With a steady hand and animosity in his eyes Cray aimed his gun at his daughter. It should have been easy. Just pull the trigger. The mobster did it hundreds of times before without hesitation, but this wasn't just a bum. It was his own flesh and blood. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode out of his chest. Time seemed to stand still. Cray felt like he was moving in slow motion as he took a step closer to his daughter and pushed the gun against her head. She didn't pull away, resist or beg for her life. She knew what was coming. Cray was numb, still in shock over what lead to this, the unspeakable thing that made him want to kill his own child.

Most people knew Cray spent time in prison when he was young man. It was before he worked for Paul_Klint and long before he married the love of his life, Corky. Getting busted and doing time was business as usual for criminals. It was no big deal to the made men Cray did jobs for back then. What people didn't know was the arrest that lead to Cray's prison sentence was because of a rat, his first wife, Jeannie. Her betrayal cut deep and she paid for it with her life a week after Cray was released from prison.

The marriage was doomed from the start. Jeannie called them high school sweethearts, but Cray was only interested in one thing, getting her in the back seat of his car. When it finally happened it wasn't as good as he expected and he lost interest in Jeannie. Two months later she told him she was pregnant. Cray wanted to run, but he did the right thing, he married her. Before then he already did a few jobs for mobsters in his neighborhood. After Cray married Jeannie he did more work for people in the mafia to support his wife and daughter.

Working with mobsters wasn't a nine to five job. Every time Cray was out late Jeanie complained and accused him of cheating. Money was a big problem too. She spent it faster than Cray made it. A two story house, new furniture, new cars, expensive jewelry, a vacation cabin and shopping sprees. When Cray objected to Jeannie spending so much she screamed at him and told him it was his job to be a provider for her and the baby. The only bright spot for Cray during the bad marriage was his daughter, Cassandra. Although he was young and busy working to keep up with Jeannie's spending habit Cray spent time his daughter everyday. When she could walk he took her to parks and trips to the zoo were frequent.

Jeannie's suspicions of Cray cheating on her lead to her following him one night. She saw him go into a speakeasy with men rumored to be criminals and she called the police. The next day she visited her husband in jail and smugly told him she was the reason he was there. Cray didn't react then. He had a lot of time to plan his revenge. Five years later when he was released fro prison Jeannie was living upstate with her sister, Patricia. Cray followed Jeannie home from work one afternoon. When she stopped her car for a red light Cray stopped his car next to hers, tapped on the horn to get her attention and shot her the moment she turned her head to face him.

The shooting in the middle of the day attracted a lot of attention from local and state police. Cray was a suspect, but had a well paid alibi, an old friend in Brooklyn. A few weeks later after the case was closed and filed as an unsolved murder Cray went back upstate to Jeannie's sister's house to get his daughter, but the house was empty. A neighbor told him Patricia moved out the day after her sister's funeral. Cray spent months searching for the woman who had his six year old daughter, but couldn't find her. Eventually he gave up the search and returned home to Staten Island.

Minutes passed like hours. The Don was still in disbelief over the reunion with his daughter. With his right hand still holding a gun against her head Cray raised his left hand to his face, rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. It wasn't suppose to be like this. He never forgot her. He loved her as much as he loved his other children. He would've done anything for her, if she would've given him the chance. "Why?" Cray questioned with anger through gritted teeth. He pushed the gun harder against his daughter's head and yelled, "Why, Cassandra?"

The gun felt cold and heavy against Cassandra's head. She stared at her father and waited. She wanted it to be over. She accomplished her goal and was ready to die. He yelled at her. It sounded like a question, but she didn't hear what he said. Words didn't matter anyway. She already told him what she wanted to say. His shouting didn't matter to her. Although Cassandra liked the pain in his eyes and knowing she caused it she broke eye contact with her father and looked at his tense face then at his expensive tailored suit. The dapper Don, they called him. Cassandra smiled a little. He didn't look so dapper with blood on his suit and blood on his hands.

Growing up in South Side, Chicago with her aunt Cassandra's childhood was one dark day after another. She barely remembered her mother and didn't know anything about her father. When she asked her aunt about him Patricia smacked her and told her to never talk about him again. Instead of a father the girl had a lot of uncles. The nice guys didn't stay long. The bad ones eventually left too, but the things they did to her stayed in Cassandra's head forever.

