10:37 pm
[Marty Byrde x Daughter!Reader]
Synopsis: You look back upon your favorite memory of spending time with your father.
WC: 810
Category: Angst, Character Death, TW — Mafia (and everything that follows it).
The fandom amount for this show is so depressing, but if you enjoyed, don’t be afraid to comment and reblog!! Feedback is much appreciated.
『••✎••』
It was Thursday, June 16th. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. Wendy – your mother – had taken Charlotte and Jonah to the store, stating something about preparing for emergencies. It would’ve been fine if the emergency hadn’t happened after they had left.
10:37 p.m. That’s when they had shown up. The men in the black van. One minute, you were relaxing to your favorite song. The next… you were dragged outside by your hair. Your knees already had dirt stains, your head throbbing from the stress on your hair. Your arms started to sting in unpleasant itchiness from the grass – dirt splotches residing on the ends of your elbows. Despite all of this, you were only focused on one thing,
Your father.
You couldn’t see much but you saw enough. He sat – on his knees – in the driveway, hands bound down and behind by rope. The entire left side of his skull was split open. The red liquid dripped down his shirt onto the pavement. For a moment, his face was emotionless. No quick remarks… not even a frown.
Then, as if he awoke from a trance, he lifted his eyes and made eye contact with you. His little girl – his sweet little girl, being held down by gunpoint. You could watch as his face contorted with emotion. His eyes contained that of worry, anger, and fear.
It was a full moon, stars sporadically in every direction. The pale moonlight hovered over the grass, their faces turning into shadows. It reminded you of the father-daughter dance last spring.
It was a struggle to convince your father into taking a break from his “work.” You ended up using your Byrde manipulation skills by guilt-tripping him from an argument he and your mother had. Your mother had a whole freak-out, telling your father that he was being neglectful towards his family, you especially with being the youngest.
The one word slipped from your mouth and your father had no choice but to go. You remembered it as if it were yesterday. A full moon was on display, shining over the windows. The reflection of the stars shined inside, hovering over people like shadows. You were so entrapped by the sight, you hadn’t paid attention to the gossip flying around the room.
Apparently no one liked your dad – due to the theories and such – but that didn’t stop you from having a good time.
You were in his arms, your head laying on his shoulder with your feet on top of his, as you were too short. As the soft music rang throughout the cafeteria, he swayed side-to-side, humming along to the tune. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.” As you spoke, you had pushed yourself off his shoulders, wanting to see the expression change in his curious – but vibrant – eyes.
It had been a while since you’ve seen your father smile with actual joy, but you saw it that night. His toothy grin smiled back at you as he pulled you into a hug. It was one of your favorite nights, a night you will forever remember.
Your eyes latch onto the gun being waved in front of you. Behind it stood a tanned-skin man about in his late 30s. He wore a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Marty, you have just the cutest fuckin’ kid! I’m honestly jealous.” The man smiled brightly at you, but you knew it wasn’t genuine.
“Del, leave my daughter out of this.” Your father pleaded, “This is between you and me, not her.”
“See? That’s the problem, Marty. You killed one of my men and then lied to me about it.”
“I technically didn’t kill him.” Your father retorted, never once taking his eyes off of Del.
“…He was a good man. A husband, a father with two children.” He spoke, the gun still aimed at your face. “If you had told the truth, maybe we could’ve worked it out.”
“We still can, I’ll get double the amount of your money. Want me to launder more? I’ll launder more.”
“Oh, and you will. But, there are consequences for your actions. They can’t go unpunished.” The man turned the safety off his gun, clicking it just slightly away from his head. At that moment, you had finally realized what was happening. You were about to die.
“Wait, Wait!” Your father yelled, straining his body as his arms prohibited him from moving. “She’s only ten. If you’re going to punish someone, punish me.”
He only smiled, putting the gun to the back of your head. The cold metal caused goosebumps to spread around your skin like fire on wood. At this point, you were trembling.
“Marty,” He sighed, “I already am.”
Your father screamed your name, trying to break his arms free, but it was to no avail. He watched, helplessly, as tears strolled down your cheeks. The last thing you ever thought about was that memory of the father/daughter slow-dance.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Pumpkin.”
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