I rifled through my drawers, struggling to find my tie. It was half past seven on a Monday morning. My wife Melissa laughed as she stepped out of the bedroom all dressed up in her charcoal pantsuit while I stood there still wearing a rumpled shirt and some dirty flannel pants. I clumsily ran into the nearest closet and looked for my dress pants, but all I could find were my wife’s slacks.
“Why am I so dumb?” I ran across the room into the other closet and sifted through the drawers. Yet I could only find my golf shirts and khakis. I turned slowly to see where my dry cleaned suit could be and saw a small snippet of white on top of a dusty, ebony shelf. My back cracked loudly as I grabbed the white mass and a single item thumped to the floor. A white fedora, rimmed with a bright red ribbon. I inhaled sharply, immediately feeling dizzy.
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I lay in the alleyway by the rotting apartments in the South Bronx. Rain was pelting my thin, bony body as I tried to use a garbage can’s lid as shelter. I licked my hands clean from the rainwater pooling around me. My stomach growled and my eyes were heavy with fatigue. I lay crouching on the dirty floor and looked through the overturned garbage can where I took refuge for the night. Bags of garbage littered the alley, each of them having a putrid stench that even the rain couldn’t hide. I tried to untie the knots of one of them, but my hands shook too much. I eventually clawed at the plastic until a small tear finally formed. I tore through the bag greedily waiting for something edible to come out. It was all torn up newspaper and plastic wrappers. That is, until a single, moldy roll made an appearance. I quickly picked it up out of the muddy water. I hesitantly looked it over. It was dense and crusty, white mold growing along its ridges, though soggy from the rain. I decided to risk it. I quickly took a bite, but it never reached my stomach. I curled over, retching into the puddles and fell forward, lying in my vomit. Large tears streamed down my cheek falling hastily into the puddle, mixing with the rainwater continuously attacking me. Sobs spewed from my throat and I felt bile threatening to make an appearance. I made no attempt to get up, until I heard a distinct click of shoes, walking down the alley. I opened my eyes in fear as they took in what was in front of me. A large man, fifty or so in age, large round belly, was standing in front of me, with three men clad in black holding umbrellas for him. They were all dressed elegantly in suits, their hair greased back. If Papa told me one thing, it was never to mess with men like this. The large man was wearing a crisp white suit, with an expensive, white fedora sitting atop his head. He sneered at my limp body.
“Hey kid. Get up.” He had an unrecognizable lilt to his speech.
“I said, get up.” He said it flatly, which was what scared me the most.
“What’s your name?” He sized me up, a sneer plastered on his face while looking at my rail-thin body, “How old are ya?”
“Andrew…Andrew Sanchez. I’m…I’m eight” I must have been inaudible as he asked once more.
“Ya got a family?” I shook my head, “You need something to eat?” This time I nodded.
“Well, if you come with us, we’ll give you all the food you need, clothes, a cot.” I looked up expectantly, excitement clearly in my eyes.
“Yeah, you know you want it, but you gotta work. We need a kid on the job, someone small to do the dirty work.” He laughed with the other men, “But know this. If you don’t listen, you gonna get it. You gonna get it good.”
Fear must have flashed in my eyes as he laughed. But my growling stomach seemed to speak for itself.
“Alright.” He smiled and grabbed my arm. His gold teeth glowing in the cloudy storm. His slight smirk never left his face as he pulled off his hat and placed it right next to me. I relished the warmth of the car, even as a musty, tweed bag was pulled over my head.
“His initiation will begin tomorrow.”
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I gasped as I picked up the new hat my wife got me. Shaking my head I grabbed my suit off the hanger, changed, and went out to meet Charles with the limo to head to a brunch meeting. I took an aspirin and went on with my day, though the morning’s events were consistently playing in my head.
The week went on being generally uneventful, the company’s annual reports came in, the results were disappointing, though it just left room for improvement to help the company flourish. One incident did come up on Wednesday night, an email came from an anonymous user on my work email. I opened it thinking it a spam message, though the message itself was just a harmless question. It asked where I could be reached, and I simply replied with the link to my contact information on the company website. Probably just a teenager looking to teepee my house, or prank call me, something that happens too often to still be considered funny. But the email address caught my eye.
