The Mafia to Alpha King

The walk to hell

“Don't say I didn't warn you….” I push him out of my way and take steps away from him, making my point to him. And I am leaving his office.

My mind and body can't stand here and watch as he insults my mother. He knows he doesn't have any hold on me if he doesn't give me something tangible. And I am not one to stand by and watch him play games with me or waste my time.

“But yes,” He shouts out so loud at me and that announcement halts my movements. I stand frozen, not believing any of this yet.“I will help you.”

I take in a deep breath before turning back to see that he means what he is saying. I try to hide a smile on my face. I can't believe this is happening. I am finally going to be free from the Mafia life with nothing holding me back.

Setting me free from the Mafia world is not something my uncle was willing to do ever in his life. He has always made it his mission to gloom and turn me into him. Turn me into someone who would continue our family legacy.

Wait....There must be something beyond imagination behind all this for him to finally let me go. And with my uncle, nothing comes for free.

I can't stand the suspense, so I enquire to get a glimpse of what I am getting myself into. “What is the catch?” I question my uncle.

But instead of replying to my inquiries, he smiles broadly, saying nothing as he continues walking to his office. And I follow beside him.

Bringing myself back to the torturous journey. In the room beside me, dozens of dead women lay in heaps in the room we pass by with blood covering the whole room where they lay.

While unconsciously searching for Keirah among the corpses. I accidentally watched closely at their bodies. And noticed that more concentration of the blood that surrounds their bodies came from their private parts.

These didn't make it when they were exposed to Agra.

Agra is my uncle's s*x drug that takes minds off anything and everything for all the time the drug is in their system.

All victims of this drug cannot help themselves during the time the drug is in their system. All they see and want at that moment is to have s*x.

My uncle developed the drug to be used in his s*x trade. Its extreme effect is that it attaches itself to the walls of the reproductive organs.

So that when the victim's bodies are not subjected to intensive s*x, the reproductive blood vessels burst, causing death.

He feeds the drug to his prostitutes, and, within ten minutes of the consumption, the drug is already at its maximum activation. Within thirty minutes of no s*x, the prostitutes die of hemorrhagic stroke.

I get mentally prepared for the coming rooms where my uncle's way of killing gets more disturbing.

With each follow-up room. I blink and push my eyes to focus on the long corridor, not the rooms.

But then more metallic blood scent hits my nose so much.

My mind makes me feel as if I am forced to taste the metallic smell of fresh blood on my tongue.

I know this.

I have been through this so many times. 'The walk to hell'.

It is a way my uncle uses to torture weak minds before he gets us into his office for special assignments.

With this kind of torture on me, he must be planning on something as bad as asking me to put a bullet through the US president.

I have seen people peeing their pants before they made it to my uncle's office.

No one has ever found the strength to say no to him, however evil the assignment was after this walk.

I pull myself together and walk past my uncle in quicker steps before walking past the last room to his office. The room always makes it impossible for me all the time.

Wearing a stone-cold expression as I try hard to keep the indifference covering the features of my face. But my mouth betrays me. As I try to take further steps, my body betrays me, too. I can't.

My body is frozen. I stand still as I spit saliva out of my mouth continuously. In the room beside me, mouth-taped pale, heavily pregnant dead women's bodies are tied to chairs.

He cut their stomachs open. Parts of the dead babies in their abdomen are being pulled out by my uncle's aggressive German shepherd dogs.

The dog's barking noise fills the room, and they keep on standby by the door, waiting for my uncle’s command to attack.

But that is not the scary and saddest part of it all. These dead women's children are tied in cages in front of their dead mother's corpses, and they all have watched everything from start to end.

Watching until their mothers struggle painfully to take their last breath. And now they are watching as their mother's dead bodies are getting violated.

All these kids are around the age of five to seven.

Traumatized children who make it out of these rooms become loyal dogs to my uncle. They end up doing the same thing to other kids who all become like them. A vicious cycle of broken children.

As usual, what is expected of me happens again.

I hate it when it happens, especially in front of my uncle.

My humanity takes over, and I forsake everything in my plan as I take a step toward the dogs. My mind won't let me walk away and leave these kids here. I need to save these kids. I see these kids in me and the ugly traumatized life he is setting for them.

I don't want the darkness and death to be the only thing they know. I need to free them.

“BULLET STOP…” my uncle shouts. Bringing me back from my trance to my reality. I stand shaking as my uncle pulls me back.

I want to pull out my gun and shove it in his mouth. If he did not have a mark on Zia and James. I swear he would have been dead by my hand by now.

I have not met an evil person who came close to what my uncle was capable of. Putting up a failed act, an emotionless act, at staring at the kids that stare back at me with no life in their eyes. Every feeling has been shut out of their senses.

I hold myself still so as not to choke and show the human side that I am trying to hide. Trying to hide those human feelings I can't suppress somehow when I arrive here.

But my uncle knows me too well. He can see through me all the time, even when I always don't want him to. Coming here is hell for me.

I don't want these feelings to resurface in me or crowd my judgment while I am still in a mafia world. They will be my biggest obstacle on my way out.

I drop my gaze to compose myself before I raise my eyes to my uncle. He shakes his head in disappointment as he speaks.“You are my biggest failure.”

“You both failed to train me well,” I answer him stubbornly. This answer, for him, is not pleasant. It means his brother, my father, did a bad job at raising me. This always works at triggering him.

When I speak of my father badly, my uncle's expression always turns dark. His goons surrounding us watch my uncle's face turn dark. And one of his goons standing guard at his office door turns around quickly.

And without wasting time, he does what his job entails. He aims a gun at my head.