The Little Mafia Boss

PROLOGUE

[Donald Badeau, a businessman and the CEO of a famous five-star hotel in town, The Grand Badeau, was shot dead in Silver Boulevard past eleven o’clock in the evening…]

It was midnight, and was raining hard because for an approaching storm. They’re soaked in wet while running on the hallway through the Operating Room while his mother clasps the beads of rosary, praying and hoping for his husband's life, Donald Badeau.

Israel remembered it all too well. The sudden phone call from Ben, the loud crash on the ground of the jar which his mother held it at their home, ambulance’s siren, people’s gossip, reporters’ unanswerable questions, the sound of a camera’s shutter, and his mother’s loud mourn in the morgue.

He was just barely a grown man – a thirteen year-old to be exact – to have lost a family member. His dad, Donald Badeau.

Everything seems to be moving so fast. Before everything happened that night, they were celebrating for the success of their new launched project at their home. It wasn’t that grand, just a simple gathering with friends and investors. A bottle of wine, one whole roasted turkey, freshly sliced fruits, and fine delicious mashed potatoes.

Yet here they are, in a cold room, with a cold body of his father lying on the stainless bed.

Donald Badeau, a thirty-five-year-old business man was shot in the head by a random thug at Silver Boulevard while walking towards his Mercedes Benz.

As Israel stared at his father’s coffin that was about to be buried that afternoon days after the funeral, he blinked his eyes and found his mother’s face smiling at him.

It was a sweet genuine smile which he loves to stare at every morning. He wouldn't even get tired of it. As if it became his motivation every morning to go to school. Because he wants to finish his studies and help his mother...

“Happy birthday, son!” Rosalinda Badeau was holding a freshly baked red velvet cake on her hand. There are traces of flour on her skin, and on her brunette hair. “Blow your candles, sweetie!”

Israel’s smile can’t be described. He was so happy. Every year, her mother would greet him first thing in the morning on his birthday with a freshly baked cake. His mother made them by herself, which made him think that the cakes he’s going to blow is customized by her mother with love and efforts.

“Oh, mi amor,” Rosalinda mumbles after Israel blew the candles. She put down the red velvet cake and reached for his son’s head and kiss Israel on his forehead. “I’m so sorry if I can’t be with you today on your birthday, sweetie. I had to go to Mexico for a business meeting for our new project. But don't worry, all of this job that I'm working on is for your own good... For your future.”

Israel chuckles and sat down on the high stool chair. Using his index finger, he traced it on the surface of the red icing of his red velvet cake and licks it.

It tastes delicious and not too sweet, he says on his mind.

“It’s okay, Mom. I can invite my friends over to celebrate with me. Just have a safe flight and get home safe, too.”

“Aw. Come here!” Rosalinda teases Israel by poking the side of his waist. “My baby is already a grown up!”

“Mom, stop, it tickles!” Israel giggled as he tries to avoid her mother’s index fingers trying to poke and tickle him.

“I’ll make it up to you when I get home, mi amor. I'll be back home safe with your souvenirs. I promise.”

I promise…

The only word that traumatized him the most. His father, Donald, had a promise with him, too, when he was still in seventh grade.

“I promise I’ll buy you a bike when you turn fifteen, son.”

But a week later, his father was killed by a stranger. Even though the murderer is now locked in the jail until he dies, it made him feel guilty for giving his father's murderer a freedom in the prison. Justice was never enough for him to heal from his father's death.

Israel blinked his eyes again. As if the time moves faster than the usual, he’s now in the living room with confetti on the floor, helium balloons floating on their ceiling, a party hat on his head, and a party popper on each of his friend’s hands that had just exploded.

Their smiles changed into somewhat fear and shock from what they just hear from the seventy-five-inch television. Their faces say it all; everything feels like in the movies.

[Flight code BD 04 burst into flames and crashed near the mountains of Mexico. Authorities confirmed that the plane was a private vehicle of Rosalinda Badeau, the late Donald Badeau’s wife, a CEO of Badeau Group of Company. Let's hear it more from Joey...]

Israel went deaf for a moment after hearing the headline.

[According to witnesses, the plane was just about to land on the field and the right wing just turned into flames. The pilot, James Yeager, can't land directly into the ground.]

[How about her child? Did he know about the accident?]

[As of now, Stacey, the authorities are still investigating the flames behind the plane crash. They will contact Israel Badeau sooner. Burnt dead bodies are still on-going for...]

His friends looked at him in concern. Israel bent onto his knees as it loses all of his strength from hearing the news and watching the camera's point of view on the plane with its right wing still in flames.

[… and the sad news is, there were no survivors. The bodies of Rosalinda Badeau, pilot James Yeager, and the two flight attendants...]

Israel’s world seems to shatter. His hands started to shake, his knees began to lose strength.

Just the night on his birthday, he lost another family member.