I realize his security is better now.
But I can still find a way to get past it,
my plan is simple, I don't know if he will expect it but it's the only plan I have.
So, now I have to take him or
a bodyguard everywhere I go.
That's the only problem I am facing,
but there is a somewhat easy solution.
Killing is a common one for the mafia.
I don't enjoy doing this, but I need to
get to Marco first and if one man is in
my way then I will take down that man.
"Where is the princess going today?"
Louis asks, walking down the hall,
toward the main staircase; I'm standing
by the front door, I could just run.
He clearly likes Celeste, I don't know
if he will tell her anything I say.
Maybe I should risk it, I do need a
second person to fly the jet. Louis
and I learned how to do it together.
"You have to promise not to tell anyone,
I mean it, and I'm being serious."
He smiles, happier than ever, walking
closer to me, keeping his voice down.
"An old Marcy and me mission? I'm in.
where is the destination?"
He asks, I've clearly intrigued him.
I put a finger over my lips and motion
my hand for him to walk closer.
"We're going to kill Marco." He smiles,
bigger than before, eyes lighting up.
He quietly pulls open one of the
double door, quietly laughing.
A loud banging noise wakes me up. Not
like gunshots, more like something hitting against the wall, like a bed's headboard.
I rub my eyes and groan, not thrilled when
I see the small clock sitting on
the gray nightstand, that reads 5:00 am
I wake up early, I have to because of my
job, I'm the CEO of a multi-million
dollar company and thousands of people.
I oversee business exchanges and
deals, attend meetings, and sign contracts.
But not today, today is my day off,
I'm in Russia, unfortunately
in Aleksander and Marceline's house,
I'd rather that than have to work.
Actually, I'm undecided.
"Fuck off!" I shout, putting the pillow over
my head so I don't have to hear the noise,
not that it works.
"I'm opening the goddamn door!"
He growls, angry at me for something,
or taking it out on me; not that I care.
As he told me, he opens the door,
marching up to the bed, hands shaking,
hair messier than I have ever seen it.
Shirtless, showing his chest and
the many tattoos painting his skin.
"She's gone, I don't know where she went, nobody knows anything, and he's dead,
she killed him, and she took it- I'm trying
to figure out what to do, I'm suffocating,
why isn't she here? I kept the file
for the right reasons, I wanted to prevent-"
I sit up and throw the covers off;
he's shaking, like
he's cold or getting electrocuted.
He starts pacing, moving his hair
back, still not enough to fix it.
The rational side of my brain clicks in
and I decide it's better to push
my anger to the side and focus on this.
"What happened, try to breathe first."
He shoots me a glare and stops at the end
of the bed "Did you fucking
know they were leaving? Did you know
she was trying to leave me?!" I scoff and
stand up, he tries to tower over
me but I'm not intimidated by his height.
"No, I didn't know any plans," I answer,
I will get better answers and results
if I control my temper and listen to him.
People normally reveal the truth when
they're angry; I appreciate that honesty,
even if it comes in the form of yelling.
"Were they planning this together?
They had to have been, they both took
the jet, meaning we have to take yours."
I definitely didn't agree with that, I will
still let him continue these delusions.
"She killed one of my men, then got
on the jet with your boyfriend and flew somewhere, with him." I roll
my eyes and cross my arms, running
my hand against myself to stay warm.
The main problem is getting to her,
I believe she went to America;
after her little breakdown about Marco,
it would be the first stop in her journey.
"We need to go to America, more
specifically New York," surprisingly he
doesn't question me, he runs out of the
door, either toward his room or the tarmac.
I don't really have to pack anything, I will probably be back here when we find them.
I grab my phone, purse, and shoes,
heading toward the bathroom.
Even though this whole situation is a
waste of my energy and time;
I'm entertaining it, I'm also partially the reason she left so it's somewhat my fault.
After I brush my teeth and take off
my sleep bonnet, making sure my hair
looks good, I pull over a coat and pants before heading toward the front door.
