Derrick couldn't even wait for the boy to leave as he turned sharply towards his parents.
The second the young man who had come to deliver whatever he had been sent turned and left, he faced his mother with a look sharper than any she'd ever seen from him.
Still curious about the letter in her hand.
She knew what was coming, she knew what he would say when he eventually found out.
"What was that all about?" he questioned, his voice mixed with anger. "Why is someone who works for the worst person on this side of the city coming to our house?"
His mother stopped moving right away, like the air within her had suddenly been taken from her. His father looked away from him. Neither of them said anything.
They definitely looked like they were hiding something.
"Mom," Derrick pressed, moving closer, "tell me what's really going on."
But she just shook her head, her lips sealed close and her eyes watery, as if she couldn't speak.
Derrick felt more and more frustrated the more they kept quiet. He felt like he had entered a house he thought he knew well, only to find out there were things that had been kept from him.
He knew within himself that an errand boy wouldn't be sent to a house without a genuine reason.
Then, the errand boy outside called through the now closed door, almost like it was nothing important, as if he wasn't sharing shocking news.
"They work for the boss now," he explained. "Don't be too upset with them. They did it all for you."
Derrick froze, the boy's words should have been passed off as a lie, but the look on his mom's face said otherwise.
He didn't hear anything else from the boy, like he had just left after helping Derrick's mom speak.
Quietness fell over them like a large blanket.
Derrick felt like he was losing his balance, like everything was seeming blurry for him. He slowly turned back to his parents, feeling confused and betrayed.
"Is that true?" he asked quietly. "You're working for the Mafia? The Mafia?"
His father sighed, his shoulders falling down, as if he'd been carrying this secret for years.
"Son," he started, his voice coming out weak and light, "come and sit down. There are things you need to understand."
But Derrick stayed standing. He stood still and angry, waiting for an explanation.
His father took a deep breath. "Yes. We work for him. And in some ways, we still do."
Derrick blinked his eyes. "Why?" his father's words sinking into his head
His mother finally spoke, her voice breaking. "Because we didn't have a choice."
They had all struggled and his parents had struggled more, they needed something to leave their son, they didn't want Derrick to become like them.
They had to find a way to make life better for their son.
That and other things included, the debts they couldn't pay off.
So the moment the Mafia boss stepped in offering them protection, money, and a way out of the mess they were in and also for their son, they couldn't help but jump at the offer.
But it came at a high cost, loyalty, service, and keeping secrets.
"When you were born," his father said, "we made a promise that you wouldn't grow up like we did. We promised you wouldn't get involved in any of this. So we did what we had to do, for you."
His mother nodded quickly, with tears rolling down her face. "We worked hard, Derrick. We did everything they asked us to do. Bad things, dangerous things… but it made sure you had a shot at a normal life. A clean one."
But Derrick couldn't really hear it, at least not in the way they wanted him to. The truth felt like a sharp knife moving through him.
People around him and also his parents knew they should never take help from the Mafia boss.
He didn't believe his own parents would have gone to meet the same person for help.
"So all those lies," he said quietly. "All those times I asked why we suddenly had money. Why things started getting better at some point and didn't go at some point, You looked me in the eye and lied."
His father stood up from his seat and walked towards Derrick, reaching for him, but Derrick pulled away quickly.
"You want me to be thankful?" Derrick asked sharply.
"For money earned through violence? For a life built on… on the very things you promised to protect me from?"
His father winced, but he stood firm. "We're not proud of it, son. But it kept you safe."
"No," Derrick said coldly. "It kept me unaware of the things both of you were doing."
His father got tense, then tried again, opening a drawer and taking out a thick, heavy leather bag. He put it down on the table with a soft sound.
"This is for you," he stated. "All of our savings. All of our earnings. A future just for you."
But the bag seemed ruined to Derrick. It reminded him of everything he wanted to avoid.
"I don't want it," he stated firmly. "I don't want any of this." He didn't even take a glance at the bag or the person that held it.
He didn't want any part of it.
His mother tried to speak. "Derrick….."
"No," he interrupted. "You should have believed in me. Instead, you hid everything from me."
The sadness in their expressions almost made him hesitate. Almost.
But he remembered all they must have gone and done to get a meal for their morning, all the people that had to suffer for them to get their own meal.
When he saw the leather bag his dad had pulled out, his anger grew the more.
He couldn't, he couldn't handle it anymore.
Without another word, he turned and went to the door. His father spoke his name, his mother begged, but Derrick kept walking. He went out into the cold air, feeling the heavy truth hurting him.
He didn't turn around.
He couldn't.
Derrick le
ft the house upset, and the door closing sounded like the end of something he thought would last forever.