Motherfucker.

The cuss thumps in my mind as the clear substance lands in the large pot of mash potatoes, contaminating the whole batch with whatever it is. A poison most likely. Not only had I been looking forward to them to fill my empty stomach after my long day, but now a blanket of betrayal lay thick in the air and weighed heavily on my shoulders.

I had ignored it, but there is no denying now. Of course, no one else saw this, too busy in conversation with the rest. They didn’t see the sly hand grab the salt shaker at the same time and tried to mask they were putting something else in the food.

Normally they would have, each person at this table was trained to spot such movements; a table of highly trained assassins. However, their guards where down.

Rightfully so.

It is family dinner night.

I remain quiet as my younger cousin plops spoonfuls of potatoes on everyone’s plate, including his. Conversation doesn’t subside, I watch as forks are picked up, but no one eats a single morsel. Minutes pass and the steam from the food fades.

My mother looks to me, innocent in her eyes, her fork pokes at the food. A tight smile stretches across her face, the kind of smile she does when she is trying to fool someone.

“Aren’t you hungry?” The buzz of conversation lightens and soon familiar faces turn to me. Brother, father, grandmother; they all stare waiting and watching, their plates untouched.

My throat dries rapidly, I reach for my glass of water then pause as my fingers graze the glass. If the food is poisoned? What is to say the water isn’t?

I couldn’t trust anything at this table, not even the family that sat at it.

Plastering my own smile, I remove the napkin from my lap. “Suddenly I’m feeling very nauseous.” The tension in the room thickening.

I stare at the home I’d grown up in. The wall paper I drew on when I was three, the photos that held my growing childhood; on the door frame in the kitchen was my brother’s and I height as we grew up. There was only one year I was taller than him by two inches.

Fond times, now gone with one simple family dinner.

My heart rips and burst to dust; I was taught many things, all useful, but the most useful is my ability to conceal emotions. We hurt on the inside and remain calm and collected on the outside.

“You know,” I sigh, no longer able to keep the act. “,if you wanted to kill me you could have picked a better person than Justin to do it.” Jerking a thumb at my cousin, I sit back and cross my arms. “I get poisoning food is his thing but he’s not very good at it.”

“Shut up Andrea, I have twenty-seven more kills on my belt then you!” He lashes back.

“Justin please.” My father holds a hand up to silence him and to keep me from firing back. He had to know after this, those times are long gone. His voice disgustingly softens as if I were a child refusing to eat dinner.

Guess that trait stuck.

“Andrea, you had to know this was coming. You have had many changes to kill your assignment, instead, you take him to bed.” My father throws photos across the table; on them, the man I had fallen for and myself tangled in the heat of passion. I was supposed to kill him, make it look like a accident; disguised as a fake escort one thing lead to another, it got out of hand and a few days turned to months, for the first time, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Because of this,” my father continues “,we believe you to be a traitor to this group as we have idea of the secrets you revealed to him. You know our thoughts on traitors, kill one of ours or kill all of us?”

He motions to my plate, as if I would happily sit and eat all my greens because I had broken the rules. The faces before me morph into strangers; realizing how little they care for me—I guess blood isn’t thicker than water.

My lips curl at my plate as I stand and pick up my plate, chucking it at the closest person to try to advance. “Then eat up assholes!”