Entangled With My Ex's Mafia Father

Hawthorne sat alone in his study. It was way past midnight and he wasn't asleep. He wasn't working either, at least not in the conventional sense of working. The room was dark except for the candlelight which was flickering, casting long shadows on the walls. The room, usually his sanctuary, the place he had taught his daughter all she needed to know, now felt like a prison of grief and rage. He could still see her walking through the large door which creaked slightly everytime it was opened. She’d walk right in after every mission, her face a plaster of professionalism. Whispers were going around that she was going to lead the family business after her him and there were some tensions in the house. Her death had shattered him. His brilliant, strong, fearless daughter was gone, and she had left a void no-one could fill. 

His only son, Pedro, was in jail, serving time for sending a man to coma. Pedro was not useful to him in a way. He was just the son who spent his father's money. He had no brains for business or schooling. He was always falling into one mischief or the other. He had let him stay in jail because he was frustrated. He hoped with a few months in, he'll become sober and perhaps more serious.

His only other daughter, Beatrice, was not one to depend on either. She was impulsive, making moves without strategy or making no moves at all. He had thought Abigail would be able to teach her some good business skills but her death had been too sudden, so unnecessary too.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the turmoil within him. As he took a sip, fond memories of her childhood flooded his mind. Her first steps, her first words, the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence and determination. He had trained her, prepared her for the dangers of their world, but nothing could have prepared him for this loss.

He clenched his fists, the glass in his hand attempting to crack under the pressure. He wanted to lash out, to destroy everything in his path, but he knew that rage alone would not bring justice for his daughter. He needed a clear mind, a strategic approach to find her killer and make them pay.

‘’That loser!’’ He yelled, smashing the almost empty glass cup against the wall. ‘’He’ll pay alright.’’ He hated Jude with the same rage he hated the person who had killed his daughter. ‘’I told her he was a weakling. What good is he to her? But she wouldn’t listen.’’

In the course of over twenty years of actively working for the cartel, she had taken down so many powerful men. Even though all her missions were under a cover, Hawthorne knew she could not be a hundred percent careful all the time. That was why he wanted her to marry a man that would be able to provide her security, not some clueless white collar jibber who was screaming like a woman when he saw her lying dead. He clenched his teeth. He had allowed Abigail to marry him just because it seemed like the only thing that would her happy, but now he wished he had been more rigid. He wished he had pulled a bullet into the head of the man when he had dared come to his house to declare his intentions. 

He paced in the room, looking over a board where he had pinned her past missions in the last five years. He knew somehow that it would somehow lead to uncovering the person behind her death. Whoever had killed her was someone who had access to her or her home because the person has used her gun, making it hard to trace the killer. Naturally, the police believed it was domestic, but he knew it was not. It was the plan of someone who had become closer to her just to kill her. He knew of that method. Abigail had done that a couple of times before.

He had employed the services of his most loyal and skilled operatives. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly. The cartel's resources were vast, and he would spare no expense in tracking down the person responsible for taking the future of the Hawthorne’s  cartel.

He stared at the photo of her hanging on the wall. The flickering candle was casting a dancing shadow over her smiling face. She was seated on a horse and riding at the beach. He traced his fingers over the lines of laughter around her eyes. She had been twenty two when she had taken the picture, before her trip to Paris. He had always marveled at her ability to lead a normal life despite the businesses she had to handle. She was brute and at the same time feminine, hard but yet delicate. 

He was not a man of emotions but a tear slipped out of his eyes as he rubbed his finger gently over her face, followed by another. The only compensation Abigail had left behind was her daughter, June, who had proven to be nothing like her mother. He was concerned. June was weak and stubborn,  two characteristics that would not make her successful. But he knew that since she was her mother's daughter, there had to be some good in her. He had to find that diamond, he would refine her even if it meant putting her through fire.

"I miss you, Abigail," he said softly. "You were the best of us, and I will make sure your death is avenged. Whoever did this will pay for it with their life and the lives of everyone they love.’’