Aunt Patricia lost more jobs than she lost men. She was mad a lot and blamed Cassandra for her miserable life. There wasn't always food in their small apartment, but Patricia bought a bottle from the neighborhood bootlegger everyday. The electricity was turned off often, one time for over a month. Another bad guy moved in with them when Cassandra was twelve. His name was Richard and he carried a gun. Sometimes he left for days. Once when he came back Patricia yelled at him. Cassandra heard them fighting and hid in her closet. The next day her aunt had a black eye and swollen lip.

One morning Richard stumbled into the kitchen with bloodshot eyes and sat at the table across from Cassandra. "I know your old man, Cray." He told the girl. "He's a no good arrogant son of a bitch." Cassandra was dumbfounded at the mention of her father. She wanted to hear more, but was afraid to ask. With a nervous glance at the doorway to check for her aunt she whispered, "I'm not allowed to talk about him." Richard laughed and said, "Your aunty told me who he is and how he killed your mother and got away with it. I already knew him so it didn't surprise me. He's not the first one of us to get rid of a dame." The words he said so casually echoed in Cassandra's mind. She shook her head because she didn't want to believe it. Richard laughed again. Patricia stood in the doorway and laughed too. Cassandra was in a daze. She didn't understand why they were laughing. More words echoed in her head, "Your father's no angel."

Other than going into her aunt's bedroom and taking Richard's gun off the nightstand the girl had no memory of what happened next. Later a doctor told her she shot Patricia and Richard. They were both dead. Because Cassandra was a child she was put in a mental institution, not jail. The girl was confused. She thought she should feel sorry for what she did, but she felt nothing. She was numb from medication. In between long bouts of sleeping she heard Richard and Patricia's laughter and the words they said about her father... Cray... arrogant son of a bitch... killed your mother... your father's no angel.

A man wearing a dark suit walked into her room on a Monday morning. Cassandra didn't know if he was real or she was dreaming. He didn't look like a doctor. The man put an envelope in her hand and said, "A token of thanks from my boss. Richard was planning to put him out of business." Cassandra didn't understand. She looked at the envelope then at the man, "Who's Richard?" She questioned and looked at the envelope again. Her fingers slowly moved across it. She didn't know how long it took to open it, minutes or hours. When she finally got it open she saw money inside. The man turned to leave. Cassandra wanted to ask him a question, but she couldn't think straight. "Wait." She begged. "Cray." The girl managed to say one word floating in her head and slowly added more, "Do you know Cray?" The man walked back to her bed and answered, "Never met him, but heard about him. He works out of Staten Island, I think." For several hours everyday Cassandra repeated Staten Island out loud so she wouldn't forget it.

After six years of medication and electric shock therapy in the institution Cassandra was released. She was considered an adult at the age of eighteen, but could barely tie her shoes. The real world was confusing. In a daze she wandered around the streets of Chicago, slept under bridges and ate out of trash bins. Five or six years, she didn't know how long passed. Some days she didn't know her name. The haze from the medication slowly lifted over the years and she remembered things, like her father was an arrogant son of a bitch and killed her mother. She bought a knife and a bus ticket to Staten Island. It put a smile on her face to think about meeting her father and plunging the knife into his heart.

In Staten Island Cassandra lived on the streets. It wasn't easy to find her father. She became known as the crazy homeless woman who asked everyone the same question, "Do you know Cray?" One day a man held up a newspaper in his hand and answered, "The only Cray I ever heard of is a mobster I read about." Cassandra snatched the newspaper away from the man. When he tried to take it back she pulled her knife out. The man wisely walked away. The newspaper headline was about the mafia in New York. Cray was allegedly an organized crime boss. Even better, the newspaper lead Cassandra to a business Cray owned, The Borgata Barber Shop. 

If someone told Cray he'd be married again a year after he got rid of his first wife he would've told them they were crazy. The years with Jeannie made him hate women. He had the same opinion he had when he was seventeen, women were only good for one thing. Working with Corky changed his mind. He was crazy about her. They got married and had four children, Michael, Addison, and twins, Glenn and Grace. Cray was a proud father. He bragged about his kids and showed off their photos in his wallet.

The mobster loved his children equally, but had a special place in his heart for his oldest son, Michael. The father and son had a special bond. Michael idolized his father and wanted to follow in his footsteps, join the family business. When Micheal was was sixteen Corky and Cray gave him small jobs to do, the same jobs Cray did for made men when he was his son's age. Micheal was a natural at business, a chip off the old block. By the time he was seventeen Michael was earning more money than some young gangsters. Cray boldly predicted Michael would be running his own family someday.

