. I kept wondering why she chose to leave.

"Do you know if she's still alive?" I asked.

"She is." He harshly said, as if he wished she wasn't. "She left this picture to someone working at the company. She gave him money to give this picture to you."

"Do you know why she chose to leave?"

He took a moment to respond to my question, and I wasn't blaming him. I stared at the sun that was setting on us and blinked a couple of times to stop the tears that kept threatening to fall.

"Because we were broke." He finally said. "She said she couldn't keep living like this. She said she's going to go find herself, somewhere else...with someone else... who has money." He looked out the window.

"I'm so sorry, dad." I placed my hand on his arm, not sure if I was apologizing for what she did to him or for asking and reopening his wound.

"At least now you know." His coldness made me close my mouth. But he was right. At least now I know, so I can stop breaking him every time I ask about her and act like he was the one hiding her or what happened to her from me.

The rest of the ride was silent. When we parked in front of our house, I was the first one to get out of the car. I wanted to escape this silence. I wanted to escape this feeling that I caused him. It was dark, and it was getting colder. I looked back at him. He was still in the car and not in the mood to get out.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked him.

"In a bit." He yelled back.

I nodded and walked to the front door. I got my key out, opened the door, and stepped in, walking straight to the kitchen to have a cup of water. It was so necessary to gulp down the news I just got. Why did she choose to leave us for money? I filled my cup with water and stood on the island as I sipped at it. But I suddenly heard yelling from outside. I frowned. Who is he yelling at?

On my way to the door, I heard a loud shot. I screamed. I dropped the cup of water that had splashed everywhere and filled the ground with a million pieces of glass. I ran to the door and opened it. My soul left my body when I saw my father lying on the ground, motionless, breathless, and unconscious. A lake of blood started to fill the ground around his chest. His hand formed around his chest, but instead of helping, it was only turning red. I was frozen. I slowly moved closer to him. My heart is beating loudly against my chest. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. My body was refusing to breathe. I got there.

"Find Huncho; he will help. You, Huncho, that's his name, Nana." As he took his last breath, I looked down at him with tears flowing down my eyes, I felt helpless. A perfect hole was centered in the middle of his chest. His eyes stayed open, but his heart stopped beating. His face slowly turned grey and lifeless.

No matter how much I yelled and cried, no matter how many times I hit the wall, my pain didn't go away; it hurt a lot. I wasn't sure how I made it through the night because I thought about joining him many times. He left me all alone in this cold and lonely world. My eyes wouldn't close, even for a few seconds. I just stared at the ceiling, feeling like I couldn't move. It seemed like I would wake up and find out it was just a bad dream – the kind you wake up from, and everything is normal. But, unfortunately, the nightmare was real.

I woke up in the morning with the sun shining into my room through the curtains. I struggled to get out of bed, made myself get dressed, and drove all the way to where the funeral was.

Lots of people filled the room, and it was really noisy, but I couldn't hear anything. The funeral made me really sad. In times like these, when you feel so much pain and it's like you're silently screaming, good memories come up like a beautiful meadow in spring. Those moments mix tears with smiles, and the pain is because there's no happiness anymore. I had to look at where my dad lay, thinking he might open his eyes any moment and rescue me from this terrible real-life nightmare. Good memories hurt so much that I tried to find a bad one just to ease my pain a bit, but my brain wouldn't let me. It was like all the bad memories disappeared, and all I could remember were the best times with him.

I lost track of time, and I didn't realize my cheeks were wet until the whispers around me got louder. It brought me back to the painful reality. I looked around and saw everyone staring at the door behind me, whispering more. I furrowed my brow and turned to see what caught everyone's attention. A group of men in black stood in a perfect triangle right by the door. I looked back at the people in the room, wondering who they were and why everyone was acting so strangely. I pushed these thoughts aside and stood up to thank them for coming.

"Hello, I am Brad's daughter, E-..." I offered my hand and started to introduce myself to the centre of their triangle, but one of the men cut me short.

"Elena Fernandez." He continued my name for me. I raised my eyebrow but brushed it off.

"How do you know my father?"

"We work with him in his company." He coldly replied. I nodded and looked away. I started wondering about the future of the company, but the men standing in front of me interrupted, "I am not sure if he ever mentioned my name, but I am Huncho."

My heart dropped. I stared into his ocean blue eyes for a few seconds before being interrupted by the man behind him: "And I'm Fred, short for Fredrick. He smiled and offered me his hand, but my full focus was on Huncho. Huncho gave him a warning look, making Fredrick's smile disappear and making him put his hands back.

"Nice to meet you. My father told me to find you on his last breath." I wasn't sure if I was telling him or reminding myself.

He nodded as if he expected what I just told him.

"Why did he do that? Why did he tell me to find you?" i thought

"I am the one who will protect you." He simply said that, confusing me even more.

"Protect me? from what?"

He nodded once. He was so strange, so cold and so silent. Even his expressions weren't welcoming to me. He dug his hand into his long black coat and stared across the room. I looked to where he was looking and his eyes were focused on my father.

"Protect me from what?"

He didn't answer me for a few seconds. His blue eyes collected tears but refused to let them down.

"Your father told me if anything happens to him, you're my responsibility." He spoke, with his deep and cold voice with his eyes still fixed on my father.

So many questions arose in my head after what he said. "As much as I am flattered, but I don't need to be your responsibility."

He looked down at me and shook his head.

"I'm saying I will protect you, why did you get offended." He scanned the room.

"I'm not offended. I just don't need your protection." I shrugged. I looked behind me and shook my head. "I can't think of that right now. I need to say goodbye to my father." I said and took my place again in the room.

The next hour was the longest and most painful hour of my entire life. I felt that my heart slowly found its way out of my body and went to lay next to my father. I wasn't sure how I got through the whole thing. When the reception was done, I knew that there was only one step left. Bury him. Right when I stepped out of the reception, a tall figure appeared in front of me. I gasped.

"Didn't mean to scare you." Huncho. Huncho again. "Give me your car keys." He opened his hand avoiding my eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Why?"

"Because you're coming with me."

"Coming with you, where?"

"I already explained it inside."

I blinked a couple of times. His pride was getting on my nerves.

"Excuse me. I need to go bury my father." I tried to step away from him, but he followed my steps, blocking my way again.

"I won't say it again. You're coming with me." He hissed.

"Why are you talking to me like that? No, I am not." My voice rose. Before my next action, his hand formed around my forearm and tightened his grip. I winced, trying to break his grip. "What are you doing?" I yelled.