"Finally, you do realize the world
doesn't wait on you!"
he complains, throwing his hands up
"Not the world, but you clearly do"
He clenches his jaw and glares.
Best reaction I could've received.
he pulls open the door and marches
out toward a car sitting
in the middle of the large driveway.
"Come on," I would tell him to go to hell
but we actually do need to rush, I don't
want to miss the death of Marco Hendrix.
M̶a̶r̶c̶o̶, m̶y̶ f̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶, t̶h̶e̶ m̶a̶n̶, my dad is
sitting in front of me, wrists and ankles
tied to a cold metal chair.
It took us over ten hours to get him,
which is ten hours lost, meaning
Aleksander and Celeste are likely here.
I can't waste any more time staring at
him, questioning everything, how
I should talk and look at him,
should I pretend to be careless, I've
never tortured a member of my family.
Louis is gone, I promised to leave
Finneas alone if he
would let me kill Marco alone.
Standing here, in one of his abandoned warehouses, a knife in my hand,
and a large table of weapons behind me.
We knocked him out, shot his guards,
I made sure Dylan was at home; safe.
This warehouse is very old, the
structure is unstable. one strong gust
of wind could make it collapse on us.
He used it to interrogate people,
it's not a bad place for it.
There are windows at the top of the
walls that are over twenty feet tall,
that's the only source of light in here,
the floors are mostly dirt, empty crates
and shelves with useless
boxes are around the big, open room.
There are only two exits, the main one
is a big rolling door, making a
loud noise, every time anyone opens it.
The second exit is in the back corner
of the warehouse, it's the only wall
between me and that door. Since this warehouse was for questioning
it's set up like an interrogation room;
One big two-way mirror wall, one side
is facing me and him, the other is an
empty room, not counting the table or
old wooden chairs
I hear a cough, making me
snap my head toward him.
He's shaking his head, eyes squeezed
shut, and his hair is slightly more than a
buzz cut so it doesn't look clean or dirty.
𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 ^
I'm not prepared, I'm just going
to react, however hectic it is.
My plan is to hold back tears,
I don't like crying, especially over
someone who doesn't deserve it, but sometimes it's too hard to control.
He opens his eyes, first, they're small,
then they're wider than usual, that's
what I wanted, he always misjudges
me. How did that work out for him?
"Marceline," he speaks so softly
that it doesn't sound like him,
he's typically harsh, and doesn't
have a hint of remorse. "Marco"
I stare at him, well, his eyes,
for a moment longer than I should;
to be fair he's doing the same thing.
"You did this to me?" he asks, I nod
my head, slowly, while observing his
face, trying to figure out how he feels.
He smirks and looks up "Are you going
to shoot me, or is there a better plan?"
I tilt my head and push myself up from
the weapon table, walking toward him.
"Honestly, I don't know yet, do you have
any suggestions?" he shakes his head
and flashes a humorous smile, one
I have rarely seen, this all feels so surreal.
None of this is serious to him, I don't
know the reason but I assume it's
because he believes I won't do anything
to him, maybe that's a good assumption
A heavy breath leaves his throat while
he looks around the warehouse.
"This feels nostalgic, us being in a
warehouse together."
I nod my head, remembering him and
I working together, even if it hurts.
I don't know if this is a guilt trip
speech or if I hit him so hard that
he's become a nice person, I'm just
joking, that wouldn't be achievable.
If it was I would've done it years ago.
"Why did you do it?" I question, by
some miracle he doesn't dance around
the answer, he's being genuine, honest
even. He sighs and looks behind me.
"I don't have a reason that will comfort
you, Aleksander was obsessed
with you and taking you away from him would cause problems in his life."
I try not to laugh but fail, it's not
that I find any of this funny,
all of it hurts, standing a few feet
away from him hurts so much.
"That's all it was, revenge?" he
shakes his head "No, there is more,
"I was angry, mad that I told you
to go into that meeting with him,
the one where you met him."
