"And little by little, she found the courage for it all."
~ JH Hard
AZALEA's POV
Life hasn't always been a bed of roses for me, but I've made a life for myself.
At the age of 24, I built a blooming billion-dollar empire while also becoming an infamous and well-renowned assassin, a merciless killer in the illegal world.
I began killing at the age of ten because it was a matter of survival; either me or the person in front of me.
For a ten year old, I didn't shed a single tear after my first kill. The concept of tears had been, ounce by ounce, drained out of me since I was five-years-old, followed by every single emotion I had ever possessed.
I was programmed to be a serial-killer, void of feeling emotions and the 'most dangerous' was the title I had earned for myself.
Fearless, ferocious, dangerous, and an untamed evil bitch who has no compassion for any human being, be it a child, woman, or man, are some of the adjectives that I get associated with.
To be fair, they are not wrong.
I, however, had not killed an innocent on purpose, in fact, I haven't since I left the facility.
Nonetheless, I surely managed to kill a sizable number of people.
I wasn't supposed to feel any emotions, but a sense of guilt somehow crept up on me every time I killed an innocent person, especially a child without hesitation.
I never thought twice before pulling the trigger. I never once hesitated before torturing a person, innocent or not, but compassion and humanity had been beaten out of me since I could remember.
When I was supposed to be playing with barbies, I was holding revolvers and Ak-47's.
When I was supposed to be watching cartoons, I was forced to witness murders and learn about methods of killing and torturing.
When I was supposed to learn my ABC's, I was forced to learn a curriculum designed for college level students.
When I was supposed to be kept protected from the cruelty of life, I was sucked into a vicious web of the most horrendous life that a person, let alone a child could experience.
I finally left that asylum of inhumanity at the age of 15, and I've only ever lived and fended for myself since then.
I was well equipped to live in the world, much better than many adults, I most certainly possessed a post graduate level knowledge by the age of 15.
But the only thing I excelled at was; killing.
That was my sole source of income until I turned 18 and started my own business.
But that doesn't mean I'm not still killing.
Killing has been ingrained into my DNA, drilled into my bones, and it's not something I want to part ways with.
At this point, it just seems impossible and honestly completely pointless.
The body count I alone have till date is probably a lot more than kills by an entire Mafia that I had recently wiped out of existence.
There's a one simple rule which the entire underworld is familiarised with–
Don't fuck up with me.
But the leader of the Sicilian Mafia simply couldn't get that through his thick skull and ugly machismo ego.
Now, he no longer has a head at all.
I just don't like it when people believe they can or are even capable of crossing me.
I'm a person that every mafia prefers to stay away from, especially to avoid my bad side. Everyone is aware that Azalea works for herself and even then various Mafias, Cartels and other illegal organisations have continued to pursue me to join them.
I don't believe I can work for anyone. The first time wasn't pleasant, and the second I didn't bother to find out.
Besides that, I'm terrible at societal skills.
There are times when I am unable to discern what the other person is feeling, and for the most part, I couldn't care less about their feelings and emotions.
I say what I have in mind, and as it turns out a lot of humans don't like that...
Which is, once again, their problem, and not mine.
So, why am I pondering about all of this in the middle of the night as I gaze outside my office window?
It's 1:04 am–
Because of a small phone call that I had received this afternoon.
***
"Hello! Is this Leila Cohen speaking? If so, please dial '0' to have your call transferred to 'Liverpool' county station." An automated voice said and I pressed '0 on my phone while taking a sip of my whiskey.
"Hello! I am talking to Leila Cohen, yes?" A feminine voice spoke on the other end of the call.
"Yes, this is her." I replied, waiting for the female officer to continue.
"My name is Molly Edward, and I am calling from the Liverpool county station to discuss the situation with your siblings. Both of your parents died recently, and your five siblings are in need of a new guardian. So, should we enlist your name down if you are willing to take their guardianship." She asked and I furrowed my eyebrows before taking a sip of my drink.
What was it again?
Siblings....parents?
Not really–
"No, thank you." I replied while staring at the glass in my hand, my gaze drawn to the liquid that was twirling around as I moved the glass in slow circles.
"All right, we'll see what we can do. Thank you for taking the time, Ms. Cohen." She said, and I pressed the red button on my phone before downing the entire whiskey.
I then rose from the comfortable leather chair and made my way to the centre of the room.
A dangerous smirk made its way on my face as I stared at the terrified eyes of my next victim, who was tied to the chair with a tape on his mouth.
The moment I took the tape off, the entire room was filled with begging and pleadings of the men for showing mercy.
I gave the man in front of me a small smile,
Time for fun...
***
What I fail to understand is why it bothers me so much, or if at all.
I was an orphan my entire life,
All alone with no family to worry about.
And now a phone call informing me that I have five recently orphaned siblings waiting in a police station, looking for a guardian, has turned my non-existent emotions into a turmoil of uneasiness.
I still puzzled as to why I'm still thinking about it,
Especially when I've already declined the offer after only a minute of being on the call.
Why at all?
I sure as hell don't care where those kids end up,
I may have only recently discovered that they are related to me,
It still doesn't warrant anything.
We are blood-relatives
And that's all there is to it; we are only related through our birth givers, who had chosen to send me away to an orphanage despite the fact that I never asked to be born.
And now the rest of their children can forge their own paths to life.
Just as I did...
Because, while they may be related to me, they are not my family.
We will never be one!
***