Into the Mafia’s Den

Countdown to D-Day

“Today is going to be a good day,” I say to myself, staring into the mirror.

Today is the day I prove myself. I will do something dangerous but overdue.

I smooth my skirt and let out a heavy sigh.

All my life, I have wanted to be seen and to accomplish my goals.

I stare at my reflection again. Leah Morgan, a rookie, liar, and survivor. A survivor of mafia crimes.

My foster father’s rules taught me one thing: to trust no one. So I chose to be alone, without friends or a partner. Maybe I was not interested in love because I was too engrossed in my project to bring down every bloody mafia family.

I have been in the police force for five years, and I have been on this earth for twenty-five, following the code of conduct taught to me by my foster father. I allowed myself to be influenced by him, adhering to his rules and listening to his advice. He did all of this to protect me from a certain darkness that loomed around me. But what if he knew it was too late and that darkness had already taken root within me, consuming me?

Of course he would not know this part of me because I always wear my facade around him. In conclusion, the only one I could ever fall in love with was my job. My entire life belonged to the Division.

Today I was going on the most dangerous mission of my career, haunting Riccardo Colombo, the ruthless and notorious mafia boss, a man soaked in crime, money laundering, bribery, and everything evil. He was untouchable, but my division had other plans. We were thinking of a way to make him break.

And my job was to break him down from the inside.

I grab the key to my Toyota Supra and head out, letting the cool breeze brush against my skin. What a good day to be alive.

I slide into the car, insert the key into the ignition, and it roars to life. I take a U-turn to the station. The streets are clear, making the drive smooth and enjoyable. I turn on the radio, listening to the news, but my mind drifts to the mission at hand.

Finally, I arrive at the gate of the station and park in the lot. Sliding out of the car, I head to the doors of headquarters, my boots thudding against the marble floor. It is busy today. Fridays are always busy for us. Officers move around, whispering to one another. I hear giggles and laughter. Of course, I am used to it, yet my mind is fixed on the task at hand.

I arrive at the end of the room where Lieutenant Joseph Morgan, my foster father, stands waiting for me. He is a perfectionist but the only person who ever cared whether I lived or died. He still looks agile for a man in his sixties, his grey hair shimmering against the sunlight, his wrinkled face filled with a frown, jaw clenched, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he has a lot to say about my mission. Maybe he wants to talk me out of it, but I will not be dissuaded from my goals.

“Hey, Leah,” he says, his tone soft, no formalities, just Leah. Something is going on, and it is not good.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Morgan,” I smile, trying to keep my tone light and official.

“We need to talk about something important. The office. Now.”

Of course, I knew this was coming. He was going to sit me down and remind me how he thought this mission was a suicide mission or how I was making a big mistake.

I quietly follow him inside, closing the door behind us. He does not sit. Neither do I. I manage to keep my smile on.

“Leah, I care about you so much, and that is why I am not going to let you do this. I am pulling you out of the case. Period,” he says blandly.

Period? He says it like he owns my life and I am still thirteen, a little teenager he could control. I love him so much, but he is too overprotective, almost like he is in love with me.

I swallow hard, arching my brow. “I am sorry, Father, but you do not get to make decisions for me.”

“When you volunteered about wanting to take this mission, I was not sure if it was a joke or if it was real,” he says, his gaze piercing like he can read my mind. “I understand you are all grown and mature. You have a mind of your own, and I would respect that, but I am not comfortable with you doing this.”

A smirk touches my lips. “I know you care about me so much. I do too, but I am old enough to know what I want, Dad. You do not get to decide my life.”

He lets out a sigh before tossing a file onto his desk. I look at him before hesitantly picking it up and flipping through the pages. A woman’s picture stares back at me. She looks exactly like me—Anna Vasquez, twenty-five, recently employed as one of Colombo’s anonymous personal attendants. If you are wondering why she is anonymous, it is because her family offended Riccardo. Now he is asking for any lady in that family to be a personal attendant.

