1 La Fuga I

Smoke slowly rose from the smoldering end of a thick cigar, filling the room with scent of tobacco. The man took a huff, and held the cigar between his thumb and forefinger, letting the thick smoke within him to calm his nerves, before he let it escape through his nose, exhaling deeply to expel the foreign scent from his body. His pulse, racing a few hours before, has returned to a relaxed state.

Behind his head, he heard a very familiar click. Another huff, brew the smoke inside, let it out. His graying mustache twitched ever so slightly, but he remained passive. Behind the shadow of his hat were piercing eyes that recognized the situation. Beneath the stoic glimmer was a small spark of regret and sadness. Another huff, another puff. Distant screams muffled by the nicotine.

"You will kill me, my child?" His voice was steady. Something dripped heavily from his sentence, be it irony or fear, even he didn't know. He let the cigar burn out and placed it on the ashtray, recently cleaned.

A distinctly deep female voice answered him.

"As your rightful successor." Her hand jammed the Smith and Wesson Model 19's muzzle closer to his head until she felt his skull. There were exactly 4 bullets in her gun, all with the boss's name on it. Her black hair was in a ponytail, like how her father used to tie it. Her eyes showed no compassion, reflecting nothing but ebony steel.

"Arriverderci, papa." She announced to the room of invisible spectators, as if all of this was an act and the curtain shall fall at any moment. Yet the curtain shall fall only on him.

"Arriverderci, amore." He said, his voice turning raspy and rough, reminding him of his old age. Old and feeble, yet not weak, but far weaker than his daughter, who he trained personally. He was to be killed by a monster of his own creation, and the irony made him chuckle, if he can call something blocking his throat and making him cough a chuckle. "My Frankenstein, my angel of death." He spoke, finally, "Il fuoco lava via il peccato."

4 specks of burning steel penetrated the old man's skull, 4 holes came out his temple. The recently cleaned ashtray was sprayed with blood and brain matter, everything Antonio Ain-Soph-Ur is and was, splattered on the table. It was quick and painless, he was dead before he hit the table, the last bit of mercy Alissa Ain-Soph-Ur could spare for the man she once called father.

"Sarò quel fuoco." She whispered to the corpse. There was no answer. Her father wasn't there anymore. Perhaps he was paying for his sins now.

Alissa dropped the gun and allowed herself a moment to appreciate her handiwork. Or perhaps to allow her humanity to search for even a flicker of sadness, or maybe regret. There was none. She had something else to do.

She reached over and untied her father's necklace. The gold chain was useless, though worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. What was important was the unassuming pendant made of ruby lined with gold. It was a flaming tempest, a flame in the shape of a whirlwind, the insignia of the Ain-Soph-Ur, passed down from boss to boss.

The moment she saw the pendant, rage boiled within her. There was only half of a pendant at the end of the chain. She clenched her teeth in frustration, but slowly calmed herself down. She cursed her father one more time, but while this might be an extremely big problem if she were to inherit the title properly, it was not so.

"I'll take the family by force." She repeated to herself. She has spent half her life making sure she has unanimous support among the family, so when the time came, she would be the successor with no competition.

However, there were competitors who she must eliminate. She retrieved a cell phone from her coat and dialed. She spoke one word into the phone.

"Now."

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Explosions shook the Ain-Soph-Ur Mansion, tearing the foundations apart. Inside, Gabriel Ur, the bodyguard of the youngest Ain-Soph-Ur, ran towards the current location of his Master.

At the door of the Mansion's burning library, two different Ain-Soph-Ur agents pointed their guns at him. He leered at them and calmly showed his insignia, tatooed on his neck.

He felt something was wrong when the situation didn't change at all, and every second he spent misreading is another second the flames might consume an Ain-Soph-Ur heir on his watch.

"I am the guardian of young master Silva Ain-Soph-Ur, let me pass." He said sternly, his gray hair swaying in the smoke and wind.

The atmosphere changed, and years of battle experience were triggered as their guns began spewing metal. He saw a thick porcelain pot and dove behind it. As soon as 12 shots harmlessly whizzed past him, he moved to the blind side of a column amd began his own onslaught.

Unlike the traditional mafiosos of the Ain-Soph-Ur family, as a high executive bodyguard, he wielded a Colt M1911A1, which was faster and had a longer range. His skill is no slouch either, as between the reloading of the two grunts, 2 bullets dotted each of them slightly above the heart, destroying a major artery and allowing the blood pressure to kill. Death came swiftly, but messily.

He bashed down the door, only to be surprised as Silva Ain-Soph-Ur was surrounded by 5 other grunts, a barely perceptible bruise on his forehead. Gabriel couldn't help but smile.

"Young Master, we must escape." He spoke when his heart rate calmed.

The 16 year-old heir of the family was taller than the average person of his age. He had pitch black hair like his father, brown eyes like his mother. He was built like an athlete, and his stance was stable. He patted down his clothes, hastily put on his coat with the insignia, and nodded.

"Let's go, Gabriel." Silva leered at a squirming grunt and slammed a well-aimed fist at his jaw.

The bodyguard nodded. Someone was out to kill the young master, and there were exactly 2 possibilities to who it was. If Gabriel was the one to be asked, he would much rather be attacked by an enemy family than internal conflict.