The Mafia Secrets

　　< Dylan >

　　I was working to the steady pattering of rain upon the window of my office cabin, droplets yet to scatter to the rays of the setting sun.

　　In the season of monsoon, everyday rain wasn't anything too surprising, but I didn't like the rain. It brought up painful memories — memories that I tried so hard to ignore.

　　With my eyes overhauled over the laptop screen, my fingers working on the keyboard, I felt blessed for having these moments of harmony. After all, I preferred being alone, away from everyone else.

　　Unfortunately, my favorite moment was broken by the shrill noise of the intercom. My eyes snapped to it immediately, feeling the irritation bubbling up inside me.

　　I was never able to decipher why anyone couldn't let me be at peace. Yeah, I might have murdered quite a few people, but that didn't mean I was not allowed to have some quiet moments, yet everybody seemed determined to not let me have that.

　　Annoying creatures!

　　I was about to reach out for picking up the call, but a thought rang in my head, what if it's about that crazy woman?

　　If it was a call about that nutcase of a stalker, I would murder my receptionist, then I would kill that disturbing stalker with piles of bugs like roaches and earthworms. That has got to be the most painful death in the history of mankind, right?

　　I let out a sigh and sank back in my chair. I was tired of this bullshit.

　　It all started a month ago. One day, I was driving home after office and noticed a Bugatti trailing behind me. I shrugged it off as just another spy, trying to work undercover.

　　I couldn't have been more wrong on that presumption.

　　Whoever was in that car had no intention to follow me in secret, they were following me in the open as if the streets were a racing track and we were allowed to fly over the speed limits without damn care of the world.

　　Since that day, that person had been following me regularly. With my hands tied, after knowing who that stalker was, I just sucked it up.

　　Taking a sharp intake of air, I picked up the call, silently praying that it wasn't a call about her.

　　"Hello?" The voice rang out from the other side.

　　I hummed in reply, feeling lazy to open my mouth.

　　"Good morning, sir. I hope you are having a good-" I smoothly cut off my robotic receptionist, who always seemed stiff in my presence, which I didn't understand at all.

　　I mean, what was I going to do to her? Chew her alive? No, right?

　　At most, I would fire her. Nothing much, really.

　　"Please come to the point, Ms. Steward," I told her in my usual stern, cold tone.

　　I always acted like that in order not to give my enemies the pleasure of seeing my ravaged state, and before I knew it, it became second nature to me. I came to be known as a cold, heartless person—not that I was not.

　　I checked a few emails while I waited for Ms. Steward to speak up. I was sure she was debating with herself about whether to tell me or not—it had become a routine by now.

　　"Sorry, I don't have the whole day, Ms. Steward." I frowned. I hated it when people made me wait. If one was going to say something, why not say it sooner and save both of our time?

　　"Sir, she's here." I heard her sigh in defeat. I could imagine her trying to keep up her straight face but failing miserably out of exhaustion.

　　"Not again." I huffed slowly.

　　"I humbly apologize for bothering you about her. But you know, she stops at anything. Sir, if you don't mind, I would like to propose a harmless suggestion," she said, fear clear in her taut voice.

　　"What might that be?"

　　"Why don't you, uh, meet her and hear her out? Just once, please," my receptionist pleaded.

　　I let out a low groan, already having a headache at the thought of meeting that annoying woman.

　　"Doesn't she have work other than disturbing me?" I let out, trying to maintain a casual tone, covering up my frustration. My hands were itching to put a bullet in that woman's head, but killing innocent people went against my aesthetics — trust me, that's the only thing keeping her alive right now.

　　"I don't think so. Pretty jobless woman, I suppose," Ms. Stewards expressed thoughtfully.

　　"I don't have time for such clowns. Kick her out," with that, I disconnected the call.

　　I sighed in relief as I put the receiver in its place and leaned my back against my chair, starting to play with a dolphin paperweight.

　　Why was that stalker so persistent?

　　She was seriously annoying. I tried to ignore her as much as possible, but now she was seriously getting on my nerves.

　　Even so, what was it that she wanted from me? Someone like her should not be crossing paths with me.

　　I regained my straight posture, resting the paperweight on its place. Soon I returned to listening to the sound of rain droplets, getting lost in the world of work.

　　< Shirley >

　　"Eat slowly, Darling." My mother, Hazel Hamilton, patted my head lightly.

　　"I don't have time, Mom. He must be leaving anytime," I mumbled hurriedly, gulping down a spoonful of fried rice.