“Her mother was an old maid working for Riccardo, and she tried to steal information from his estate,” Morgan explains. “Colombo’s men found out. Now she is being blackmailed. They want her to give her only daughter to Riccardo as a price for her mother’s sins. This is where you come in. You will take her place and her identity with no suspicions.”

I nod. “Clean. No sh*t. I can do this.”

Morgan's gaze rests on me as his fingers drum against the desk, he doesn't look too happy with this news of me taking Anna’s Vasquez place. “ it is not clean Leah, you are going to be mistaken for her and every stain she has on her will also be on you, it is not safe for you. The Colombo family are monsters, they are evil, they can easily smell deception from a mile away and when they find out you are playing games, your life would be over, and I can't allow that to happen to you.”

I lean forward, locking eyes with him. “Trust me for once Dad, I can handle it.”

He looks away staring at the windows. “You still don't get my point, Leah.”

 “No, I don't Father, all I know is that you are so overprotective and think I am still ten.”

He looks away then his gaze returns to my face, intense. “I know you are passionate about your job but then that is what scares me, you refuse to have a life outside of work or go out on dates, you're too engrossed in your job, you need a break Leah, you need to be occupied by something else.”

I swallow hard looking away. “It is you who taught me not to trust anyone. You taught me how to be secretive and independent. You aren’t the right person to judge me.”

“I am not judging you, I just think you are choosing to take this job not because of the money, but because of what you hope achieve which is something very dark, a personal desire to see the mafia family fall.” 

A muscle in my jaw tightens. “This isn’t personal.”

Morgan scrolls. “B*llsh*t, I know you more than anyone else here .”

I fake a loud laugh, shaking my head. “There is nothing personal about this, I don’t even remember my childhood, Joe. You know that.”

“I wasn't even referring to your childhood—”

“You don't have a point dad, you need to stop being controlling!”

“Forgive me if I'm being controlling I'm just trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From getting killed!”

“What?”

“it’s still there, driving you. And it’s going to get you killed.”

I swallow down the lump rising in my throat. He can’t be right. He doesn't know I know anything. It's just his conscience eating him up.

I close the file and tuck it under my arm. “What is in there?”

“You have this hatred against the Mafia family because I told you they were connected to your mother's accident.”

Yeah, he used to lie that she was involved in a ghastly motor accident just to protect my innocence I guess but then I had flashes from that day and I decided to do my investigations, that's how I discovered the truth.

“ I know, I'm just trying to get promoted and finally prove myself, father.”

“Leah, you don't —”

“I’ll check in once I’m inside, love you.”

I turn toward the door, but Morgan’s voice stops me. “If you need extraction—”

I turn to look at him.

“That won't be necessary 'cause I won’t be needing it.”

As soon as the door closes, I breathe out slowly not realizing how much breath I've been holding in.

My fingers search my jacket pocket as I pull out a small worn photograph.

I see the face of a woman.

She had my hazel-coloured eyes and smile. My dearest mother.

All of a sudden flashes of memories hit me like a sledgehammer.

I can still hear her screams, my cries.

I'm sitting in a pool of blood.

I'm crying helplessly and then I hear his voice.

Riccardo Colombo.

The man I was sent to investigate.

The same man who murdered my mother with a chainsaw.

He might not know who I am yet but I am going to destroy him.

Every brush on my canvas brings fresh memories, but I choose to ignore them or suppress them just to focus on my art.

My room is almost dim, with only the lamp supplying light to me. This was exactly how I loved to paint, curtains down, just my lamp and me in my little world.

The scent of the oil wafted into my nostrils along with the cigar smoke, as I had just finished smoking. This was my escape, even though it was just for a few hours.

“Perfection,” I whispered to myself as the brush glided across the canvas. Every stroke made my emotions heighten, and it felt like I could bring her to life again.

Her blue eyes were shimmering and full of life, the only light in my dark life, and her lips were full and curved slightly as though she was about to burst into laughter. She had always been a happy woman. Her blonde hair made her look like a queen. She was pure, not until she met the monster who would change her life forever. Riccardo