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My Years in the Mafia
墨書 Inktalez
April in Thailand is hot, but thankfully summer vacation is just around the corner.
Zhou Xiaxia returned home from school, holding a Cream Popsicle in her hand. She dropped her backpack and noticed the ice cream was starting to melt, so she quickly licked it from the bottom. The cold, milky flavor spread across her tongue, sweet and refreshing.
“Mom, I’m back!”
She looked around; it was unusually quiet at home today.
A light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, and her hair fell over her back like a blanket. Holding the popsicle to her lips for another lick, she gathered her loose hair into a ponytail and started to head upstairs.
At that moment, a pair of legs appeared in front of her.
Zhou Xiaxia looked up to see a man descending the stairs. Despite the sweltering heat, he wore two layers: a Black Suit on the outside and a White Shirt underneath.
Though this was typically formal attire, for some reason several buttons of his shirt were undone, faintly revealing his chest beneath, which bore what seemed to be gruesome scars.
Xiaxia forgot all about her popsicle as the milky juice dripped down her wrist onto the floor.
Her gaze followed the scars upward, landing on a young and strikingly handsome face.
Such appearances were rare in her home.
Although her father never allowed her or her mother to involve themselves in business matters, Zhou Xiaxia still knew a little—her family’s business was not exactly legitimate. The visitors were almost always men; some had rugged looks that frightened her, while others were burly figures who often followed her father around, exuding an aura that suggested they could easily take down a cow with a single punch.
In earlier years, when her father was seldom home, it was just her and her mother, and life felt quite lonely. However, in recent years, as her father began returning home more often, their household gradually became livelier, and Xiaxia had come to recognize many of the faces that frequented their home.
The man in front of her hadn't been to her house in at least two years, yet Xiaxia felt he looked familiar.
She stared blankly for a couple of seconds before tentatively calling out, "Uncle?"
As the man descended the stairs, he was rolling up his sleeves, which were stained with a bit of blood—an unsightly sight. He suddenly heard the bright voice calling him "Uncle," and his gaze shifted from his sleeve to the girl standing below.
She was a little girl... well, not so little, perhaps around fourteen or fifteen. Dressed in a Middle School Uniform, her white shirt was damp with sweat, revealing the thin straps on her shoulders. Despite the heat, she had buttoned her shirt all the way to the top, seemingly unconcerned about how tight it felt.
Moreover, her shirt was neatly tucked into a deep blue skirt. It was hard to tell if the skirt was too big or if she was just too thin, as the belt was wrapped around her waist twice. This accentuated the slight curve of her chest, making it somewhat noticeable.
The skirt's length reached just above her knees, which were rosy pink, leading down to two well-proportioned and fair calves.
Zhou Xiaxia noticed he remained silent and felt a bit puzzled. She wondered if she had called him incorrectly or if he simply didn't understand Chinese. But he didn't look like he was from Thailand.
Still, she called out again in Thai.
Seeing her insistently refer to him as "Uncle," the man suddenly recalled something.
His older brother... had a child. He remembered seeing her before; whether he had held her or not slipped his mind, but he distinctly remembered her hair styled in two little braids that one could easily lift with a finger.
When did she grow up so much?
"Do you remember me?" The man took his last step down the stairs and stood before Zhou Xiaxia.
The girl finally realized just how tall he was.
She had to take two steps back and look up at him. "Are you really my uncle? Zhou... Zhou Yinkun?"
Zhou Yinkun raised an eyebrow, surprised that someone had called him by his full name after such a long time. He had heard it twice today; it was clear they were indeed father and daughter.
Equally reckless.
"And you? What's your name?"
"Uncle, my name is Xiaxia, Zhou Xiaxia."
He didn’t immediately deny the title of "uncle," which meant she had recognized him correctly. Zhou Xiaxia's memories of Zhou Yinkun weren't from her childhood; she couldn't recall when exactly, but she had seen him from a distance before. At that time, her mother had told her to stay far away from this man.
Suddenly recalling this, Zhou Xiaxia looked at Zhou Yinkun's finely featured face and hesitated, taking a step back.
Her teacher had said that beauty could lower one's guard; just because someone looked good didn’t mean they had a good heart. The more strikingly beautiful a person was, the more dangerous they might be. Besides, her mother would never lie to her.
Zhou Yinkun watched with interest as her expression shifted from excitement to wariness, everything clearly written on her face.
It seemed that his brother and sister-in-law had mentioned him while educating their child. What exactly had they said?
Zhou Yinkun is not a good person; keep your distance from him.
Look at how scared the child is; she doesn't even dare to eat her ice cream.
"Brother Kun."
At the entrance of the villa, a strong young man appeared out of nowhere. Zhou Xiaxia turned around and saw his arms covered in tattoos. His attitude and the way he addressed Zhou Yinkun only confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed not a good person.
Seeing her retreating almost to the corner, Zhou Yinkun insisted on getting closer. He bent down and said to her, "Study hard, and next time I'll take you out for something delicious."
After pinching Zhou Xiaxia's cheek, he leisurely walked away.
Once the car outside started and drove off, Zhou Xiaxia finally let out a breath she had been holding. The ice cream in her hand had melted completely, leaving only a sticky stick. She hurried to wash her hands and also splashed some water on her face.
Although the air conditioning at home was strong, she had sweated a lot just now, soaking her shirt on her back.
"Mom, I'm back!" she called out as she climbed the stairs.
But the higher she went, the clearer the sound became. It was crying—her mother's crying.
She paused for a moment before rushing up the steps into the study. To her shock, the room was in disarray. Her father lay on the floor with blood all over his head, while her mother, disheveled and in despair, clutched him tightly, crying uncontrollably. Shards of glass were embedded in her hands, blood flowing freely.
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