|
Joy sat in the coffee shop, unread newspaper laid out in front of her as she stirred her beverage and watched people walk by the large picture windows. She sees -Lana- go past, pushing a baby in a stroller. It was quite the domestic scene, until you saw all the bodyguards floating about. Moments later, MiriamGoldstein enters the shop and orders herself a cup of tea. She appeared to be at the in-between stage of pregnancy, where she was just now beginning to show a little bump. She looked content, offering an easy smile to the clerk at the counter.
Joy's eyes unfocused a bit as she couldn't help but wonder about the future of these kids, and the others out there just like them. The mafia wasn't sterile. People tried to live normal lives; did the best they could under the circumstances. But how many of them would grow up like she herself did? Her own parents had good hearts, but there had been nothing normal about the way she'd been raised. While other kids had been pushed on a swing at the park, her daddy had taught her how to escape from the trunk of a car. Mom hadn't taught her daughter how to bake, but she'd certainly instilled in her the importance of always wearing shoes with a reinforced toe, and to always carry a metal nail file (she'd learned to pick a lock blindfolded by the time she was six). Other kids had gone to daycare, amusing themselves with dolls, blocks, and other children. Not Joy. She'd had a nanny; an old Russian ex-patriot who had once been some sort of informant. The woman was kind enough, but something about her had always scared the crap out of Joy. The upside to this was that she was now fluent in three languages.
Folding her paper and heaving a sigh, Joy stood and made her way to the door. Once outside, she walked to the curb to hail a cab. Can't worry about it too much, she thought, chuckling quietly to herself. Any one of them could be putting a gun to her head some day. Perhaps she she worry less about their futures, and more about her own. |