　　"That doesn't allow you to devour the food like a monster, though you look like one," commented Adrian, my older brother, while chewing his food as politely as possible. He was eating in sophisticated manners, especially following all the dining table etiquettes, in order to rub it on my face that I was eating in a gross way.

　　I couldn't care less about his opinion at that moment, so I rolled my eyes and continued having my dinner.

　　"You're just here for a good meal, you know that, so keep your mouth shut," I retorted. My brother actually didn't live with us, yet he came home very often for having free meals. After all, who didn't like their mom's homemade food?

　　Well, I was still living in my parents' house because I recently got back home after finishing University. On top of that, my family was very protective.

　　In the midst of my dinner, my phone started ringing, indicating an incoming call.

　　"Hellow?" My voice came out unclear since I was a mouthful. I stuffed one more spoonful, not bothering to speak politely.

　　"Ma'am, he's leaving within the next ten minutes," a hushed voice informed from the other side, while I gulped down quickly.

　　"I'm coming," I told my informant and hung up the call. "I'm done eating," I announced to Mom, chugging down a glass of water before stuffing my phone into my shorts' pocket.

　　"You didn't even finish half of the food. Complete the dinner before you leave!" rebuked my mom, only to be ignored by me as I was busy putting on my sneaker.

　　"Let her go. She's already a potato. There's no need to feed her anymore." I heard my sibling say to Mom.

　　"You mean you are a potato, right?" I hollered.

　　"I don't take opinions from stalkers," he hollered back, and I rolled my eyes.

　　What was he talking about? I wasn't a stalker. I was a perfectly normal adult.

　　"Bye, guys. I'll be back within an hour," saying so, I dashed out of the house— well, mansion—as fast as I could.

　　"Don't come back." I heard my brother yell out. Geez, he was so irritating!

　　The moment I stepped out of the porch, droplets of rain grazed my bare arm. I made a run for my car which was parked in front of the main gate.

　　I immediately got into my Bugatti Veyron, one of my favorite cars. Fishing out my key from my pocket, I spun it around, forcing the ignition roar to life. I drove off at full speed.

　　His office was just ten minutes away from my house. Perfect!

　　As I drove onwards, I noticed the waterworks on the windshield, displaying a beautiful scenario. The moon was starting to appear again as the clouds were moving away, illuminating the surroundings with its radiant moonlight.

　　The more time passed before I reached my destination, the lighter the rain got, eventually turning into a drizzle.

　　As I parked my car in front of the main gate of the enormous office, I saw a tall figure in a dark suit. He was tossing his keys in the air near a Lamborghini, his dark hair shining under the moonlight.

　　I rolled down the windshield to get a better look at him. That was when I saw him.

　　Dylan Lewiston.

　　The man of my dreams.

　　No, that came out wrong. I didn't want to tie the knots with him. I just want him to help me fulfill my dream. After all, he was the staircase to my success.

　　And Dylan being super hot? Well, that was only a bonus. God must have taken quite some time to create that man.

　　Whether it was his stunning handsome features or the fact that he was a world-famous car racer. Everything about Dylan gravitated me towards him.

　　Every time I saw him, I couldn't help but think, I would give anything to touch that guy.

　　A roaring of an engine snapped me out of my fantasies. When I glanced back at him, he was already in his car, ready to leave.

　　Crap, I forgot to approach him while he was still within my reach.

　　"Hey, wait a minute!" I shouted. Sensing my presence once again, he quickly started driving away. But I wasn't about to give up that day, I pressed the accelerator and pulled the gear lever, chasing after him.

　　Dylan Lewiston never stopped to look back at me. He never bothered accepting my appointment letters. As if I was a jellyfish in an ocean, marching to zap him to death.

　　All I wanted from him was to train me so that I would become a professional car racer, and I was determined to make him agree. Sooner or later, he was sure to get fed up with this chasing game. Besides, persistence was my forte.

　　"Please stop. I just want to talk to you for a minute," I hollered, a frown creasing my forehead in annoyance.

　　Why wouldn't he listen to me for once?

　　As a last resort, I popped my head out the rolled down the window, hollering at him to put a brake on his car, earning strange looks from the bystanders.

　　I wanted to give up by that point, but the cold breeze that kept hitting my face motivated me to keep going after him. It was the type of coldness that reached into my bones as if my heart were a door left wide open begging to be slammed open.

　　I managed to keep up with him for a few minutes before I lost him amongst the swarm of vehicles.

　　In frustration, I punched the steering wheel, letting out a honk. I rested my head on it being disappointed.

　　How come Dylan Lewiston was always this fast?

　　Dylan always managed to take first place in just about any tournament he participated in. I wanted to be like him. Number one. Unbeatable. Winner.