“Cast4no@fam.mail.org…I swear that name sounds familiar,” I whispered to myself as I went to bed that night. However it eventually got lost in the jumble of a life I lived. 
After coming home from a tiring week at work, I slipped through the front door to hear Melissa in the kitchen chopping some bell peppers, her graying hair tied in a neat bun. The kitchen had just been remodeled to fit Melissa’s ever-changing taste. The living room was already transformed from being what she said to be gothic to minimalistic and she set up new bottles of alcohol on the custom-made counter in order to flaunt our wealth in the faces of her socialite friends. I smiled to myself, ready to give my lovely wife a scare. As she scraped the peppers into the pop and I shouted her name at the top of my lungs. She immediately gave me the response I was looking for. She dropped the cutting board and glared at me as I waltzed over to the pot to stir the thick goulash. After she regained her composure, she slipped off her golden wedding band and dropped it on the granite countertop. As it clattered to a halt I felt a familiar tug at the back of my mind.
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  I slowly walked into the family home. My leather shoes squeaking against the wooden floorboards, I stared up into Ricardo’s eyes. I put the platinum switchblade on the coffee table and handed him the purse from Tony’s wife I had to get. He needed it to blackmail his rival, Tony Cavelli. Head of the Cavelli family. Rival to us, the Castanos. I felt bead of sweat dribble down my neck. He sneered with his Cuban cigar lodged in his fat lips while he poured the contents of the bag onto the coffee table. It vanished as soon as he saw just what was inside the sleek handbag.
A roll of lipstick. A stack of photographs. A notepad. Silk gloves. His eyes bulged and he threw his cigar at Remi, one of his…henchmen. Fear paralyzed me.
“What is this?!” He screamed at me. The veins in his neck bulging.
“I…I brought you the purse. I did…I did what I was told.” His eyes slowly rose to meet mine. The room started spinning. Sweat was dripping down my neck. His eyes were orbs of pure rage.
“You did NOT do what you were told. You did NOT get what was needed. YOU. ARE. A. FAILURE.” He screamed. A large, tear lolled down my cheek, “Why are you crying? Why. Are. You. Crying. You ain’t no girl. I will not have a little girl in my family!” He screamed out in frustration. I saw him raise his fist. Each finger was adorned with a gold ring, each ring with a different gemstone. Time seemed to slow down. It came closer. And closer. Until it hit. My body shook with the force, my cheek stung and the pain reverberated throughout my body. I cried out. I was pushed to the floor.
“I told you to stop your crying! I will not let a girl be in my family. I chose you off the streets. I raised you for the past two years. You should be better than this! You owe me your life.” He screamed at me for what seemed like forever. More and more tears poured down my face. Leaving a faint ghost of bitter tears on my lips. He eventually got up and walked to the entrance of our foyer.
“If you’re gonna cry. Then leave. This is the only time you can leave. You’ll be leaving behind the perfect life. But if you gonna be a girl, ya gotta go. Now.” His face was bright red. I shook my head.
“I…I can’t go. I need to stay. I…I have to. Or I’ll…I’ll” My voice cracked as I spoke.
“Then you work like a man. Do what an associate is supposed to do. I will not accept a failure like this again.” He took a deep breath, “Leo, deal with this punk.”
He walked down the hallway, and I turned only to see Leo walk up to me. He pulled up his sleeves and slid on three golden rings. It was hard to believe he was barely five years older than I was.
I screamed.
He threw a punch at my face. It stung. It hurt. It crushed me. After three hits to the cheek I crumpled. I fell forward and lay on the ground. He kicked me. In the ribs. In the stomach. Screams flowed out of my mouth, sounds of pure desperation. I could not leave. This life was too perfect for me to leave, the subtle luxuries provided were too much to let go of. Food. Beds. Clothes. Support.
