This is an actual chapter! So if you don't want to read through this author's note then you can just skip through it and start reading the actual chapter :)

But since it's been so long since my last actual update I've decided to put a recap of what happened with most of the characters and what this upcoming chapter will focus on, that way you guys don't have to go back and reread :)

Recap:

Rick:

"So you, my boy, are going to break us out of this hell hole."

"Good. Now if you cooperate with us then you'll be buying your own ticket to get out of here. But if you squeal, we'll kill ya before ya can even think about being outside these walls. Understood?"

"Now boy, are ya in or are you out."

"I'm in."

Reagan:

I have no money and no phone. No way to call my parents. And the car will run out of gas soon.

A police car parks behind my car and a burly cop steps out, a stern look on his gruff face. I roll down my window and he comes to a stop in front of it, a hand on his gun.

"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step out of the car, immediately."

Mr. Smith (The guy from chapter 12):

"Find her and stop her, before I revoke my offer and you can carry out your death sentence as originally planned."

"Now you have one last chance, Mr.Smith, do not fail me or I will send you straight back to where you belong...Hell."

♣♣♣

Axel Smith (Mr.Smith's) POV

The sudden buzzing which comes from the interior of my jacket pocket startles me and I turn from the bar at which I'm sitting. My fists clench at the interruption. Impatiently taking out my sleek phone, it continues its buzzing. A half empty glass of alcohol sits on the spotless counter in front of me. I glare at a drunken college boy who tries to take the vacant stool next to me and effectively scare him off. Smirking, I answer the incoming call, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"What." I grit out. Running a hand through my thinning, greasy hair.

"Now then, Smithy, is that any way to treat the son of your boss?" Sterling's cool voice reaches my ears and I go still.

Why the hell is he calling me?

"What do you want kid?" The ice in my voice is enough to make a nearby customer glance over with disdain.

"Mind your own damn business." I snap to the man. He turns away swiftly, not daring to challenge me.

Rubbing my temples, I eye the alcohol still in the glass before me. Taking a sip and then tipping it back to finish it off, I slam the empty glass onto the counter. Irritated, I realize that Sterling still hasn't answered me. I'm about to bark at him, when he speaks.

"I thought my father told you to take care of the girl. She's come too close to the precise place where she should be farthest from." The clipped tone with which he delivers his little speech tells me that he's only seconds away from giving into a dangerous rage.

I feel my own temper flare as the heavy alcohol running through my veins makes me careless with my words.

"The girl is clever and I'm not a puppet who's strings you can yank, got that sonny?" I wave over the young bartender, who's flirting with a girl a few seats down. He doesn't look happy at the interruption but strides over. Sliding my empty glass over to him, I nod my head, signaling for a refill. He glares slightly before turning to get me more alcohol.

I find that Sterling has gone silent on the other end of the line and I feel a small smile forming on my lips.

Maybe I've finally shut the kid up for once.

Satisfaction runs through me and I twist the thumb ring on my left hand with my forefinger. The steel carvings bite into my rough skin. The ring's surface feels cool against my overheated body.

"Mr. Smith." I start slightly as Sterling speaks up. He spits out my name like a curse word.

The bartender comes back, a towel thrown haphazardly over his broad muscular shoulder. Slamming the now full glass down in front of me, he saunters back to the redheaded chick.

Laughter issues over the other end of the phone and my fists clench at the chilling sound. Sterling's next words catch me off guard. His tone an icy contradiction to the sound of his amusement from only seconds before.

"How is your daughter?" Those four words send an unexpected shard of fear into my heart. Suddenly I regret ever opening my mouth to speak. At my silence, he continues. "Alexa isn't it? What a beautiful name."

My eyes close briefly at the sound of her name. All the alcohol I've consumed isn't enough to rid me of the pain that's settled deep inside me. Despite how much I want to forget, the rundown bar and numerous glasses of alcohol, still aren't enough to help me forget what today is.

The day my daughter was born, twelve long years ago.

Sterling echoes my thoughts. "I believe she just turned twelve today if I'm not mistaken Mr. Smith."

Clenching the phone tightly, I stay silent, my rusty heart thumping in my chest.

"I hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, but seeing as you need a bit of motivation I have no other choice." His words make me pause. Dread snakes through me as a vibration shakes my phone with an incoming message. Lowering the phone from my ear, I click on the message.

Happy Birthday Alexa

Frowning in confusion, I open the attachment linked to the message. Glimpsing the picture that pops up onto the screen I breath out one word.

"No."

