The Mafia Hidden Heirloom

CHAPTER 7 -The Greatest Atrocity

DUNCAN

It was dusk when I parked at the foot of the estate building, forsaking the board meeting that had been rescheduled for the third time now. In the past few days, my hands and head had been entangled with the Vlad Martin case, a lingering problem.

Father had been sitting at the edge of his seat, awaiting progress from me. I needed to provide him with something.

Hurrying into the quiet house and through the backyard door, heading for the nook, I came across shirtless Colten and two of his friends, lounging on the bench by the pool.

"You're here to join us, brother?" He chuckled upon seeing me.

As I spotted the bottle of empty drinks, I deduced that he was drunk, so I ignored him.

"Come on!" He slurred as I walked away into the garden.

For the past few days, I had my phone in hand, keeping a close eye on June's safety to ensure that Colten didn't do anything reckless while her eyes healed. Not only did I have the cameras linked to my phone, but I also had tech security notify me of who goes into her room and when she leaves.

She couldn't do much without her sight, and she had to rely on Grace's support for even the smallest tasks, like warming up her legs and pacing around the room for a thousand steps each day.

Yes, I paid close attention. I had promised my father that she would recover, and I had to keep my word. I didn't check on her physically, although I checked with her doctor, who strictly wouldn't discuss the results with me, but assured me that her trauma would slowly fade away with time, especially as she regained her sight.

The nook wasn't the usual place for what I was about to do. It was mainly reserved for immediate meetings when there was no time to get to the ship, serving as a wine cellar.

"He's inside," Rawle said, nodding his head toward the underground.

I took off my cuff links and rolled up my sleeves as I strode forward.

"He hasn't eaten or drunk anything ever since he was transferred," Rawle informed from behind me.

"Bad for him. I'm not here to make him comfortable. He'll wish he had taken the opportunity earlier."

Stepping inside the nook, I passed by our men who were watching Jacob, the pretend shoemaker, scheming with Golec.

His head lifted, noticing my presence.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"The one who's going to make you talk," I simply answered, taking off my wristwatch and tie and handing them over to Rawle.

"I don't know what you want from me. I'm no one. You've got the wrong guy. I'm all that my family needs," he rushed his words as I took a sip from the wine the other guard poured for me.

"See? You've already started talking. You just need to begin making sense now!"

"I'm begging you," his voice cracked.

Handing the glass back to the man behind me, I strolled over to Jacob and sat in the chair, facing him.

"My people researched you. You have no wife or parents. Are you trying to convince me you're a miracle from heaven?"

"My family is dead," he shakily retorted.

Now that's what he comes up with?

I couldn't help the faint smile that graced my lips. "I thought they relied on you?"

He was quiet, seeing that he had gotten himself into a knot.

"You're involved in what I want, and you will tell me."

"Sir—" He was shaking his head, feigning distress. Well, he kind of is in distress, since he's chained up.

The phone rang from Rawle's side, interrupting my next statement.

"It's the Shadow boss," he informed me.

"Right on time," I took the phone from him and answered the call.

"Father, I've got Golec's accomplice," I informed him while staring at the stubborn man who wouldn't just give in.

"I'm no one's accomplice," the man in front of me moaned, as Father said over the phone, "Torture him. Cut him into pieces if you must. I've promised a hundred billion to our associates, and I must deliver. We're running out of time, Son. They'll ruin me and what I'm beginning to create for us the moment they get tired."

"I'll get him to talk one way or another," I promised.

"Torture him, Duncan. Be a man and face moments like this," he yelled. I had to move the phone away from my ear for a moment as it was deafening.

I stood up from the chair and walked forward into the nook, heading to the bottles and barrels of wine. You have a repeated conversation with your father.

"We've promised no bloodshed to the puppet master. We don't want to anger him. That will jeopardize everything you fear," I reminded him.

"I don't care about the puppet master. I don't fear anyone, especially a man who hides like a coward. I don't think you understand—"

"I do. I've been in this business long enough to understand. But I do not kill, you know that. You assured me this business isn't about blood, it's about intelligence. Let me prove to you I can navigate it without having to kill anyone."

He scoffed, "Son, I'm not asking you to kill him. I'm just saying to torture him a little. Whoever he works for knows that he's been kidnapped. We don't want traces leading back to us, and we need to hurry up with the digging process. Put the phone on speaker and do not argue with my following words," he urged.