“Kid, you betta know what you’re getting into. You got the chance. You could have left. But you didn’t. You’re a selfish—” Leo kicked me once more, “He gave you a chance to leave, take it if you really want to.”
I stood up and quickly lunged away from his kick. Searing pain was rippling throughout my limbs. I staggered to the door and gripped the spotless knob.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Don’t wanna be like Danny.” I gasped and turned away from the door and scurried to see Ricardo’s large frame.
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I felt a sharp pain radiate through my cheek. My wife stood there her hand caressing my reddening jaw.
“What’s going on? You weren’t listening to a thing I say…I’m sorry.” She looked at me empathetically, tears welling in her eyes. Her voice wavering with each word. I couldn’t be cross with her when her actions were clearly out of love.         
“What was that all about?” She made me sit on the barstool.
   “Nothing. I just remembered something. It’s not important.” I slowly tried to stand up.
“Alan, you have to tell me what’s wrong. This isn’t healthy…Is this about your…past?” She always questioned me about my past. What I was like before I started my multi-million dollar company, a perfect rags to riches story. She never found out. I’d never let her.
“You don’t need to know.” I quickly stood up and walked out to the backyard. I heard her protest but the sliding door blocked off her shouts. I walked over to the hammocks and decided to rest. The entire day was exhausting and the painful memories just drained me further. As the sun was setting I dozed off. I eventually awoke to the loud crickets chirping in the grass. I slipped out of the hammock and opened the back door. Melissa was sitting at the kitchen table skimming an inventory list.
“You were sleeping for some time Mr. Alan Green.” She smartly stated as she peered above the rims of her glasses.
“I’m sorry to have displeased you, oh mighty Mel.” I knew she hated her nickname, but I was an exception. I chuckled as I approached the minibar in the living room, “You should get some sleep. You’ve been working too hard. Don’t wanna break anything.”
“Don’t say that, you’re making me sound old.” She laughed while putting away her paperwork.
“Last time I checked being fifty three is pretty old.” I laughed as she scoffed at me with quite theatrically, “The teens these days would say you lost your groove.”
“Oh please, you should be the one getting to bed. You really scared me earlier Alan. You can’t just do that.” I just waved her off with a sarcastic scoff, and she then whispered a goodnight and walked up the stairs to the bedroom.
I was about to follow suit until I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. The phone number was foreign, 716-4532-4571, my eyebrows furrowed as I played the number in my head. I did not remember giving my phone number to anyone recently, though I decided to check the message anyways.
“I’m almost here. Be ready for me, little boy.” I reread the message to myself, chills running up my spine at the odd message. I decided to delete it and get some good rest.
The following morning I awoke extra early to go on a golf outing with the Head of Marketing, we were supposed to talk work, but that was a scenario only found in the most serious of dreams.
To try to wake myself up a bit more, I waltzed over to the minibar in the living room, lifting the large glass decanter and lightly tipping the amber whiskey into a small scotch glass. I took a sip and set it down onto the lustrous counter, though my phone suddenly started to ring. In a familiar spaz of my hand due to my lifelong struggle with clumsiness, the ornate glass slipped from my clutch. As I bent down to pick up the shards of smooth glass, my eyes struggled to focus. 
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I looked down at the mess. I held an empty crate and millions of tiny glass slivers coated the floor. I turned to see Ricardo fuming in the doorway to the warehouse.
“What. Did. You. Do.” He said through clenched teeth.
“I…I’m sorry.” I looked up at him and he was practically steaming.
“Clean it up. NOW.” He screamed.
“But…but…we don’t have a broom.” I only got a huff in return, and I was petrified as I realized what he wanted me to do.
“Well I don’t give a flying horse’s butt about a broom. Clean it up or you’re going into the river. Don’t want to be like Danny.” I shivered at the thought of Danny. He was going to be the something according to Ricardo. But then he disobeyed him, he was offered a chance to leave. He ran off with some girl he met at a bar. And when he came crying back, malnourished and apologetic. Ricardo simply laughed. He was thrown into a river tied to three suitcases full of his belongings he left. No one ever talks of it, they don’t want to die. I just couldn’t suffer the same fate.
