George pov

It was finally the day.

The fifth and final birthday that I would be spending without Dad.

Good riddance.

The amount of times my mother, an angel, had been kidnapped because of that bastard was absurd.

I was glad he was gone.

I remembered, every single one of the birthdays we celebrated in the living memory of his ghost, the way I smiled when I looked upon his casket, his silver blue gun clutched tightly in his pale hands.

That pistol had been his one prized possession, the only thing he cared about.

The only thing he trusted.

I would laugh until the end of my days at the fact that his placement of reliance didn't serve him well in the end.

That pistol had gotten jammed at the fatal moment he needed to shoot his lifelong opponent down when they agreed to an honorable shoot off.

I chuckled quietly to myself, adjusting my tie and pulling my blazer to cover my own pistol a little bit better.

Finally, after two hours of preparing, I slid my mask over my eyes, ready at last for the final testament to my father's dastardly life.

Mum had been grieving these past years, submerged in paranoia and sadness for her husband.

She thought she loved him, but from a young age I could tell it was only Stockholm syndrome that attracted her to my father.

And it had been killing her for years.

That's why she wanted to end it.

Tonight.

And we would finally be free.

Free from the mafia my father had borne us both into.

Kidnapping my mother, and raping her until she spawned me; our lives had been created by his cruelty and now we had to deal with his mess.

Bullshit.

I walked out of my changing room in the upstairs ballroom rentouts of one of my dads more elegant bars, making my way towards my mother's.

As I said, she was an angel, and didn't deserve the mess she was put in.

When I was younger, maybe five or so, she would tell me stories about her life before Dad.

How she had always dreamed of being a teacher for small children, about her baby sister who was now dead at the hands of my father, about her job at the library when she was a teenager, and about her last job as a model.

And she would sing. Her voice was silk, and I would never admit it, but I would kill to hear it again.

She was the last loved one I had, and the reason I wore a pistol proudly tonight.

She wouldn't die.

I entered her dressing room upon a soft knock on the door, stepping inside and smiling softly at her.

She was twirling around with a champagne colored dress billowing around her, giggling. She looked beautiful, her makeup applied perfectly, a wide smile on her face as though she knew nothing bad of this world, as though she didn't live right in the center of all the evils of the earth.

She still smiled.

My mother was, somehow, able to smile at me after the 20 years of shit we had been through.

Kidnap at my 10th, she was there, in the cell beside mine, singing and smiling, still telling me stories.

When she was taken repeatedly away from me during my 15th year to be chained up and used to please my father, she would leave me with a small regretful smile, but a smile nonetheless.

And after my many lonely kidnappings, she grinned so wide every time I was returned to her arms.

When I was held at gunpoint before her, she had a reassuring smile on her face, letting me know I had nothing to fear. That death was not my enemy. And that I would forever, no matter what, return to her arms.

Perhaps that was why I feared death none now. Anyone who fucked with me would face my wrath rather than any fear.

"Are you ready, Georgie?" Mum had such a sweet voice, always kind, always collected, always sincere and unwavering.

"Yeah..." I say, more words obviously sitting on my tongue.

"What's wrong, darling." In an instant, her warm and soft hand was on my cheek and her gaze was soft.

"How are you so happy?"

I hated my voice, always monotone with no emotion. Years and years of mafia had finally gotten to me, and emotion was difficult to portray.

I was nothing like my mother, and she was all I hoped to be.

"I focus on the good. For you. I love you too much to allow you be infected by the bastards your surrounded with. I know you were raised a certain way, but it doesn't define you. You've killed people but you remain untainted. You remain my little Georgie."

::::::::::::

I was walking around the party, examining the partygoers bc mingling minimally.

I needed to keep a sharp eye, for my mother.

Her speech was approaching, and I needed to ensure her surroundings were safe before she emerged for the first time this evening.

She didn't want me alone with so many assassins, but I'll be damned if she dies before I do at my fault.

She'll be kept safe for as long as I live.

Five minutes to go until she emerges and becomes vulnerable.

I start to see sudden movement from the partygoers; blazers pulled taunted as though to hide something, masquerade masks pulled over faces.

Four minutes.

Hands are slipping into pockets.

Three minutes.

Everyone is turning towards the podium my mother is meant to speak at, peering at it as though anticipating her appearance. How did they know she was meant to show there?!

Two minutes.

Hands inside blazers, the clicking and cocking of guns.

One minute.

I reach up to the earpiece, pressing it to tell my mother's personal bodyguard to keep her where she is, but I'm too late.

A few seconds earlier than the schedule planned, and she was there.

Everything was too fast.

Three people breaking away from the crowd,  swiftly shooting my mother in the chest before they themselves are shot in the head.

I'm running to my mother to save her, but too slow. Another attacker fires the final shot.

The sickening crunch of a skull, grotesque scene of splattering blood.

She was dead in seconds.

And everyone turned to me.

My men began shooting the armed guests as I join in, breaking away from the party.

My eyes were darting around, every face resonating in m my mind, even though with the masks I was only able to see half of their fatial features.

That, perhaps, is why one face was more noticeable.

This one, this mask, it hid everything.

Percelean white, shining a crimson orange in the candlelight, sparks flying over it from the firing guns, but staying as still as the person it belonged to.

The man stood tall, looking directly at me with his hands folded before him.

Then, he held a sign up, directed at me.

"Gotcha.
These are all my men.
I'll come for you next
:)"

Fear.

I felt it, and I didn't know how to react.

I sprinted wildly for the exits, being stopped by more men.

I tried to fight, but I was outnumbered and sloppy from my sudden fear.

I didn't know what to do.

I was turned around, facing the masked man again.

He was closer now, his smile staring down at me eerily, seeming glad at my distress.

Five seconds.

One, the man bent down, tilting his head.

Two, I grieved for my mother.

Three, I became even more scared at my attacker.

Four, a cloth was pressed onto my mouth.

Five, as I writhed, trying to fight the toxin.

Before everything faded into darkness, a sarcastic, husky voice spoke quietly.

"Goodnight, darling. You'll be an amazing asset to me, Georgie..."

1360 words