It didn't surprise Cray to see Michael walk in his office in the back of barber shop with a thick envelope. "The guys gave me a cut of the art heist." The young man explained and put the envelope on his father's desk. "You were part of the job?" Cray asked with mild surprise. "All I did was get the guest list for the opening at the gallery last night." Michael answered with a shrug. "Lot of rich people were there. The guys got art, jewelry and money." Before Cray could respond there was a knock on the door. It was one of The Don's bodyguards. "Sir, there's a young lady here who wants to talk to you. Her name is Cassandra."

Hearing his daughter's name stunned Cray. Memories of taking her to the park and zoo filled his head. It was so long ago it seemed like a different lifetime. She was twenty four years old now. So much time passed he lost hope he'd ever see her again. "Send her in." Cray told the bodyguard and stood up. He wasn't sure how he would explain a long lost sister to Michael, but he knew his son would accept her and love her as much as he did his other siblings. When the door opened Cray expected to see a young woman who resembled him, but Cassandra looked like a younger version of Jeannie. The only similarity between her and Cray were the same dark blue eyes.

"Cassandra." Cray greeted his daughter and slowly approached her. "I'm so happy to see you. I looked for you for so long." Before he could hug her she moved back and said, "Don't touch me." Cray nodded and took a few steps back to give her space. He could see she was scared or nervous. He hoped he could put her at ease. "Have a seat." Cray told her then gestured to Michael with a proud smile. "This is my son, Michael." The young woman stared at her brother with a blank look in her eyes. "Michael." She mumbled then turned to Cray. "You had more kids?" Cray smiled again and pointed at a framed photo on his desk. "Yes, four children." Cassandra walked past her father to get a closer look. In the photo Cray, Corky and their children looked like a perfect happy family. Their smiling faces pierced through Cassandra's heart.

The office was silent for several seconds as Cassandra stared at the photo. Michael approached her and put his hand out as an offer to shake hers, a gesture he did with all his father's associates. "Nice to meet you." He said. Cassandra was startled out of her painful thoughts about Cray's family. She looked up at her brother. He was a spitting image of their father. It made her sick to look at him and think about how Cray raised four children while she lived in poverty, in an institution and on the streets. She hated her father more than ever. With a tight grip on her knife she pulled it out of her handbag and slammed it into Michael's chest. The knife sunk so deep it stayed in him as he stumbled back and fell.

"Michael!" Cray yelled out and fell to his knees next to his son. He glanced up at his daughter in disbelief then looked at his son bleeding on the floor. Michael's body shook as he cried out with pain and grabbed his father's arm. As the front of his shirt became soaked with blood Cray's eyes filled with tears. "No, God, no no no... " He begged and put his hand on his son's face. "Dad." Michael gasped. "I'm here." Cray quietly said and desperately searched for the right words to say. "I'm here. It's okay." He said in an attempt to comfort his son. "Dad." Micheal repeated then took his last breath. Tears streamed down Cray's face as he watched his son die. "My boy." He whispered and kissed Michael's forehead. "My angel."

"Your son for my mother." Cassandra said with crazy smile and a short laugh. "Now we're even, old man." Cray snapped out of his trance on the floor and stood up with his gun in his hand. "You little bitch!" He yelled and pointed the gun at her. "You're just like your mother." Cassandra shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Kill me like you killed her. Go ahead and do it. I don't care."

Cray lost track of time since his son died and he put his gun against his daughter's head. He desperately wanted to wake up and this to be a bad dream. Conflicted and hurt he lowered his gun. His heart was broken over Michael, but he couldn't pull the trigger. He couldn't kill his daughter. "This is all my fault." He mumbled and holstered his gun. "I should've tried harder to find you." His eyes filled with tears again as he looked over at his dead son on the floor. He turned back to Cassandra and said, "This would've never happened if I found you." 

Cassandra's only response was a blank stare. They stood there in silence facing each other for several minutes. "I don't want to bury two of my children. When Michael's mother finds out.... " Cray stopped as he thought about how difficult it would be to tell Corky their son was dead. "We know a lot of people. They will hunt you down and kill you. I don't know if I can protect you. They might only respect my wishes as long as I'm alive. Change your name and never tell anyone I'm your father." There was still a vacant expression on Cassandra's face. Cray didn't know if she understood his warning. He pointed at the door and said, "Go now. Run! Get out of this city." His words seemed to finally sink in. Cassandra left the office and Cray knelt down next to his son. "I'm sorry, Michael."