— Jessica. Come to my office. Now.
His deep voice echoes through the hallway. I know it far too well: authoritative, cold... familiar.
I walk toward the office of that man—my progenitor.
The hallway is dark, silent. Nothing sticks out. In this house, everything is minimalist. Nothing unnecessary. I imagine a cartel boss doesn't really have time for decoration.
I enter and stand in front of his massive wooden desk. He's sitting in an overly expensive black chair, a cigarette lodged between his fingers. Smoke forms a gray cloud around him, almost like an aura.
— I want you to take over the cartel's business, he says calmly, as if he were talking about a simple grocery order. You're the eldest, the strongest, and the best of my children. Your brother is still a brainless idiot who only thinks about power and women.
I simply nod. What he says is true. I'm five years older than him.
Him... he's skinny, immature, obsessed with his image since our mother's death, killed by a rival cartel.
Since then, he's been playing the playboy.
Me, I became my father's weapon.
I nod again, watching my father smoke.
— I won't disappoint you, Father.
He nods, satisfied, then crushes his cigarette into the ashtray before standing up. His imposing height seems even taller. My progenitor steps toward me and looks down at me.
— I won't live long. You know that very well. I'm forty-seven. Death has already found me. She'll come for me herself... or she'll send an enemy gang to do the job.
He pauses, then fixes his gaze on me.
— Do you feel ready to take over the family legacy?
I keep my head high. I was raised for this. To become the first female leader of my family's gang. I've trained my entire life. Twenty years of preparation to inherit this legacy. I feel more than ready.
— Yes, Father. I'm ready.
An almost imperceptible smile appears on his cold, emotionless face. He ruffles my hair.
— Good. Keep up your efforts. I'm going to entrust you with a mission.
He turns away and adopts a serious tone again.
— Tomorrow, at five p.m., you'll go to the drug exchange. They need to see the boss... or at least one of my blood children. A Waterson. To seal the deal. This mission is yours.
He looks straight into my eyes.
— Never forget: never show your emotions or your feelings. They are weaknesses.
I nod as he pulls out a document.
— Everything you need to know is in there. You're not allowed to make a mistake. Otherwise, we'll have problems... because of you.
He presses his finger onto the document to emphasize his words.
— Yes, Father. I'll do my best.
I take the document, flip through it quickly, then leave the office and head toward my bedroom.
In the hallway, I run into my brother, who's stumbling and hiccupping. He reeks of alcohol. He's only fifteen...
— Waterson Harry. Why are you coming back drunk? Where were you?
He looks at me, laughing, his steps unsteady.
— Hey! What are those papers? Is it a mission? I want to go!
He points at the documents in my hands. I ignore him.
— No. You're not going. And—
I hesitate for a moment.
— Father is in his office. Be careful not to run into him. You know what happens when he sees you like this.
He laughs strangely, his eyes glassy and reddened by alcohol.
— I don't care about him... I want to come with you! It'd be fun! You worry too much!
I walk straight ahead. I glance at him, observe him without reacting—my gaze calm, my face neutral.
Harry stammers slightly and nearly falls several times.
I go down the poorly maintained stairs of the underground parking lot and let out a deep sigh. My breath trembles.
I was never able to help my brother after our mother's death...
I had promised.
I had promised Mom I'd help my brother and my father get back on their feet.
I never succeeded.
It's all my fault...
— Fucking hell! I shout.
What have I done to my family...?