Beautiful Monster

LIOR

20 years ago (Lior, 19)

“Clear,” I said into the phone.

Some moments later, a man who was dressed just as a maintenance worker leaves the antique and jewelry store at the other end of this very long hallway, walking fast towards the exist sign ahead.

Even with a baseball cap pulled down low, Jemir kept his head bent, phone pressed to his ear, trying to stay out of the cameras. He was careful—but he didn’t need to be.

Ender Vesco, the Albanian Mafia boss, had already paid someone in security to blackout the cameras for ten minutes.

As soon as Jemir disappeared, I slipped into the staff stairwell. “I’m going down,” I said.

“No,” the voice on the phone said sharply. “Ender wants the explosion on tape. I set a five-minute timer. Be ready with the camera. I’ll meet you at the garage exit when you’re done.”

I worked my sleeves up and took a peek at my rusty watch. The glass were scratched, the leather was worn out. That wristwatch was the only possession I had of my older brother when we ran away from Sicily.

“Fine,” I muttered and hung up.

I hated taking orders from someone like Jemir, but that stops tonight. The deal I had with the Albanian boss? Ends tonight.

Yesterday, Vesco surprised me by offering a permanent spot in the clan. Regular pay, protection, all the perks. It was tempting. Security, money—life made easier. But respect? That wasn’t part of it. I’d still be the Sicilian nobody they’d dragged in. So I said no.

In a world as violent and messy as this, very little matters.

One thing does—keeping your word. Ender Vesco keeps his. And starting tonight, I’m free.

I had the skills and connections I needed to build my own life, make my own money and live a lifestyle of my choice. I swore to my brother that one day, we would go back home and I never go back on my words.

One last job. Then freedom.

I cracked open the stairwell door and stared at my watch. The second hand moved slow, ticking loud in the empty concrete hall. There was no one here.

The mall wasn't about to open for hours and the few workers who would come in later had not even started working.

The other side of the mall was as quiet as a grave, PERFECT! Just the perfect place to plant a bomb in this freakishly tinny jewelry store. Fragile glass, old trinkets, shiny junk nobody under thirty would touch.

The owner had been stubborn. He refused Vesco’s “protection,” and now he’d pay the price.

So we knew that the explosion inside it would ruin everything he cared about, going down from glass casings to little collectibles.

I was all prepared to take my phone and that's when I heard it.

Laughter.

A child. My stomach dropped. No one should be here—especially kids.

“I don’t get why we had to trouble her before the store opened,” a woman said, her voice floating down the hall. “We could’ve come later.”

“I didn’t want to deal with the crowd,” a man replied, chasing little feet. “Hey! Come back!”

“Just let her be,” the woman said softly. “She likes the roses in the window, and it’s empty anyway. We can watch her from here.”

I was still, frozen while my hands kept shaking over the explosives.

I held onto the stairwell door so hard the wood almost cracked. My chest pounding loudly, loudly enough I couldn't even hear anything else. My head spins.

There’s no time to call Jemir, no way to stop the timer. And even if I did, he’d probably ignore me. Collateral damage has never mattered to him.

Then I hear it—giggling, bright and pure. A little girl, barely three, races past the stairwell toward the antique shop’s glowing display. The shop I just wired with a bomb.

I don’t think. I just move.

Adrenaline takes over as I charge after her. She’s halfway to the window, squealing with joy, arms stretched toward the glittering crystal flowers under the lights. Ten feet between us.

The parents are shouting behind me, panic in their voices. They have no idea why a stranger is chasing their kid. There was no time for explanations, this bomb was going off any second from now.

“Stop!” I scream.

She freezes.

Five feet.

Her little eyes lock with mine. Too late. Way too late.

One foot.

I scoop her up just as the explosion rips through the air.

Glass cuts across my face and arms. The pain burnt so badly I almost couldn't breathe. I was choking on the dust and smoke whipping around me like a storm. My hands were shaking but I still held onto her tightly, her head placed under my chin and my body protecting her.

Please. Oh God. let her be okay.

Everything happened too fast, there was not even time enough to think of turning and getting her somewhere safe. She was so small and my whole body covered her completely.

Jesus! My ears were ringing and the screaming of alarms made it hard to hear anything else. I. Couldn't hear a cry, a whimper or even a shaky breath. All I Could hear barely hear were disorganized footsteps of a woman, she was screaming.

I felt shivers going down my spine, my right leg buckles, my knee kept hitting the floor and the pain I felt was nothing short of death.

I couldn't even sit upright. At that moment, all I was focused on was keeping her close to me, pressed to my chest. Nothing else mattered.

I slide a hand to her cheek and let myself fall to the side.

Pain explodes again as my face hits the shards of glass scattered across the floor. Jagged pieces cut my hand still cupping her face, but I refuse to let go.

It’s only seconds, maybe, since the blast—but it feels like hours. My vision blurs. The world dissolves into smoke and dust, shapes melting into nothing.

Everything fades except for her eyes. Wide. Dark.

Polished eyes, looking at me through her rough hair.

Blood ran down her cheeks and forehead, enough to make her cry and scared but she wasn't crying. She was holding onto me tight, staring at me like I had spoiled her game day or something and it was funny but I didn't have the strength to laugh.

She’s okay. She’s alive.

I haven’t killed a kid.

But I’m still a killer.

The smoke and shadows keep swallowing the world around me. The lights flicker, shapes vanish, and the only thing left in focus is those onyx eyes.

And then, even they disappear.

​MILENA

20 years later (Present day)

Getting kidnapped sucks.

Getting kidnapped while your bladder is about to burst? That’s a whole new level of misery.

“I need to pee,” I whisper under my breath.

The idiot sitting far from me finally brings up his head to look at me. He tries to make his face look scary but it twists in to pain. His huge hand moves into the bruise, pressing it down to control the swelling.

“No,” he snaps, and goes right back to fiddling with his device like I’m not even there. I can tell he’s still mad about the backpack hitting him earlier.

The steady sounds coming from the plane's engine goes into rhythm with the football game roaring from his speaker. I keep my hands together so he won't see them shaking.

Throwing a tantrum right now isn't going to help and it would only make my chance of escaping alive tiny. I need to keep it together and stay calm as I can be in this mess.