02

Descending the stairs step by step, I could hear the clicks of heels and boots everywhere, the servants scurrying off back and forth between the kitchen and living room.

The shouts of gruff voices come out muffled behind the closed doors of father’s study, though a set of wooded double sided doors couldn’t possibly isolate out all the yelling.

It’s like a civil war is breaking out. People are running off in every direction hastily, while my father is in his study screaming at whoever is unlucky to be at the receiving end of his temperamental wrath.

I lift a hand to my head, massaging my throbbing temples, this hangover was increasing by the minute, and the fact that the manor is in complete state of disarray and disorder, only worsened the situation.

I stop by the door to my father’s study, and lift my hand in a fist, my knuckles knocking lowly but firmly.

I remember when I was about ten or eleven, I dared to enter father’s study without knocking first, and lets say that the bloodbath greeting my eyesight wasn’t much pleasant for my stomach to upkeep the lunch I had prior that day.

I managed to empty my gut all over his study’s expensive antique wooden floors, not knowing what emotion overpowered him in that exact moment. Fury or disgust.

Although, judging by the furrowed eyebrows, the hiss of his mouth and the wide eyes, I’d say both were equally present there.

I shake the memory away, locking it in the furthest cell at the back of my head, remembering a lot, if not all, has changed since I was a kid.

I draw a deep breath in, upon hearing the silence radiating from the room, I take it as my cue to make a dramatic entrance.

I open the handle to come face to face with my father, Arturo Vasquez, sitting bulkily on his chair behind his paper clad disk, both fists clenched tightly on each side of his chair.

I take notice to the two men siting opposite him, one on each side. They both wearing black spotless suits, with shoes so shiny, you could spot your reflection staring back at you.

Both of them sported dark mops of hair on their heads, not to forget the dark circles under their eyes that proved the lack of sleep.

I take a look at the man sitting on the right, Sebastian Vedora, my father’s second hand. His white undershirt is half tucked into his slacks, signaling the urgency of whatever situation needed him here.

The other man, a trustworthy adviser of his, rubbed a fat hand at the stubble adorning his unshaven jaw.

In conclusion, they both look like they’re waken in a hassle and driven out of bed on an urgent matter by my dad’s command.

« Aiyana, what are you doing here ? » My father takes a look at his wristwatch, noting the late time at night. He frowns.

« I couldn’t sleep. Besides, it’s not like I can with all this yelling around » I answer sarcastically, though by the lack of laughter from the audience I gather that whatever situation they’re discussing is serious and I should probably keep quiet for now.

« Nothing dear, we were just discussing some matters and forgotten about the late hour » His eyes gleam of wrath and tiredness, like whatever had happened had weighed a slumping ton on his square shoulders. He didn’t want to deal with it. He had to deal with it.

And that, was the difference.

I stalk my way towards the kitchen in an attempt to satisfy my thirst with a cool glass of water. Upon seeing one of the guards passing by, I turn around addressing him.

« Hey » I say pointedly.

He seems taken aback that I’m speaking to him. I mean, yeah I might be royalty but that doesn’t exclude the human in me.

« Yes, ma’am ? » The guard answers back gulping.

I roll my eyes at the annoying formalities, it makes me sound like a medieval dying witch.

« You can call me Aiyana. Anyways, mind telling me what happened ? What’s all the fuss about ? » I ask with my finger shooting in every direction, indicating to the mess all around the manor.

He hesitates for a second, like not knowing for sure if that type of info should be disclosed to me or not. Ha, fool. I’m the boss’ daughter. I get what I want one way or another.

I raise an eyebrow expectantly, he better work that mouth of his soon before my temper kicks in mixed with the aching hangover.

« I-I’m not sure ma’am, I mean Aiyana. Something to do with the Russian and Italian mafia. I don’t know any specifics » He answers truthfully and I nod in acknowledgment, not sparing him a second glance while I make my way upstairs.

Russian, Italian and us -Spanish- mafia. All mixed together. It rather seems a gang war is about to break out.

One thing about mafia wars, they’re never pretty, and always end in bloodshed more than lives gained.