The Mafia Hidden Heirloom

"There is blood all over your hands. Can you tell me how?" I was asked by a brown-skinned detective who acted as though he knew everything, but the sweat on his forehead betrayed his desperation for a lead on the case, and his hope depended on me. "There is blood everywhere." "I understand your grief, Mrs. Third, but this is a necessary part of the investigation. Therefore, your statement is needed, given you're the only person alive in a house with at least a dozen dead bodies." "I told you there was a fire." "Fire turns things to ashes, Mrs. Third. These bodies we found were tortured; some were butchered, and some were shot with bullets." "I have nothing else to say about that." "You do realize that you are involved in a serious crime here? A candidate of presidential elections has just been murdered, and all suspicions are directed at you." I nodded weakly. "Can you explain why you decided to stop using your husband's name?" The officer questioned. "Mr. Gutenberg is a very powerful man, and his name could be beneficial to anyone. It doesn't make sense how you turned it down as an orphan, with nothing and no one." That's the problem. My heart was thumping, but my figure right there, that I could see, seated in an armchair, looked entirely at ease. It didn't fit the emotions that I was weathering. It was almost like there were two of me, the one I could feel and the one in my vision. It didn't make much sense, and there wasn't enough time to strain for calculation, for there was a sudden transition of my consciousness, and my eyes were snapped open, answering my discombobulation that was impeded by an intense and distressing nightmare. I didn't kill anyone. Rubbing my eyes from the weight of sleep and the soreness of the dried tears that had laden my lids, I sighed in relief. I wasn't married to Master, and he didn't buy me to be his wife. He's clearly old enough to have a life partner, someone he'd spent a significant portion of his life with. Yes, he brought me here for a substantial sum of money, and soon, I will serve my intended purpose. But not as his wife. It was a nightmare. I pushed up, sitting on the bed. A burst of excruciating pain traveled to my brain; it was sharp, reminding me of my hurt arm. I had to pause momentarily to breathe and process the abrupt pain. The room was pitch black; I couldn't see anything. My only frightened inhale and exhale were the audible sounds in the space, leaving me in the confines of my thoughts, and nothing about them was rosy or uplifting. "I am not a killer," I mumbled, sowing that awareness in the depth of my mind. "Who do you intend to kill?" That's certainly not my voice. Okay, breathe, June Third. Breathe. The disembodied voice that emerged from the darkness was a haunting whisper that sent shivers down my spine. I don't know a lot, but I'm clever enough to know it was a man's voice, not familiar to the ones I had heard in the past hours and not the same as those in my head sometimes. Upon hearing the first word being spoken, which started with an eerie quality that I couldn't quite pinpoint, I was startled. My breathing hitched. My fingers fumbled with the switch of the nightstand lamp beside me. The flash wasn't harsh, but after hours of crying, a couple of hours of sleeping, and the entirety of my existence within limited luminance, my vision was sensitive to even mild brightness. My eyes impulsively winced at the glow, but that didn't stop me from scrambling out of bed and speeding towards the door that I am sure wasn't a loop around the room, like the other that leads to the bathroom. No one followed me, which made me wonder if I was in my head. Stepping outside the room, panting widely, I found the same long white-walled hall I had come through when I was brought here earlier. My eyes inspect it back and forth in contemplation. I could really see the staircase that leads to the first floor and with the quiet, I can bet there's likely no one there. "If you want to live, no more running, do not play the hero. Twenty million is a substantial amount to trifle with. He will not be lenient with you." My subconscious mind reminded me of the advice I was told and the little intent of trying to escape that I had within me immediately succumbs. Maybe I should find the master since apparently running away is a grave mistake. Upon reaching the staircase, I didn't stupidly follow the first-floor stairs; I knew better. As I retreated, I heard heavy muffled noises, "Ah... Mmm... Ahhh... Uh-huh... O0o... Ugh... Duncan please!" Heavy panting and grunting stopped me in my tracks. "Mmm... O00... Please!!! O00oh, Mmhm—" My eyes widened in shock at what was going on over there. Throughout my entire life, I've known punishment, but this didn't sound like it. Curiosity pulled me towards the curve of the noisy hallway, where there were a couple of pieces of furniture and two doors facing each other. The woman's distressing noises were coming wildly from the door on my right. My footsteps were stealthy, an art I'd mastered while growing up. They didn't know I was there, given I'd managed to monitor my shadow and even my breath. Thrusting my head, I peeped into the room, and it wasn't the brilliance of the lighting or the elegance of the room that struck me dumb; it was the wholly naked red-haired woman on the bed, legs spread wide, head back, laughing naughtily, with her hands around the private parts of her body. It was weird. No one was punishing her, except if she was being forced by the young man she was merrily facing, who seemed lazily reclining on an armchair, though he didn't really look entertained. As I had my first sight and examination of what a young man looks like, the noises the naked woman was making became distant in my ears, drifting to