Breathing in and out with my eyes closed, I did as he commanded and walked back to Jacob.

"Rawle, are you there?" Father asked.

"Yes, Big Boss."

"Teach our guest how to talk," Father commanded.

He ordered the torturing, and what? Intending to let go of the man if he speaks? What kind of logic is that? He should be wise to know he's putting his campaign at risk.

For the next thirty minutes, the man was beaten, lost his nails, and suffocated with cold water to the brink of death under my father's orders, while I only sat and watched.

"Why do you have to endure all this pain? For whom?" I sighed, adjusting in my chair. His arms twisted, hanging by shackles.

"I. do. not. know," he persisted, blood mixed with saliva dripping from his mouth.

"Look, I hate this for you. Just be cooperative," I yelled, running out of patience, and the repeated notification sounds from my phone irritated me.

"I swear," he murmured.

"He's lying. Take his arm, Duncan," Father demanded.

My heart thudded in my chest.

---

JUNE THIRD

After running, my breath came in uncontrolled heavy bursts, my throat parched with intense thirst. I knew going back into the building to stay in my room wasn't a good idea. I could lock it, yet Colten would still burst through it. It's his house; he's lived there his whole life. He knows the keys and his way around the house. So I took the mysterious paths of the expansive garden of lush greenery that stretched out, bordered by thoroughly trimmed hedges that stood at human height, creating an enchanting labyrinth of floral walls, which was in my favor as a shield from the motorcycles desperately searching around the maze-like fences for me.

Holding my breath is something I have mastered since I was a little girl. At times when I didn't want to be found by Reese and the others, I'd hide behind the curtains and make no sound.

My heart was pounding in response to fright. I lost my shoes and leaned against a hedge from the spine-tingling voices calling my name slowly and amusedly, some pretty close and some from a mild distance.

When those from the other side of the hedge drove off, I slowly ventured deeper into the garden, tiptoeing down the pathways and further into the endless gardens of the master's estate.

"Juneee... I will hunt you down." Colten's thrilling voice promised, startling me; it took me a beat to realize it came from the speakers.

Looking back and reassuring myself it was clear, I raced down, far away from the chaos, and slipped between two human statue decorations at the end of the pathway I was on.

"Make it easy for yourself. Jacob, only you can end this suffering."

The ethereal and familiar voice, gently worn by tiredness and a weight of exasperation, echoed from the shadows, invoking my racing pulse.

It was Duncan's.

The lingering idea of his nearness provided a pictured perfect haven I itched to reach, like stars in the night sky. Seemingly close yet very far away, but it brought comfort to us.

He wasn't alone, and clearly, he had nothing to do with me, unlike his brother who was on a mission of ceasing my head from my shoulders.

My curiosity about finding safety with him led me barefoot toward the direction his voice was wafting from.

"I am persistent. We can take forever doing this. I will still get it out of you in the end. But think about it, you will have nothing left of you to continue. Is it worth it?" There's a subtle, underlying edge to his tone; it was dripping with danger and threat.

Do not go. Why am I taking myself right to it?

I couldn't stop myself; it became a magnetic force that drew my thoughts, feelings, and attention towards him. I could feel the gravity of the pull. I don't know such a feeling, to the length it was tormenting my stomach. It was as if his voice was a gravitational center around which my world orbits. I just needed to go there and see what he was doing, what he dressed like, and smell his outstanding scent.

The cobblestone path winds its way to a hidden sanctuary, concealed at the end of the meticulous yard.

There was a black human gate at the front; it was open, saving me from making any noise, as I slipped into the age-old building where Duncan's voices were coming from, and descended a few concrete steps.

"For the last time, Jacob, give me the location. A lead. Anything." He groaned, his voice gruff and edgy.

I wondered what got him into an altercation. He seemed anxious and frustrated. He's spoken so many more words than he ever did in our whole two encounters.

He felt like the promise of dawn. Ragged, with tired feet, I raced down to the end of the stairs, panting hard and ready to give anything, in exchange for his protection against his brother—

Oh no.

"Okay. Gag him back." He sternly ordered.

Rigid, I froze in my stance.

Duncan violently snatched a blood-stained axe from a tight-lipped man's hand and charged it, as though splitting wood, when it was full swing through a human's elbow, disarming the man who was unable to cry, with a cloth in his mouth.

