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.

"I'm waiting, princess." His huge hands tapped my back.

"Dad, I love you." I started hesitantly. "You have been there for me, honestly, you have been an amazing parent." I retrieved my head from his shoulder and stopped playing with his hair for a while. My eyes locked with his. I reached out for his face and ran my hand down to his jaw. His face was clean-shaven.

"I can't deny the fact that you have given me the best there is to life, in the eighteen years of my life." I took a pause, inhaled, swallowed a lump that was building up in my throat, and continued. "But, you see, daddy. I am an adult today." I observed his countenance, but his face was completely void of emotions, I waited for him to talk, but when he didn't, I spoke on.

"I have become a grown woman." I sat straight on his lap, my gaze was still directed at his eyes. He looked at me cautiously. He was trying not to laugh at the subject of me growing into a woman. We always made a joke out of it.

"I need a mom." I blurted, not returning the smile. The weight was finally off my chest. I didn't know how he would feel about it, but I was glad that I had finally told him what had been on my mind. It wasn't the first time I was asking him for it, but this time around, I had more tangible reasons than I did the last time.

Uncomfortable silence lingered, my father had directed his gaze from my eyes to blank space. His fingers rested on his bed.

"Camilla." He sounded so calm, I was glad he wasn't mad at me. He barely ever got mad at me, and when he does, he was usually sure to give me valid reasons why he did.

"Dad." I glanced at the wall clock, it was well past seven am. The guests for my party would begin to arrive in less than two hours, yet my father and I were in my bedroom, and no preparations for the party had been set up.

He began, "I work ten hours every day, two shifts, at two different places to make sure I can provide for you." I sighed, not the same story again. Next, he was going to tell me why I don't need a mother, I rolled my eyes. He continued. "Camilla, I have never said no to any of your needs. Everything that you want, I provide almost all, if not all." He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded.

"Camilla, I barely ever buy new stuff for myself, but there is no clothing in the trend that you don't own" I nodded again. "Now, tell me, Cammie! What do you need a mother for?" He touched my cheeks with his thumb and index finger, and then touched my hair next. "What will she do, that I don't do for you, Cammie?" His countenance changed from happy to sad, I felt guilty for being the one to curse him pain, especially not on a day that we were both supposed to be happy and make memories together.

"Daddy, you love me, no doubts. But you don't understand me, and it's not your fault. You are an amazing listener, I won't deny that. But you still do not understand me. Because you are a man." I prayed silently that he wouldn't argue again. I was done fighting with him. "A lot of things would not be the way they are if you had a wife, and you know it."

He frowned. "Where do you want me to find a woman, Cammie? I haven't seen a woman that I want to marry." He sounded desperate. "Women don't grow on trees."

I sighed. It had always been his response, whenever I asked him to get married. "Women don't grow on trees." I expected him to sound different because it was my birthday, but he said the same words.

" Cammie, what do you want for your birthday?" By this, he meant my first wish was null. "I will get you any realistic gift you ask for."

"I want a new bike." my voice was dry, I didn't need a bike, the bike he got me for Christmas was still in good shape, and this was just may. But that was the only thing I could think of. I had virtually everything I could think of, including the latest iPhone, something my peers wished they did.

"Alright, then." A smile replaced the frown on his face, and he put his nose on mine, drawing me closer to him. "I will get you a new bike." Those were his last words, before he placed his lips on mine, and began to kiss me passionately. He lifted my polo shirt, and his fingers ran through my back, downwards. He was going for my pants. He was going to pull it off me, and then do whatever pleased him.

"Dad." I withdrew violently. He jerked at the sound of my voice and frowned at me.

"What is it Camilla, what? Why would you interrupt me in that manner, when you know this is the only way you can pay me back for my kindness to you?

"Dad, I feel like this is wrong." I sat up from his lap and sat on the bed instead.

I watched Adam's apple on his neck move, he was looking for the right words. "Camilla, who told you that?" He finally asked. Utterly distrusted.

"No one! I'm old enough to find out that what we have been doing isn't a father-daughter affair, that we have been taking it farther than we should. This is one of the reasons you need a wife. She would be here for you."

Never had I refused him access to my body, but I just couldn't go on with this anymore. He was fond of exploiting me, and he wouldn't get married either. Neither did he let me have a boyfriend. For the first time in the seventeen years of my life, I challenged him. He stood up from my mattress and straightened up. His full frame is in front of me. He was about six feet eight inches tall, with a muscular body frame that sent shivers down my spine. A strange grin lit up his face, then he took me by the collar and raised me. High enough for our noses to touch. Under his breath, he muttered. "Camilla, you will regret this, I swear!"