I'm not trying to comfort him,
so I will pretend I didn't meet him
two times before that, making
me marry him was his fault though.
He struggles against the rope and
laughs "Are you going to kill me?"
A moment of silence, no movement,
not even blinking, then I nod.
"I understand, but I have a offer."
I press my finger against the point
of the knife "I don't want to hear it."
He doesn't give me a choice, he tells me
his offer anyway "I make you my heir
again, I introduce you as it,
we can make a good excuse for Dylan-"
Sometimes I forget how little his
children mean to him; their lives are
just a piece on a chessboard and their
feelings are only obstacles
I rush toward him, pushing the knife
into his arms and dragging it down,
he grunts and clenches his teeth.
When I finish cutting different
areas of his body,
we're both breathing heavily,
but he's not crying or screaming.
"You're a shitty father!" I shout
in his, holding his chin
so he has to look me in the eye.
He smiles and leans forward, barely
because he's tied to the chair, but
enough so our faces aren't far apart
"You really want to go there?"
he laughs sadistically, taunting me
"You want to have a serious talk,
cry and solve our problems while
throwing insults at each other?!"
His reaction comforts me more than
the silence, I nod and keep
my mouth shut, bracing myself for the
impact of his harsh words.
"The only thing we won't be doing
is making up, there are only
three things I regret doing,
Do you want to hear them?"
He's not really asking and if I don't
say yes I know I will regret it
"My first thing would be holding
the mafia ball for you,
your mother would be here if you
didn't ask to hold it that year"
my mouth goes dry but I accept
it because that's completely true.
He smiles and struggles against the
rope, gives up, and continues his rant
"My second thing would be training
you instead of Dylan, at least he will
still be taking over the mafia, not you"
he says the last part in a condescending
voice, then a very fake sigh moves past
his lips. now he's looking me dead
in the eye, not revealing how he feels
"But the worst thing I have ever done
was trusting Max to make sure you
were dead, if I was there that bullet
would have gone through your head."
I laugh, holding back different
emotions "I shouldn't be surprised,
that is what you taught me, always aim
for the forehead" He nods, proudly;
he's proud I remembered. It's
disgusting that I'm happy he's
proud of something I've done.
"Why couldn't I kill you, you were
going to do it to yourself eventually-
whether it was drinking to death or
putting a gun against that dumb head"
The room falls into some type of
silence, not exactly comfortable
but it's a strange understanding,
we're both processing all of this.
"You know," I say, standing up straight
and weakly smiling "If I would've seen
you like this two years ago;
I would be losing my mind trying to
make sure you were okay."
he looks away, guilt visible on his face
I look at the knife in my hand
and the cut on his forehead
"I have to admit that even now
I feel like I should be helping you,
that's my flaw, I still love you,
I'm still waiting for you to realize
you were wrong about me."
a tear falls down my face.
He glances at me, looking at
the tear falling down my cheek,
and then looking away.
He clears his throat and speaks in
a strained voice "I wasn't wrong"
I scoff, wiping the tear off my face
and looking aimlessly around
the room, he really is unbelievable
"Yes you were, I'm not you, no matter
how hard you tried to make me
you, I'm not." My hands slightly shake.
He speaks softly, which catches me off
guard, I almost want to hit him
to make him angry. his features have
a type of peace that I didn't believe he
was capable of. "Marceline"
He doesn't smile, he looks at the blade
in my hand, then my eyes "You are just
like me, you've spent so long trying
to be me that you forgot what it's like
to think for yourself, that's my fault."
I wanted him to take the blame,
but not like this, not accusing me of
being a monster, this sounds awful
but considering how narcissistic he is
it's kind of a compliment,
but deep down he probably
hates himself so maybe not.
"You're so confused, you don't really
know anything, and you know that
man you're so desperate for, Al-"
I hit him, I don't have any
interest in this anymore.
He laughs and spits blood on the
floor, smiling, showing
the blood in the cracks of his teeth
"He doesn't know you, not like I do, he
won't love you, even if he did you would
mess it up, you always mess things up!"