“But won’t…won’t I need bandages?” I didn’t want to think of the pain.
“If you’re so weak and you need bandages, no rations for you. Food’ll be cut for you. Nada. This is not a game Andrew. Without me you will die out there. So listen to me and listen to me well. You do what I say or you’re dead. A hollow, lifeless shell of a boy.” He promptly walked away. I crouched down. My need to survive was bigger than the need to be comfortable. I needed to do this. I couldn’t risk not doing it. My life teetered on the faint line of failure and success, I didn’t want to fall onto the wrong side. 
I scooped up a handful of shards. Wincing at the pain. But it must be done. I slowly felt the thin, sharp glass pieces break skin and get lodged into my flesh. Blood eventually started dripping three handfuls in.
About halfway in, the pain was unbearable. Blood stained the floor. My face was stained with dried tears. My pants were cut up and my knees were bloodied. It took three hours to completely clean up. My body was covered with sweat and blood. My hands were still dripping with the crimson liquid. I stood up only to see Ricardo walk in.
“We got a problem on third. You’re in. Come on.” He pulled out my platinum switchblade.
“But…my hands.” I wept, hoping to see guilt flicker upon his hard face.
“Your hands are fine. You don’t go, then there’s no food for you. No bed. You’ll be in the alleys again. Your choice. I’m leaving the door open, you little weakling. You better hurry or you’ll have to run, be there in five minutes.” He knew how to break me. He knew what to say. But now it all just numbed me. I slowly grabbed the knife, wincing as it pushed the miniscule shards of glass deeper into my flesh. He smiled down at me as I gripped the switchblade uneasily. I heard his shoes clacking out of the warehouse, and heard his car door close, and eventually zoom away.
I dropped my knife. I grabbed my coat. The world seemed to freeze as I approached the doorway. As I walked down the steps I took off running, powered by adrenaline and fear. I ran as far as I could. And I never looked back.
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A shout of surprise escaped me as a hand was clasped over my mouth, and I was thrown to the floor. I looked up and saw a man with enough weight to sustain a family of four. He had steely, gray eyes. Black hair. Scarred lip. And a crisp, white suit. My eyes widened in shock as I realized who it was. It was Remi.
“Andrew Sanchez. You thought you could escape us…eh?” He dropped a familiar switchblade onto the counter. I went rigid with fear.
“Still a coward I see. Once you left, Ricardo died a few years after. Being his right hand man, I took his spot. And I am keen on setting the Castano family straight, and you’re In our way. It’s been forty years, but I found you. You can’t fool me by changing your name or fleeing the state. Alan Green of Michigan. I distinctly remember what he said when you first thought about leaving,” He laughed as he picked up the platinum blade. He delicately flicked his wrist letting the blade shine in the light, “Don’t wanna be like Danny.”
“You…you can’t do this Remi. You have no power.” I looked up at him. His face contorted into a mix of anger and confusion.
“How did you do it? You had no money. No clothes. Nothing. How did this happen?” He looked at me, trying to maintain a cruel persona. Though it was obvious he did in fact want to know how I did it.
“I hopped on a train. I got to Chicago. Changed my name. I started working as a delivery boy.” Surprise seemingly flashed in his eyes as he crouched down suspiciously. Though my thoughts were elsewhere, “I grew older, living in an abandoned basement in the Loop. Eventually I started a small real estate company. I was—“
A sharp cry erupted from my lips. Remi smiled at me and pulled the switchblade out of my abdomen. In a quick blur, I felt it wedged into my ribs. In a final burst of agony, he pulled it along my chest. Silent pleads of help wavered out of my trembling lips.
“Your desperation ends here little boy. Don’t mess with the Castanos.” Smirking, he stood up. My vision went blurry and I fell onto my back. I faintly heard the screech of tires.
I was left broken in a pool of crimson.