Queen of the Mafia's Revenge

Dawn sets on a sunny Tuesday, I stretched dizzily, and with a yawn. I walked to the mirror in the bathroom to brush. It was my birthday.

I looked into the mirror and smiled, my face was aglow with mingled joy and happiness.

"Happy birthday," I whispered to the image staring back at me. A lot of thoughts ran through my mind. I couldn't wait for my father to walk into my bedroom, and ask me what I wanted for my birthday. That had been our culture for as long as I could remember, he would walk into my bedroom and ask me what I wanted. And whatsoever I requested, he would get it for me without arguing.

This year, I was going to ask for something different. It wasn't the first time I was asking him for it, but if I wanted to change how things were with him, I'd need it soon.

Quickly, I showered and got dressed in my newest jeans pants with a red crop top. Red was my mother's favorite color. Everything of hers that I could lay hold of, was red. Over the years, looking at her pictures, and wishing I was with her, I have also grown to love the color red just like she did.

I slid my feet into my favorite black and trendy sneakers, then I styled my hair with a red bow.

A smile lit up my face when I took one last glance at the mirror. I was satisfied with the image that stared back at me.

My hair was black and long, it hung down to my back. I had thin pink lips, like my mother. Pointed nose, and black pupils. Long lashes, with thick eyebrows. I was beautiful.

I was yet to make up my mind on if I wanted to wear makeup or not.

My father wouldn't care, but my friends would. I had never been a fan of makeup. That was probably because my mother didn't love it either.

I twisted left and right in admiration, I wished there was someone in my room with me to compliment my dress, someone to tell me the right amount of eye shadow to put on my face. I wished my mother hadn't died months after I was born.

"Camilla, good morning." My father twisted the handle of the door and pushed it open without knocking. "I see you are all dressed for your party." He stood at the door, dressed in a blue suit, and red shoes.

"Yes, I am. Good morning daddy." I strolled to him and fell into his arms. I loved my father so much, and nothing would change that. He had been an amazing father, and the mother I never had. I knew it wasn't easy for him to juggle two jobs, just to provide for me. "It's my birthday daddy." I knew he recalled, but I couldn't resist the urge to remind him. I wanted him to skip every other part of the ritual, and get to the part where he asked me for what I wanted.

"I know, my lovely." He scooped me up into his arms as he used to when I was just four. "I know." He used his index finger to brush my hair backward, and then he planted a kiss on my forehead.

"Now, tell me, Cammie, what do you want for your birthday?" He sank his butt into my mattress and lowered my body to his lap.

My heart skipped a beat. The question had come sooner than I expected it to. I directed my gaze to the rug on the bare floor of my room, avoiding eye contact with him. I rested my head on his broad shoulders and took a few seconds playing on his black wavy hair. We didn't play the usual games, and neither did we do our father-daughter dance. He didn't tell me to change my outfit, he didn't choose jewelry for me. He went straight to the part where he asked me what I wanted.