　　I knew I was in no state to take part in an actual car race because I had no real skills. My dream was big, and my abilities were at the base level. After all, I was only the best racer among my group of friends.

　　I was cool, wasn't I?

　　I know, I know. Thanks for so many compliments. I'm blessed already.

　　I made my way back home, not wanting to create traffic in the middle of a junction while plotting ways to get Dylan to train me.

　　When I reached home, I slumped on the couch of the living room with a defeated look plastered on my face.

　　"Why don't you just stop trying?" Adrian asked casually, taking a seat beside me. Remind me why he was still at home.

　　"It's me who is trying her best. It has got nothing to do with you, so leave me alone." I frowned and took off my sneakers lazily, tossing them someplace.

　　"It's a waste of time. He won't agree to it," he calmly stated, sipping his black coffee as I scrunched up my nose at it. Only Adrian would drink a cup of strong black coffee at ten o'clock as if he was going to rob a bank.

　　"You talk about Dylan Lewiston as though you know him for years," I replied and absent-mindedly grabbed a cushion to squeeze.

　　"I wish I didn't," he mumbled. His voice was so low, I almost didn't catch it but decided not to pry too much.

　　"Did you manage to make your favorite racer agree?" inquired my dad, Liam. He softly ruffled my hair with a sweet smile as I got up to greet him. He had just arrived home from his manufacturing office, and he looked exhausted. No one could tell from the outside that a renowned businessman like my father had such a sweet, affectionate side to his family.

　　"Welcome back, honey," my mom greeted, descending down the stairs, and kissed both of our cheeks. Well, my mom was also a working lady. She was a fashion designer.

　　Adrian crossed his arms against his chest and sulked, "I see how it is. I'm not welcomed here anymore. You only give kisses to your husband and daughter, and no welcome kisses for your only son." I always wondered how a successful businessman like my brother managed to whine like a five-year-old kid. Even so, he always did wonders on my bad days, trying his best to cheer me up.

　　"No, sweetie. It's your home. You're always welcome here," Mom cooed and pecked his cheek.

　　"No, you don't love me enough." He pouted.

　　I laughed seeing them bicker.

　　My perfect family. Though I agree, my brother is the most annoying ever.

　　"Shirley, why don't you get someone else to train you?" Dad asked, diverting everyone's attention to me.

　　It was a family discussion time.

　　"I want to be trained by the best," I reasoned out. Dad always tried to pursue me to change my mind about Dylan, yet I was hung up on it. Nothing was going to move me an inch from my decision of getting trained by Dylan — not even Dylan himself.

　　"There are other professionals too, you know," Mom suggested, stroking my hair.

　　"I don't want to be trained by those losers. I want to be trained by him and only him. No one else," I declared.

　　I knew I was arrogant and spoiled, but that's just the way I grew up to be, and I liked it.

　　"But the best one isn't always the best teacher," said Dad.

　　Sighing, I stood up and started walking away, saying, "I don't want to listen to anything. I just want Dylan Lewiston as my trainer. End of topic. We're not having this discussion anymore."

　　"Whatever you say." They let out a defeated sigh and chuckled, making me smile sheepishly.

　　"Thanks for always supporting me. Love you two. No love for Ady, by the way," I chirped in a singsong voice, sending my parents flying kisses and glare at Adrian.

　　"I would be the last person to love a spoiled princess like you." Adrian gave me a bored look.

　　"Goodnight, Mom, and Dad. Have nightmares, Ady," with that, I scrambled upstairs.

　　Considering that I was a sloth, climbing stairs has always been the only exercise I ever did. It helped tone my calves at least.

　　I panted and wiped off the imaginary sweat bit from my forehead when I reached my bedroom. Just so you know, I was called a drama queen by my friends.

　　Switching the lights on, I laid down flat on my bed.

　　"Geez, I'm so tired." I stretched my limbs to loosen the kinks.

　　You didn't even do anything other than chasing Dylan Lewiston, commented my stupid, nosy subconscious.

　　That's the most tiring job ever.

　　It was tiring to request his receptionist to get me an appointment which he always declines. It was tiring to get kicked out of his office every single day. It was tiring to chase him. It was tiring to think about him.

　　No matter how much my subconscious told me to give up, I was hell-bent on becoming the first woman to win the Grand Prix which would pave my way to fame.

　　By tomorrow, I wanted to make sure that he agreed because the day of the tournament was approaching.

　　All of a sudden, a devilish plan popped into my head.

　　Well, well, looks like tomorrow I'm really going to meet you face to face, Dylan Lewiston.

　　°°°°°°°