Anger comes back, he drops the
calm act probably realizing
it won't stop me from reacting.
"Shut up! You don't know anything
about me, and you act like you don't
mess things up?! That's all you fucking
do, you messed up me, my sister,
my brother, our lives, that was all you."
I shout, hitting him, not perfectly, just recklessly swinging and shouting.
He's laughing, grunting, coughing,
slowly dying, all because of me,
his daughter, the mistake he made.
After a minute I stumble back, the
room spins around me and I'm holding
back so many tears that it's giving me a headache, I would get a drink
but I don't trust him in here by himself.
For a moment he stops laughing,
catching his breath but looking
at me with humor filling his eyes
"Tell me this, you've been hitting me
for the past hour, cutting into my skin;
I think we can call it torture, right?"
I glare at him but reluctantly nod
He closes his eyes and moves his head
down so he's facing the ground, I still
know there is a smirk playing on his face
"I would do the same thing, I actually
have done the same thing, we aren't
the exact same but you can't tell
me I haven't done this to you multiple times, and have had others do it to you."
The way he takes pride in telling me
he's tortured me while I'm torturing
him is insane to me.
He tilts his head and gives me a fake sympathetic look "Did you realize it yet?
Do you see how alike we are, this is something I would do; I was almost
proud, but then you had to get
emotional, all of this means nothing."
I hit him, and stab him at the same
time, I push the knife
down into his leg, the same spot Layla
did. I pull it out before turning
it sideways and then doing it again.
He screams, and I find comfort in it.
For a second I want to stop all of this,
take off the ropes, drop the weapons, apologize, hug...but he admitted to
doing this to me, and he never stopped.
I practically hit all the tears off of my
face, and pull the same knife out of
his leg, slowly, making sure he feels it.
One tear falls from his eye and I let it
run down his face, watching the
embarrassment he feels, face red and the constant squirming, he's nervous, even
scared, of me. It is my turn to inflict pain.
"Why won't you kill me?" he grunts
after I pull the knife out of his arm.
I smile, looking at his frown.
I remember when he used to force me
to smile, even if I was crying,
being shot, cut, or stabbed,
he always forced me to smile.
The tip of the knife goes to the corner
of his mouth, I apply a small
amount of pressure and draw
a nice red line, now he can't frown.
He hasn't started begging, I can't
decide if I want him to or not.
"So Fucking weak, you do realize
that don't you?!" He shouts,
almost falling out of his chair.
I lose all my composure.
I pick up a silver gun from the black
table, preparing myself
for the moment, his final moment.
"Why do you hate me?" I barely
manage to keep the tears
in my eyes, and my voice breaks.
I keep telling myself I shouldn't
let this matter, just get this over with.
He weakly shakes his head and mutters
no multiple times "I don't hate-"
I shake my head "Yes you do, please
tell me why?" I shouldn't care, I should shoot him in the heart and leave.
But I do care, and I don't pull the trigger.
"I made you in my best image Marceline,
how do you think I felt when you successfully passed anything I gave you
but you were still disappointing?"
I suck air through my teeth and tilt my
head up so the tears stay in my eyes.
"How do you think I felt never being
good enough for my dad?" he clenches
his jaw and looks away, his excuse isn't
fair, I want a better one, one I can get so mad at that'll shoot him for it.
"Marceline," he breathes, letting a tear
fall down his face "Your mom treated
you the same way, why am I paying for
her mistakes too?" that'll do it.
I hit him with the handle of the gun
before I speak "say your last words "
I tell him "Make it quick."
"Even if you kill me Dylan still gets the
mafia, you get nothing out of my death."
I laugh weakly, how shallow can he get?
It doesn't matter anymore, he's wrong.
I get one thing from his death. Revenge
Before I shoot the bullet into his head
he mutters something
"I love you, Marceline, I love you and Hannah and Dylan."
"No, you don't." I say, pulling the trigger.
___________________________
𝟦 - 𝟦 - 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥
𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