There on the small screen is my daughter. Her picture is caught mid laugh, flushed face turned to the side. She looks so grown up and beautiful, the strong girl I always knew she'd grow up to be.
In front of her is a circular birthday cake. A pink number twelve sits on top, the candles spread around, waiting to be lit.

I abruptly realize that I haven't seen my daughter in almost four years now. The small fact makes my stone cold heart twist with an emotion I haven't felt in so long.

Sorrow.

The familiar, yellow dining walls in the background of the image add a joyful glow room. The picture seems so innocent.

But what makes my heart stop in fear is the gun that's visible in the lower center of the picture. A rough, tanned hand holds a Glock 43 in front of the camera. A finger poised threateningly over the trigger.

Propped against the window from where the photo is taken is a newspaper. Upon closer inspection the corner of it reveals today's date. The authenticity of the photo, feels as though I've been condemned once more.

Looking back at the wall behind Alexa, I see a dent which is just barely discernible from the image. The area over it is slightly discolored, a rusty color that stands out against the bright yellow paint. A stain which hasn't been painted over.

A piece of history permanently etched into my past.

"Where's the money?"

My head spins and I groan at the sound of the gruff voice. I'm unable to think through the pain in my shoulder. Spitting blood on the ground, I get to my knees, gritting my teeth. Agony courses through my whole body and the pain threatens to send me back down.

A booted foot lands on my wounded shoulder, and I let out a guttural scream. The sound echoes through the house.

My house.

I'm instantly grateful that my wife and little girl are on a school camping trip and won't be back for a few days. The pressure from my shoulder is abruptly removed. I'm hauled up by the lapels of my ripped and bloody jacket. I stare into the hard, cold eyes of the unfamiliar brute for a brief moment. Turning, I glance over at the man who's responsible for this pain.

Impeccably dressed, he stares at me with a sense of detachment. He walks over a hat pulled low over his face, concealing his rough features in shadow.

Still hanging halfway in the air, the brute clutches me tighter before twisting me around. I come face to face with him.

My boss.

He cocks his head to the side, studying my miserable state.

Broke. Bleeding. Broken.

"Put him down." An Italian accent laces his words, a heritage passed through generations. I'm suddenly released and fall to the floor in a shameful heap.

The movement jolts my shoulder, making me grunt. My boss leans down to look me in the eye, arching a thick black brow which is now visible from my angle on the ground.

"You've broken your oaths, and I don't tolerate oath breakers in my gang. Not when I uphold generations of tradition." He pauses as though contemplating his next words. "But I may be willing to make an exception. I admired your father. He was a fine Capo."

My head spins at the mention of my bastard of a father. It's because of him that I'm here, that I lead this life.

It's because of him that I'm in the Mafia.

My boss continues slowly, seeming almost hesitant in what he's about to say. "I will give you one chance. One chance to prove yourself worthy."

I look up, disbelieving. The feared Adamo Dante granting mercy, a feat unheard of.

"There is one condition though." I tilt my head up, curious and a bit fearful. Of course there's a catch. Everything has a price, a lesson I'd learned far too early in life.

He grins, his perfectly aligned teeth glinting white and I shiver at the ice in his smile.

"You will leave your family. No contact. No explanation. You will have a new identity and if you attempt to make any contact or provide any explanation. Your family will be dealt with accordingly."

My heart drops and I gulp. There's only one way that the infamous Dante deals with people.

Either I accept his offer and give my family a chance at safety and survival, but at the price of leaving them. Or I'm killed on the spot, my rotting corpse left for my wife and eight year old daughter to find. A wife and daughter who may very well not live to see another day if I'm to make a mistake. I bow my head, in defeat. There's no other way.

"I accept your generous offer. You will not regret this decision." I struggle to stand to my feet. Leaning against the dented and blood stained wall, I take the hand that Dante offers me.

Shaking it, I seal my fate.

A fate that will keep my wife and daughter safe, but ruin any chance of happiness or redemption.

Sucking in a breath as the memory fades, I choke as another message comes through. This time from a number all too familiar.

My boss. A man no more different than the previous monster who haunted my pathetic existence.
Reading the text, I close my eyes briefly.

No more mess ups. The plan progresses smoothly from now on.

The unspoken threat hangs clearly in the air as Sterling speaks. A sick satisfaction in his tone. "I presume you know what you must now do Mr. Smith. Because, as you can see, there's a price to pay for failure."

The line goes dead, and slowly the noise from the bar seeps into me, as Sterling's words strike me to the core.

Once more I've found myself in line with the devil, with my family in danger of having to pay a hefty price.

The price of my failure.