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1
LUCA
“That’s what you referred to as an emergency? Babysitting a grown woman?”
“Luca, I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
I have so much blood on my hands that if I add my father’s, I’ll still sleep soundly tonight. No guilt. No nightmares.
Just another day in my life.
Each second ticking past is an exercise in restraint. My handler knows me as a stoic, generally calm employee. But right now, all the ways I know how to kill a person flit through my mind because even at thirty-eight years old, dear ole Dad still treats me like I’m eight.
“With all due respect, Dad, I do not give a fuck.”
He drops clothes into the suitcase and whirls around. “Then, why are you here? Because I called, right?”
“Because I thought you were dying, and I’m about to pay my final respects.”
Instead of matching my ire, he bursts out laughing. “Goddamn. I forgot how straightforward you can be, son.”
Son.
Right.
I should’ve known. Thirty-eight years on this Earth, and my father can still make a fool out of me. Lying is second nature to him, and he does it as often as he breathes.
He only remembers he has a child when it’s convenient. When he needs someone to bail him out of the shit he pulled. When he needs someone to take the fall. When he needs a valid excuse for pretty much anything.
I can’t even remember how many times he used being a single father as his get-out-of-jail-free card.
Can I go first? My child isn’t feeling well.
Can I get a discount for this? I have a kid.
I’m sorry I thought that was my wallet. I’ve been so preoccupied with my boy. I’m the only one he has, you see.
Oh, shit. Sorry, can I borrow a ten? My son wants ice cream, and I think I left my wallet at home.
I’ve heard every excuse he’s ever made, and I'm sick of it. I’m sick of being related to this piece of scum. Sure, he’s made some money for himself, but I don’t believe for one second it’s from honest work. He wouldn’t know honesty if it hit him in the face.
“I’m out of here,” I say and spin on my heel, not bothering to listen to whatever he has to say. I admit I didn’t bother checking up on him, so imagine my surprise when he sent me his address,and I found this sprawling mansion with at least three sports cars parked out front.
I wonder who he swindled this time because that’s what he is.
A con man. A grifter. He targets everyone—from working students to single moms to seniors living on their pensions. The more innocent and vulnerable, the better.
I should’ve sent the police after him, but the moment I turned eighteen, the only thing I cared about was getting as far away from my father as I could. The guilt continues to eat at me since I know, with my silence and apathy, he has managed to hurt hundreds, if not thousands.
Then again, who am I to speak? It’s not like I don’t kill for money, and so I don’t exactly have a high moral ground to stand on.
Denial tastes bitter in my mouth, but I have to acknowledge that, in some ways, I am no different from him. Even though my ‘missions’ always tend to involve someone dangerous to society. I tell myself I take the money but also do some good and make the world a better place, but as long as I continue to turn a blind eye to my father’s dealings, I am as much at fault as him.
“You’re not here for me, Luca,” he calls out.
His voice becomes a white noise, and I’m an expert at tuning him out. I don’t stop, I don’t turn back to him, and I don’t acknowledge what he said.
“It’s Lila. I called you for Lila.”
