The last time I saw my parents was three years ago. I remember that day fondly, I had just officially graduated from my training at Trident Weapons. I had been at Trident Weapons for a total of four years learning all that I could about how to shoot to kill, cause pain, and how to use every weapon available to man. Now I was finally home. Only this time I wouldn't be seeing my mother or father alive. I had gotten the call a couple of days ago from Roman, my father's right hand, they had died in a car accident while on one of their date nights. Smiling to myself at the idea that even after being married for thirty-four years, Papa still took the time away from the business for Mama. There were no tears left to cry though, I had done that the first night. Now it was time to pick up the pieces of our family business. The first step in picking up said pieces was to inform all the men they now worked for me.

I took one last cleansing breath and opened the door to my father's office. Roman had gathered all of the men here to tell them the news, my father had verbally named me, Rosalina Maria Velasquez, the next head of the Spanish mafia. As the door shut behind me and I began to walk – my heels clicking on the floor − all eyes slowly turned to me. Well at least I dressed to make an impression, I thought to myself. I had decided to wear a solid black knee-length dress, and my hair up high in a ponytail to keep it off my neck in this horrendous heat. My heels though, those were my favorite pair of scarlet red Bianca platforms by Louboutin. I wasn't overly girly in the sense that I needed material things, but shoes were a weakness not even I could overcome.

"No es el lugar para una mujer," this is no place for a woman, some asshole called out to me.

Quirking my eyebrow at Roman, I looked over at the man in question and responded, "This is no place for a puto either.”

Stalking over to me like a big man on campus he asked "Who the fuck are you?”

Smirking right at him I simply said, "La Jefa. That's right gentlemen I'm the new boss,” I said clasping my hands together in front of me.

The room was deathly silent before he burst out in laughter. Well fuck. I guess Roman hadn't told them yet. This was going to be fun. He put his hand on my shoulder and attempted to turn me towards the door. He. Put. His. Hand. On. Me. That was a huge no-go for me. No one had laid a hand on me since that night twelve years ago unless I allowed them to.

"Remove your hand or I will do it for you," I gritted out through my clenched teeth.

He just continued to laugh like a madman. Oh well, I warned him. Roman could barely get a word out before I kneed ‘mister asshole' - as I was now calling him in my mind - in the groin and then used my knee to break his nose. Before anyone could make it over to help him, I grabbed the knife I had strapped to the inside of my thigh and held it next to his exposed throat. "Now that I have everyone's attention. You can call me, ma'am, boss, or Rosalina Maria."

Roman cleared his throat so that the attention was averted back to him for a moment, "As I was about to say, Ricardo named his daughter Rosalina the next boss before he passed. Anyone that does not approve of this change will be allowed to leave now. Otherwise, we expect your loyalty to the family name to remain the same."

With a nod toward both Roman and I, it was decided that the men would remain loyal to not only the family name, but a woman leading them. With one last look at the men gathered in the room, I turned on my heel and began walking to the car parked out front. We had a funeral to attend.

The drive to the cemetery was long and quiet. I didn't have any family to ride with me since I was the only living child of Ricardo and Florinda Velasquez. We had asked that my uncle and his family not attend since it would be a short service and an easy target for anyone with a vendetta. Roman was riding in the same car as me but he sat in the front, separated by the partition along with the driver. I didn't need a guard seeing as I was better trained than all of them, which surprised the men back at the house when we left. Of course, that was to be expected as my father had placed me in weapons and combat training at the age of ten. After Flora committed suicide he didn't ever want me to be unable to protect myself.

Placing my mother's rosary in my hand, Roman helped me out of the car. Looking down at the tiny crucifix in my palm I thought to myself, this is it, time to show them that the boss doesn't cry. The priest moved along quickly through the rosary prayers. It had been so long since I’d been to church on Sunday that I hadn't realized how long these prayers actually took. Thankfully, we were soon on our way back to the car where we could discuss business in private.

"Roman, ride in the back with me. We have business to discuss," I said to Roman.

"¿Seguro que eres señora?" Roman asked me as if I would say something without meaning it. Cocking my head to the side, I simply said yes and slid into the car.

I’d instructed Roman to gather a detailed report for me on the shipments of weapons that had gone out in the last quarter versus what we were scheduled to move out in the next month. I didn't want any gap in the production of weapon supplies as a result of my parents’ death. Moving on with business was something my father had instilled in me at a young age. I still remember hearing him say after Feliciano and Flora died that if there is a lack of activity then your adversaries think you are weak. I am not weak. As a woman, I would have to prove it to not only my men, but the rest of the mafia families.

Pulling his file out of the briefcase that he had left in the car during the funeral, Roman began handing me copies of invoices. As he explained to me that two of our regulars had decided not to work with us anymore because they didn't "trust" a woman to know quality weapons when she saw them, all I could do was simply nod. Fuck them, I thought to myself, I will show them just how much this woman does know. Closing the files in my lap I noticed that Roman had gotten especially quiet.

"What is the problem Roman?"

He told me, "Nada señora. Your father left this for you in my care." He handed me an envelope with my childhood nickname - Rosie - written in my father's handwriting on the front.

Swallowing back the tears I was fighting to keep anyone from seeing, I opened the envelope. Inside was something I thought I had lost when I was twelve. I’d come home to visit and my mother had given me her locket that held a picture of Flora and Feliciano on one side and one of my father and me on the other. Smiling to myself, I opened it to find the pictures had been changed. Now instead of my father and I, the picture was the three of us at my weapons graduation three years ago.

Rosie,

If Roman has given this letter to you then I am no longer alive. I am sorry I was not a better father to you. I hope to make up for that with the precautions I have taken to protect you. I'm sure you will not understand at first, but this was necessary. I have made arrangements with the Cubans. Your contact will be the son of Fernando, he is the heir to the Cuban mafia. His name is Anthony and he will be there soon. I instructed him to be there as soon as word got out that I was gone. He will offer you a business proposal. Please listen and consider what he says, Rosalina.

Te Amõ, Papa

Confusion clear on my face, I turned to look at Roman. As my father's right hand, he would know exactly who this Anthony was and what my father had done. Tilting my head in the clear indication he should start speaking, I just waited for Roman to find his words while he read the letter for himself.

"Jefa, I swear your father has not confided in me about that letter. He only told me he had made arrangements with the Cubans."

"Roman, do you really expect me to believe that?"

I hoped that if Roman thought I didn't believe that he didn’t know exactly what my father had planned then he would give me some clue as to what this arrangement was. Roman stood his ground though, he had no clue. Now we had to wait for this Cuban named Anthony to show up. Somehow my father knew that he was going to be gone soon. I would be finding out exactly what happened and why my father thought to plan ahead.