Chapter 1 – Zanae
1
ZANAE
7 minutes. It only took 7 minutes for a life to be taken and for dozens of others to change forever.
Shame, guilt, fatigue, rage, sadness.
Emptiness.
That’s all that’s left of me.
What’s ironic, perhaps grim as well, is that I never would have believed that the first person to go would be her; I almost would have bet it would be me. But she was the one who made me believe in life again, made me believe that with someone else, pain is divided, or at least, that you can share a part of it with that person.
Maybe I gave her too much? Maybe it was too much for her, and I have a share of responsibility in all of this. The most sorrowful part of the story is that I’ll never have answers to these questions. And for someone who constantly reflects, replaying the suicide of their best friend is the worst torture imaginable.
For me, mourning has always manifested in the same way; I don’t cry, I don’t smile, I don’t feel anything anymore. I just think about it, wondering what more I could have done to fully enjoy her presence when she was still here.
Once again, I’ll never know.
I feel dead inside, a hollow shell, no warmth, no ounce of life, only this guilt so heavy that it’s suffocating me, making it harder to breathe, harder to fill up my lungs without feeling too much air, without drowning.
Breathe, Z, breathe.
Maybe I should tell myself that she wouldn’t want me to stop living after her death. But why would I give her that satisfaction when she didn’t care about the pain it would cause me to lose her?
Is it wrong to hold it against her?
Does that make me a selfish person?
I abandoned everything I loved—stopped my studies, my passions, my life. I abandoned it all.
All these thoughts swirl in my head when someone interrupts me by removing my headphones.
“You know you shouldn’t give up on university. You’re brilliant, and you’re at the finish line,” the person says.
“I don’t want to. I prefer coming here every evening, having my coffee as usual, and seeing you and your little one.” I extend my arms to hug the little boy running towards me.
“Be careful, he’s tired; he’s been a bit grumpy since this morning.”
Miranda was this beautiful, gentle, and incredible woman serving at this small fast-food place in the city center. She had a promising life when she was a lot younger but getting pregnant against her will and choosing to raise this lovely little boy, June, on her own, changed everything.
This child comes closest to being a little brother to me. His mother is only a few years older than me, representing everything bad but strong in the world I lived in—a woman who suffered and was a victim of what every girl associated with the underground world feared at that time. A ray of sunshine who managed to raise, on her own, a child who was the most extraordinary boy in the world while keeping a smile on her face. She was a role model for many, surviving, coming back, and evolving.
She sits next to me while I hold her son in my arms and starts trying to convince me to go back to university. I have a year left but to be frank, I don’t even care a bit.
“You know, she would have wanted you to continue. It’s been months, Zee, you need to start thinking about your life because you’re still here.”
“I can’t think of anything else, and what if I leave you? I physically can’t.”
“You’re only gone for a few years, and you’ll always be here, but maybe not as often.”
“I think it’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late, Zee, never,” she insists.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, “But I’m scared.”
She crosses her arms and looks at me with so much compassion and pity. Fuck, I hate this look on people when they see how vulnerable I can be. “Of what, tell me Zee?”
“Of life.”
She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it to reassure me. “Zanae, listen, you have to rebuild yourself, and you must do it because life doesn’t forgive, believe me. Don’t let your fear of facing a new life ruin the only one you have.”
I know she’s right; I know, I really do. But since then, I can’t take away the guilt, the faces every time I have a nightmare. Luna’s just added to the already existent list, and that’s the problem.
I glance at June, my pretty boy, and I think about how I may not be strong enough to avenge his own mother, how disappointed he’s going to be when he’s older.
“And what if June grows up too fast? And I’m not there to see him? All of this for what? You know very well what I have to do; I can’t just leave like this. I made a promise to myself, and I will keep it.”
“Zee... I know that’s how you settle things, but it’s not worth it?—”
I interrupt her, feeling my heart pounding in my ears, blood boiling within me. “She was worth it, you too are worth it, and I’ll find them one by one. They’ll pay for everything.”
She looks at June, sitting on my lap, and gently strokes his face. “You know what happened to me when I was younger and what resulted from it. I know the desire for revenge is huge, and you only want to serve your own justice. But in that world, things don’t happen as easily. They’ve been training since they were little; the clans create armies to defend themselves and obey them. You need to train even more than before to face them.”
Breathe Z, Breathe.
“I know, Mira . I will train harder. And I’ll kill them all for this.”
Before letting her respond, I drop some cash on the table to pay and tip, place a soft kiss on her’s and Jude’s cheek, and take off.
It was raining that day, pouring. Water again. She loved it. It’s not even surprising that she decided to end her life in her bathtub.
I never had real friends growing up; she was the only one who brought some semblance of comfort in this brutal world. And the worst part is that the sky was exactly as I imagined it when I learned about her death, sad ... the sky was also crying for her. How could I not want to seek justice?
She didn’t ask for anything. She was a fucking child, a girl living her life in our city, Vesper . She was no stranger to its shadows, which was enough in this world to endure the worst horrors. In the name of what they call Loyalty? Fucking men.
You killed her.
Not again…
Sometimes the demons in my head are so loud that I can’t even think straight. They tell me to leave, not just the place, but life entirely. They repeat that I let her die, that I should’ve died too. And that it’s my fault. And I believe them, I do.
I get back in my car and head towards my personal hell, home. In front of the gate, armed guards open it.
As usual, I know that when I’m going to come back, I’ll be alone in this big house, while my father does who knows what... I arrive in my room and throw myself onto the bed.