No, I was wrong. I just walked into the second phase of my suffering.

Air seared like a harmful substance in my lungs. My stomach dropped, and the atmosphere temperature turned so much hotter.

The image was too explicit, too raw, leaving a course of horror in its wake.

I gasped unwillingly.

The sense of fear and hopelessness enveloped me like a suffocating shroud, rendering me momentarily paralyzed. It's as if the earth itself had stopped, and the world around me blurred into a haze of tension.

My heart races, yet my body feels as heavy as a thousand years' stone, too heavy and beaten up, incapable of escaping this fate. Mentally I fight between the weight of despair that presses down on my chest, making every breath a struggle, and the idea of saving myself, as there is no one to save me.

I guess the despair won the silent battle. I taste tears in my gaping mouth, as chilling numbness creeps through my veins, with a cold grip that sends shivers down my spine.

At that moment, my mind races with a flurry of bleak thoughts, each one a reminder of my defenselessness and the vast unknown that lies ahead. I've never wanted to feel like the ground beneath me crumbled away, leaving me suspended in a void of dread.

"Duncan?" The man handing over weapons to him asked, from behind him.

My instinctual gasp called their attention, and there were four men holding me at gunpoint.

"What are you doing here?" Duncan strainedly asked from where he stood, quite far away.

I do not feel my voice. I was drained of words. I had nothing.

All I could do was repeatedly mumble to myself, "He's not going to kill me. He's not going to kill me. He's not going to kill me," until I found the ability to move my legs and sprint up the stairs.

"s**t," someone cursed.

I was aware of the footsteps coming for me. I didn't stop, though, until I was outside the small gate and back in the garden; it was then my body gave up, and I fell to my knees, holding my aching stomach and painfully throwing up everything I ate today in the flowers.

"Look who's mine," a towering voice trailed.

My limbs slumped, and my heart sank.

Crying, I hopelessly continued to puke in the flowers.

He had gotten a hold of me. There was no more running. There was no one to save me. And honestly, compared to what I just experienced, I will gladly take Colten's torment, as it is a million times softer than Duncan's.

I was tugged up by the arm. And when I was on my unsteady feet, he handled me with one hand, brutally clutching my cheeks in a painful pinch, squeezing tightly like he wanted to break my jaws and burst out my brain.

His eyes were dark, skimming my teary face, his flaring nostrils, breathing me in.

Behind him, there was a group of his gangs, with power bikes turned off.

Weary, I anticipated what he would do to me.

His other hand choked me, seizing my breathing, summoning my veins at that suffocation.

"Kill me," I managed to whisper, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a malevolent sneer.

His partially closed eyes inspected my face hesitantly. Instead, he slowly leaned in, his face to mine, his nose brushing mine, I couldn't breathe, and he made it worse, closing my mouth with his.

I choked.

"f**k off, Colten," Duncan's voice ordered, tensed and filled with frustration.

Colten's smile against my mouth. It was a rebellious smile, taking his time before reluctantly meeting his brother's eyes.

"What, Duncan? Isn't she a plaything in our den?"

"Take your hand off her throat now," Duncan enunciated to his brother, calmly yet you could hear the simmering wrath in his stern voice.

Chuckling, Colten's lips shrugged in acknowledgment. He looked down at me and winked before letting go of my throat before I passed out and surrendered his hands in the air, mockingly and backed away some steps.

"I will still kill her," he cautioned his brother and spun around, motioning with his fingers for his gang to follow him, and they disappeared into a pathway in the garden.

It was then I experienced a desperate struggle for breath and intense panic. I was gasping and wheezing from the deprivation of oxygen, holding the burning sensation around the spot. I had turned extremely red, my abnormally fast heartbeat began slowing down. I sighed at the relief of knowing I was safe, for now at least, only to be interrupted with a reminder in my head, that I wasn't really alone—that who stood behind me was the greatest atrocity worse than his brother's wrath.

"I see you've gotten your vision back."

A strong instinct to fight for escape was prominent in my mind. I took my time to calculate the possibility of success for my scenario, without looking back at him.

We are at the end of the garden yard, what was ahead was merely woodland, jammed with giant trees and thoroughly filled leaves on branches, making an eerie calling from a distance. It was the only option I had left.