Black Wedding by Emma Luna
Creaking from outside my bedroom door jolts me awake, and I glance over at the clock while listening out for different sounds. The bright red numbers read 3:14am, which explains why it is still dark outside. Instantly, my nerves are on edge as I hear another creak. Most people wouldn’t pay any attention to a few minor scrapes in the wooden floorboards, but I was raised as the only granddaughter to two giant crime families, which meant that one of the first lessons I was taught was to constantly be on the lookout for danger. There would always be more low-ranking gangs that wanted what my family had, but if any of them ever attempted to take what we have, none of them had ever gotten this far. We have the best security money can buy.
It was far more likely the noise was either my mother sneaking down to where we now locked alcohol, in the bar room attached to the kitchen, or it could be my father smuggling out his latest whore. The joys of my room being stuck quite literally in the middle. I stopped sticking my head out to check quite a long time ago.
The last time I looked into the noise, I was ten years old, and I opened my door to find my nanny bent over the staircase bannister while my father was balls deep inside. That’s when I really knew what an asshole my father is. He had the whole house, so why in the main hallway? I genuinely think I would have preferred to see a rival gang member because at least I knew how to handle those. I had been shown how to shoot at age six, and I was fucking good at it.
Not that my father knew that or that I even had the gun Jimmy gave me. As far as my father was concerned, girls should look pretty, keep the home and children, and keep their mouths shut. Apparently, to be in a crime Family, you couldn’t advance past the fucking 1950s because both sides of my family thought that. In fact, I think it’s the only thing they have ever agreed upon.
Several times, I have made it known that just because I don’t have a cock does not mean I cannot run the Family. The only option for an heir in their eyes is a man. This means that my only job is to marry who they tell me to and pop out babies until I get a boy. When I made it clear how fucking sexist their behaviour is, my father and grandfather told me I had to stay behind the scenes. Unless I was prepared to put on a pretty pink dress and parade around posh social events with my mother, then I wasn’t allowed in the public eye, which suited me fine.
Luckily, my father’s head of security, and his best friend, Jimmy, did not share the same beliefs as my family. Instead, he believed that everyone, including women, should have the basic knowledge to protect themselves.
Since the age of six, Jimmy has been teaching me about self-defence, including kickboxing and how to fire a gun, both of which turned out I was very fucking good at.
Hearing another noise, this one closer to my door, the louder footsteps had me sure that the intruder was getting closer to my door. That ruled out my dad or one of his fuck buddies since he never made that mistake again. My mother overheard me telling my best friend, Mia, about what happened. The nanny got fired and my father was more careful in the future.
When I was younger, Shona was the perfect mum. She adored me so much, but I think she always, in some ways, blamed me for losing the ability to have more children. She hated that and the fact that she would always be a failure in the eyes of the Families. But I also think she liked treating me like her little dress up doll, which I allowed while I was young, but not forever. As I got older, more independent and rebellious, she pulled away. My father says she is nothing more than a bitter, twisted bitch who is jealous of my beauty. I hated being in the middle of their arguments, I had no idea who I should believe. I didn’t think I was anything special. I would have to be pretty fucking gorgeous for a mother to hate her daughter for that reason.
The more I reflect on the shitshow that is my life, the more I question why the fuck I stayed stuck in the middle of my parents’ bullshit excuse of a marriage. The truth is that I didn’t want to. In fact, I would rather be any-fucking-where else, but the Family wouldn’t allow it, and what the Family says is law in this house. Which is how I found myself laying in bed wondering which side of the house our late night visitor was going to head towards.
The sound of the doorknob on my bedroom door rattling jolts my brain out of those speculations and straight into survival mode. Throwing the duvet cover off, I spring to my feet, ignoring that I am entirely naked except for the baggy men’s t-shirt I am wearing. The t-shirt didn’t belong to anyone important, like an ex-boyfriend, I just liked sleeping in them for comfort. Quietly, I pull open the top bedside drawer, pushing aside my clit sucker—that I genuinely believe has the potential to eradicate the need for men completely—to grab my 9mm Glock 48. The vibrators were at the front of the drawer because they got the most use, but they most certainly are not what I need right now. I’m confident my gun will be all I need.
Nevertheless, I still grab my combat knife in case whoever this is gets too close. I love this knife way more than any girl should, but this is an extra special knife. Jimmy bought me this knife two years ago for my eighteenth birthday. Among all the expensive jewellery and fancy designer clothes and bags, this customised bright purple knife with a ‘B’ on the handle was the gift I could relate to most. It was more ‘me’ than anything else. I would have even gone as far as to say it was my favourite gift, if it wasn’t for the black Lexus my father got me. Not quite the motorcycle I had asked for, but it’s still sexy as fuck.
