Destined

01

Yaz

24 years old

6 years later, in Tokyo, Japan.

There is a horrible laugh coming from a man who drunkenly stumbles through the crowd of people. His suit rumbled and his hair was messy. John Genovese seems to have no control over his liquor as he swigs from a bottle of plain vodka and mumbles incoherent words to people in black.

The funeral was tense enough before the eldest son of the highest mafia in the USA showed up drunk off his ass. A woman came after him with her face scrunched with worry and tried to help him walk, but he just shoved her away aggressively, causing her to narrow her eyes and storm away. Eliza Moore knew her worth and although she understood John's grief, she would not stand to be treated like shit.

Eliza nodded at me with a greeting but continued to storm away as I sipped some of the liquor from the glass cup I held. I wore dress pants, a blazer, and makeup on my face to hide the puffiness in my eyes. My hair had been done, making me look professional, although before today I hadn't changed or brushed my hair for a week.

The tension in the air was thin, feeling as if a feather were to land on it, then it would snap, leading to violence that most of us would like to avoid. But emotions always get in the way of logic, especially at funerals.

John seemed to have made his way to the front somehow with a microphone in one of his hands. I knew then that this would not end well. His laugh was sad as he spoke, "time and time again, the people we love die and still, even when we warn them, they walk into death's arms as if it were a warm embrace." My eyes widen as he recites the part of a book that was a favorite of mine, something I had only told to two people, and we stood at one of their funerals.

This time he laughed bitterly, "She told me this quote the day I told her not to marry him." He said the word with such hatred, "She should have listened to me! If she had, she would still be alive! If she weren't so blind-" A gun fire sounded through the air and before anyone could react, John was on the floor with a gun wound in his left shoulder.

My eyes widen as I whirl around with my gun already in my hand to find the person holding a pistol in one hand and the other in his pocket. Isamu Yama lowers his gun, his eyes cold and unreadable as he turns away and saunters off, not giving me a glance.

My heart ached so badly that I had to clench my other hand at my side to stop it from clawing at my chest and ripping it out to stomp on it. There was another feeling there and it was dark and furious. It ate me from the inside and gnawed at my soul, but I pushed it away. I watched as Isamus' blurry figure got farther and farther away.

People always say that sometimes the lines between love and hate can blur and it's hard to tell which one you feel, but for me, there is no line. I could love and hate with the same force all at once, and Isamu would always be its target.