What’s my plan? How should I go about it?
I grab my computer, diving back into my research.
Years of missions with my father have given me a wealth of files on countless dangerous people—photos, videos, and detailed notes—all ready for analysis when the time comes. Today is the day and I’ve got everything at my fingertips.
I’m certain the Yakuza used this organization to settle scores, and possibly the Colombians as well. But there was one mob family that stood out above the rest on my list.
My father’s biggest enemies. Italian and Russians.
Too powerful and too silent. The Zennites.
They were so mysterious. I only saw one of their leaders once, at a funeral with my father. He ran past me so fast; I could not even remember his face. I immediately suspected their involvement in the incident, but I could not prove it.
I read faces not shadows or reputations.
In university, I studied criminology with the goal of becoming a profiler. There are 43 muscles in the face, and each movement conveys something—a feeling, an emotion—and I can’t help but analyze it. Faces communicate with me more profoundly than people do. I’ve always been deeply sensitive to others’ facial expressions and being adept at detecting lies was a bonus in my father’s eyes.
It was the most contradictory event in my life. The daughter of one of society’s greatest monsters, a man who should have been behind bars for eternity along with all his companions, studying criminology and psychology. I was the one who needed a psychologist to be honest.
My research led to nothing new. I had names I already knew, but nothing more. The Zennites were like ghosts, leaving behind few photos and little else to go on. I gathered intel on rumors of vendettas and kidnappings, rebellions inside their own ranks involving the daughters, sisters, mothers, even brothers and husbands of both clans and subjecting them to who knows what. But it wasn’t surprising. That’s how it worked in our world.
I knew the exposed part of it, but I couldn’t see beyond that. I also knew the little nickname people gave to their leaders in the industry: “The Venom Reapers”, the duo that made everyone fear for their life.
No faces, only shadows and stories involving blood and nightmares. Great .
Fighting them would be hard but it’s for Luna. It’s for the only human that made me feel like my pain was worthy to be felt.
I didn’t feel like doing anything for her memory, knowing that I haven’t gone to see her since her death. I was scared of my own downfall, if I went there and saw that it was real, that she’s really gone, and I didn’t have any power in this. But I had to... right?
I took my keys and went straight to the cemetery without even thinking. I needed it to be done to make this revenge plan work.
When I arrived, my heart felt heavy.
I don’t know if I’m ready, but maybe I am?
I don’t want to, but I need to.
Go for it, Zanae, it will be good for you. Do it because you loved her and because you’ll always love her.
The cemetery was quiet, I just went in, searching for her grave.
I found it, and I felt my eyes start to blur.
This was hard.
I was hurt, and I didn’t know how to heal, I didn’t even know if I’ll be able to do so someday.
God, this was hard.
My friend was dead. She’ll never be here again, never smile, nor laugh. I’ll never get to hear her voice, to touch her or to see her face.
That pain felt like emptiness.
Losing her felt like emptiness.
“Oh…Luna,” Breathe, Zanae. Breathe. “It’s the first time since you left that I’ve come to see you. The guilt is… it’s horrible. You’re not here anymore...” Don’t cry, Z, don’t, “When I saw your body at the morgue, it felt like a part of me had left with you. You were so pale, and– and you weren’t smiling.”
I could hear my heart shattering all over again, and again, and again . “How fucking dare you leave me? What am I going to do without you, Luna? You took my heart with you! How fucking dare you save me so many times without even try to do the same with your own self?”
She left me. She fucking left me alone. She abandoned me too. And I hated myself for that. Because I wasn’t convincing enough to make her stay with me. I wasn’t enough for her to survive.
My eyes were closed, and I replayed our last memory together; she seemed so well. How could I have missed it? “Do you blame me? Because I fucking do. You were the only person who ever loved me and I didn’t love you enough to save you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
My head rested one last time on the cold dirty stone, and I cried and cried, for a few minutes, maybe hours.
I thought my reservoir of tears had run dry, but I was wrong. “I’m sorry I let you die. But I hate you for leaving me. I hate you so much that I miss you like I miss life.”
A final agonizing stroke on her headstone sealed the promise that followed. “No one will replace you in my dead heart. I promise you.”
I stood up and looked at her grave one last time, desolation echoing silently in the cemetery.
My mind was broken beyond repair.
Glancing at my wrists, I wondered how I got to this point. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I hope I get to see you again in another life maybe.” My fingers gently traced her name, “The ocean is still filled with water, Luna. Always .”
Leaving one final kiss on the stone hiding her, I stand up and head back home. Before starting, I try to catch my breath, running my fingers over the scars on my skin.
Pain was fair to feel.
Before the pain, I only felt the worst emotions—loneliness, lack of self-confidence, a sense of nonconformity, as if I belonged to nothing in this world. But pain was good; pain was life.
Now, anger took hold of me—something so strong, so violent. The need for blood, the thirst for death flooded my mind, darkening my already shattered soul.
I don’t believe in justice, not in our world, but I believe in vengeance.
No matter how hard I have to fight my own demons, I will get my revenge on a gold platter, offering it to my Luna.
Tonight, as I look at my reflection in the mirror, I see them—the demons, the only ones who are still by my side. They’re my constant.
A long time ago, I lost myself.
Remembering who that person was had slipped away from my mind, and sometimes, it scares me—this hollowness in my gaze. It turned icy, completely cold, especially after that night. The act of survival, it’s a new kind of pain. But here’s the thing: in my mind, if I’m still breathing, then I’m still fine . If I’m still breathing, then I’m still alive .