nothing as I stared at the man leisurely seated in the chair. He was dressed in a black outfit, and his hair was a better version of all those on the heads of men I saw in the past hours. "Oh my goodness! What a freak!" That revived me, and my eyes followed the woman who grabbed the duvet from the bedding and finally covered up. I noticed I had stepped out of my cover, standing straightforwardly by the door and gaping. Darn it! Withdrawing slowly, with the intention of running away the moment I was out of their sight, I was startled by the man rising from his position and rushing towards me. I'm in trouble. However, his face said otherwise. He had a smile on approaching me. Surprisingly, it was a very sunny one, rendering my body weak. When he reached over and grabbed me by the forearms, I felt lightheaded, surrendering to what was coming and the next thing that happened was his lips closing around mine. What is he doing? My breath seized, my eyes enlarged more, and my confused hands remained stiff in the air like the limbs of a dead cockroach. "Just go with the flow," he instructed barely above a whisper, as though he read my mind. A nerve in my response to his warm breath in my mouth triggered a rush of tingling feelings all over my skin. My brain couldn't process all that had just happened. He pulled back, his fingers still locked around my arms. "It's not what it looks like. We are over, honey. I promised you. She just won't take a hint. We are over. It is you that I want." he said with urgency as though he knew me for so long... maybe even meant his words. For me, it was like I walked into a drama scene. However, he said to go with the flow and I was really good at following orders, just as much as I was good at breaking them. This time, I chose to obey, at least the result offered close contact with a good-looking male species. Who knows, maybe we can be friends and I will get to know what it feels like to be around his kind freely—just as much as the speechless woman gaping and fuming on the bed, over there. "She's the—" The woman began while scrambling out of bed, dragging the whole white duvet to cover her nakedness, and was interrupted by the stranger who had me in his proximity. "Hmm Mm, Melissa. She's my girlfriend," he ascertained. I am? Again, I remember he said to go with the flow, so I'd rather not question that. "But she's—how? She's not even your type. Look at her hair and her nails. She looks filthy. A girl thug. That's not your type." She repeated to assure herself she was better. "What is she? 15? Wow! Ouch! "Do not dare insult my decision. She's perfect. She just has everything I want." He looked over at me with dark brown glistening eyes. My breathing hitched and he let go of my arms, bringing his hand around my back to my stomach and pulling me near to him. He was the first of his kind to ever hold me that way, so close, and his scent was playing tricks with my head. My body stiffened anxiously, and his warmth was there, but I was too stunned to react. Not knowing what to do with my fingers still. However, as though he could yet again read my mind, his warm hand came over mine and laced them together. "You've gone mad. I swear you've gone mad, Duncan." The girl stomped her feet angrily, her face turning extremely red. "Get your clothes and just get out," he rudely dismissed her. "Go dress somewhere else, don't push me." He warned, and even though disregarded, she obediently followed the instructions and passed by with the duvet around her body and her things in her hands. Her threatening glare at me was notable. I knew it wasn't good. I just hoped I never saw her again, or else, just like the older girls back where I grew up, she meant war. And if there's anything everlasting and a person inexhaustible, it is the rivalry between angry women. They never get tired, no matter how many times they win or lose. When this angry Melissa finally disappeared, the man called Duncan, as I just learned, released me and stepped back. Bringing back his unsatisfied expression from earlier. "You can go continue with your chores around the house," he reluctantly dismissed and strolled back into what must be his room. "I do not—" I wanted to let him know I do not have chores and instead ask him, who he was, why he was there, and why he used me for his convenience, but the door was already shut in my face, and now, unlike earlier, it was grave silence that filled the atmosphere. For a moment I stood there, just breathing, and snapping my wristband against my skin. "Thank goodness, I worried you'd dare run again," a voice was breathing, likely tired. When I turned my head, I found the familiar face of the man who I had a run and chase with on the road earlier. No reply came to my mind. "Come, let's go back to your bedroom. Walking will get you exhausted; your arm and eyes are already in pain." He reminded me, waving over, and that's when I remembered my dislocated arm. What just happened? *** A few minutes later, I was the only person in the room again. However, I chose to leave the lamp on, even though it hurt my eyes, to avoid that eerie feeling of darkness and the voices accompanying me. The memories from all of today added to the severe, ongoing headache I was suffering from. My respiration was shaky, even when I tried so hard to swallow my sobs and remain quiet. I couldn't. My hand let go of my mouth, and the emotions queuing up in my throat flowed out. Everything has been blurry, from the injuries I've sustained in this short amount of time to the stack of money handed over to Reese, the strange young man who used me to dump his girlfriend. But I remember quite well how I got here, and everything about it was a bumpy ride. The question that lingers is, "What am I doing here? What do they want from me?"