THE HIDDEN RIVAL

"Mom, where are you going? Please, I wanna go with you!" I pleaded, tugging at the hem of her silk blouse, my voice trembling. I wasn’t stupid. I knew if she crossed that door tonight, she wouldn’t be coming back not until next month, maybe not at all. But this time… this time was different.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the wardrobe, eyes darting toward the front door like she expected it to burst open any second. She opened the wardrobe slowly, then turned to me. Her eyes were wide, terrified .... not the usual cool, composed woman who used to take me on private jets to Milan or gave me strict etiquette lessons in between designer dress fittings. No, this version of my mom was shaking, sweat running down her temple, her lips pressed tight to stop them from quivering.

She bent down to my level, cupped my cheeks with both hands, and stared right into my eyes. “Baby, listen to me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “No matter what you hear, you stay here. You do not move, okay? Can you promise me that?”

I nodded quickly, too scared to even speak. Her lips quivered before she kissed my forehead.. soft, lingering, then gave me the light pat on my head she always gave me when I’d done something right. Her version of I love you.

Then she gently shut the wardrobe door, cloaking me in darkness.

I sat there, tucked in between hanging coats and stacks of shoeboxes, trying to hold in my breathing. The silence outside wasn’t comforting, it was suffocating. Minutes crawled like hours. Then I heard it.

BANG!

A loud gunshot ripped through the air like it had torn the world in two.

I froze.

No, no, no...

I might not have been old enough to drive a car or sign a contract, but I wasn’t naive either. My parents were deep in the mafia. That’s why we were filthy rich. That’s why we had bodyguards and security systems that could rival the Pentagon. And that’s why they had enemies.

I knew.

I knew enough to understand that the gunshot meant something bad, something irreversible.

I pressed my hands over my mouth and listened as heavy boots stomped across the marble floor. Then came a voice, very deep and musculine like.

“Sir, I don’t think the remaining rival is still here. Maybe they slaughtered her before we did.”

His voice it was like gravel, like broken glass scraping on pavement. I memorized it. Etched it into my brain. I knew I’d be hearing it again someday.

The footsteps moved closer… closer… then suddenly stopped. My lungs were burning, but I didn’t dare exhale. I wasn’t ready to die. Not like this. Not today.

Then, just as suddenly, the footsteps retreated. The silence returned.

I waited.

Then slowly, carefully, I opened the wardrobe door and stepped out. My bare feet made no sound on the polished floor as I tiptoed through the hallway like a ghost. I didn’t want to see it, but I had to.

I reached the living room and stopped cold.

My parents… were lying there Motionless and Lifeless. A pool of blood was spreading across the pristine white tiles. My mom’s hand was stretched toward the hallway, as if she’d been trying to get to me.

I didn’t cry.

But I felt like vomiting even Screaming or practically Ripping something to shreds... just Anything.

I ran to our computer room, hands shaking, and yanked up the city surveillance network. The cameras were still intact.

And there they were.

The bastards.

Their faces.

I stared at them, searing every scar, every tattoo, every smug, careless look they wore like trophies.

I wasn’t gonna just let this go. No, Never.

I was going to come for them. Every last one of them.

And not only will I kill them once…

We are gonna still meet in hell in the afterlife.