The door handle is jimmied until the lock clicks open, and that is enough to instantly snap me out of my thoughts. Thinking back to the way my father’s face crinkled into a mixture of disgust and anger when I asked him to buy me the bike could wait. Of course, he forbade me from riding, but that just made me better at hiding it from him. Right now, I can’t think about anything else except who could possibly be breaking into my bedroom in the early hours of the morning.
As my door is flung open, I run to the nearest sidewall. One of the first things you learn in self-defence is to make sure your back is protected at all times, which is why I plastered it firmly against the wall. No light flooded the room through the open door, as I was expecting. It means whoever is doing this is doing it in the dark. The figure that crossed the threshold of my door has a tall, broad silhouette, but that’s all I could tell. It’s obviously a man, but whether he is an enemy or not is still open for debate. This is why my arms remain firmly in position; one straight out in front of me, aiming my gun firmly into the centre mass of the man, and the other arm tucked up against my front, with my knife held tight, ready to be used if necessary. As I wait, my heart starts to race. My breathing is accelerated, too, so I hold my breath, trying to prevent the lurker from locating me quicker.
Within seconds he starts to move quickly, but not in the direction of the bed like I expected. When I heard the door handle being moved, I hastily tried to arrange the bed to make it look like I was still curled up under the covers, hoping that’s all it would take to allow me to sneak out of the room behind his back. But he looks to be heading straight towards me. How the fuck does he know where I am? I know I’m not making any noise to give away my position. I hadn’t even taken the safety off my gun, just in case he heard the click. I need to act quickly, so I decide then that even if this is someone I know, or who works for my father, the dickhead has crossed a line and deserves to be shot.
Clicking the safety off simultaneously, I take a quick but deep intake of breath whilst I hold my arm steady. I then, gently but confidently, push my finger against the trigger. Without hesitation, I aim for right in the middle of his chest. Everything seems to move in slow motion. It feels like I’m watching as the bullet flies out of the barrel and smashes into my target with the exact precision I’ve been trained to do. The loud bang of the gunshot reverberated through my ears, leaving behind a slight ringing that made me wince.
I know the second the bullet hits because he stops in his tracks; his path towards me stalled temporarily. Taking in rapid, shallow breaths, I try to replace the oxygen I’d missed by holding my breath for so long. I try to slow my heart rate down to think of my next manoeuvre. Far too often, I had been warned that the first bullet, even when it hits centre mass, might not take the assailant down. Jimmy always told me to empty my magazine into the bastards, but I can’t do that now. Most people would think that my hesitation is because of my reluctance to take a life, but that isn’t it. If the fucker is stupid enough to take on the daughter of a crime boss, then they deserve everything I want to throw at him.
The real problem is that I still don’t know if this guy is a friend or foe. My father could be under attack for all I know and has sent one of his security team to protect me. Unfortunately, he still sees me as a delicate little flower that needs protecting. He has no idea what I’m capable of. The last thing I need is some testosterone-fuelled security guard jumping in and thinking he is saving a damsel in distress.
Stupidly, it’s my hesitation that sees everything go to shit. While I’m waiting for the mysterious man to drop to the floor, my heart rate returns to normal, but I lose focus of the situation. Instead of falling, after his very brief pause caused by the initial hit, he carries on moving towards me at a fast speed. His temporary stall lures me into a false sense of security, and I close my eyes, which enables him to get the upper hand. My gun is still up, but I have lowered it enough that there’s a good chance I would miss him even if I do shoot again.
The closer this guy comes towards me, the more I realise he’s most definitely not a member of my dad’s security team. When he enters the light surrounding me, I can see that he’s much taller than my five-foot-three stature, maybe a whole foot taller, and is dressed in all-black tactical gear. If he worked for my father, he would be wearing a suit. All his security men look the same.
The tactical, high-grade, bulletproof vest he is wearing explains why my bullet didn’t even make an impact. But it’s the night vision goggles he has strapped to his head that explains exactly how he is capable of advancing through our house undisturbed. This guy was obviously the real deal, and it dawns on me that he must have taken out my father’s entire security system, and God knows how many of his men, just to get up here. But the scariest realisation is that I was his intended target all along.
Before I can get my knife into the correct position, a forceful blow knocks the gun out of my hand. At the same time, I feel a firm, muscular arm wrap around my body, holding the arm that I had the knife in tightly to my side. The next thing I know, his opposite hand is raising and aiming towards my mouth. The white cloth the stranger’s holding is the last thing I see before everything goes dark.