~Chapter 2~
With the gun still pointed at my head, I watched as he slowly took a long drag of his cigarette and when he exhaled, he drawled out a question.
"Kid or prostituta?" His rich Italian accent was rough around the edges.
I understand the first part but the second word sounded unmistakably like "prostitute". My mind recoiled in horror at what he was asking. Was I a kid, or was I a prostitute?
Who ask this kind of questions?!!
I tried to answer his question, but it seed I had taken a lot of ti as a gunshot rang near my ear. My eyes got wide, seeing how close the shot had been.
I don't wanna die, I'm harmless, can't he see?, I stared at he's indifferent face, expecting to see so reaction or emotion.
He didn't even flinch or blink. He just stood there, his gun still trained on and his eyes boring into mine.
"I'm... I'm..."
"Boss." A voice from the hallway interrupted my stamring words.
The masked man tilted his head slightly to the side, but his eyes never left mine, leave alone. "Sì?(Yes)" he replied.
And the voice spoke again but in rapid Italian. "È la figlia del bastardo e abbiamo invaso con successo. Boris è legato. (she's the daughter of the bastard and we have successfully invaded, Boris is tied up)"
I couldn't understand a word of what was being said, except for one. "Boris." My father's na which still sent a shiver down my spine.
"I see," the masked man said before he walked closer to and pressed his gun directly on my head.
Mom, I'm finally going to you, hope you rember .
My eyes closed on their own in fear, paralyzed with terror, "Turn around," he growled.
I didn't need to be told twice, quickly turning around, facing the stairs and my legs began to move on their own, carrying upward. The masked man followed closely behind .
And as we reached the top of the stairs, I was t with a sight: the hallway was littered with dead bodies, so of them belonging to the masked man's cohorts, but most of them were my father's n.
The gun pressed against my head, urged forward, and I continued my walk, trying not to look at the bodies, but why are they so many.
We turned a corner, with two n standing guard outside my father's study. It was a room I had never been allowed to enter, a place where my father conducted his most private and secretive business.
The two n spotted us and bowed slightly while opening the door. "Don," they respectfully said in unison, and I assud they were addressing the masked man, 'cause who else? The title suited him, and I found myself thinking of him as the Don.
But the Don's patience had finally dried up as he pushed forward, sending crashing to the ground.
Nice, what a gentleman. I landed hard on the polished wood floor, my eyes spinning . I struggled and got my balance back and I looked up to see him striding past with his eyes now fixed on my father, who was tied up to a chair.
Gosh, his face was a ss, with one eye swollen shut; he looked up at with so much hatred, like I was the curse.
I snapped my eyes out from his and looked to the side to see a man who was covered in tattoos from head to toe, or at least from the skin I could see beneath his suit. He was a hulking figure, holding onto a hot rod.
Looking back at the Don, he was now sitting on the edge of my father's study table, his eyes fixed on my father's beaten up face. "We finally et, sì?" he said, lighting up a new cigarette.
"Kid". My father acknowledged him with a single word and The Don's eyes flicked to .
I thought he had forgotten I was there but then, his gaze returned to my father, and he began to speak again.
"it's been ages" I took advantage of the distraction to push myself up from the floor, scanning the room for any sign of escape. But with the two guards that were standing like sentinels outside the door. I knew I couldn't get past them, not without a fight.
So, I retreated to the corner of the room, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.
It didn't take long before I watched as Mr tattoo strode towards the Don and bowed.
He straightened up and handed the Don the rod, which was very hot and was emitting a faint wisp of smoke from its tip.
The Don took the rod with a grin and he turned to my father again, the rod held loosely in his hand.
My father's eyes shifted from the not-so-scared man to abject terror as he realized what was about to happen.
"Rember this?" the Don said, playing with the rod. "Rember how wonderful you said the sll of burnt at is." He stood up from the table and walked closer to my father, who shook his head -No-
The air thicken with tension, the Don's expression remained impassive, but a faint click of his tongue conveyed his disappointnt.
"I will ask you once and I expect an answer. Where's Ivan?" I heard him say.
Ivan. That na, I haven't heard it, but it looked like my father was very familiar with it.
His eyes darkened but his lips remained stubbornly sealed. He didn't speak, and in a situation like this, his silence looked almost...reckless.
It was as though he'd rather endure unimaginable pain than betray this Ivan person.
I began to wonder, who was this Ivan that my father was protecting so fiercely? Would he have shown the sa loyalty to ? I doubted it.
My father would have sacrificed without hesitation, leaving to die. But Ivan...Ivan was clearly different. My father's willingness to suffer for him spoke volus.
My curiosity was piqued, and I found myself wanting to know more about this so called mysterious person.
What kind of hold did Ivan have over my cruel father? And why the hell was this masked man so desperate to find him?
"I see, Ivan still a coward, hiding forever while his rats do his bidding," the Don sneered and I watched in horror as the iron rod moved closer and closer to my father's face.
My father tried moving back, but he was bounded by his wrists and ankles.
He should just open his mouth and say who this Ivan was, Why was he protecting him so much?
But my father remained silent, his jaws clenched shut in a futile attempt to defy the man before him.
The hot rod began to slowly press against his face, and his scream was like a raw, animalistic sound, and it was heart-wrenching to watch.
It was like nothing I'd ever heard before.
The hot rod was rcilessly swung down again, to his face and I didn't know when a scream left my lips.
The Don's eyes moved to , while my father groaned in pain.
Oh no, what have I gotten myself into, why couldn't I just shut up. I said to myself, fear creeping in as he move away from my father's side and walk towards .
The wall should just lt and swallow whole, hide from his nacing presence, as he lood over .
"This your daughter, sì?" I glanced over to my father, feeling a pang of pity for him, despite all the things he had done to . His jaw was broken, and he couldn't speak well, his words slurred and indistinct.
I saw the pain and I forgot about all the hurt he had caused . He was my father, after all, and seeing him like this was almost too much to bear.
"Akh," Fingers dug into my cheek and he suddenly held my face closer to him, his breath hot against my skin before he muttered words that no one would want to hear.
"She's a beauty, We could get a good price off her"
Now I really want the wall to open, Was he going to take and sell my body? Was I going to be taken from one hell to another?.
His grip on my cheek relaxed, and he stood up straight. He moved towards the door, it looked like he was done with my father. But before he passed through it, he called back to Mr tattoo, who was standing at the corner.
"Take her to the car," he ordered, his eyes flicking to before going to the my father "And old man, tell my parents I said... Hi."
It was a mocking farewell and with that, he threw the rod at my father's face, making a sickening crunch.
My father's head snapped back and he finally walked out of the room, leaving alone with the tattoo man.
Mr. tattoo walked over to and grasped my arm, harshly dragging up and away from the safety of the wall.
I looked over to my father, expecting to see him show so empathy or concern for my well-being.
But what I saw was him sitting there, his broken face, jaw, and burnt skin a testant to the brutality he had endured. And yet, despite all that, he was smiling.
What the hell!!
It was a faint, twisted smile, but it was unmistakable, it looked like he was telling I was dood. And in that mont, I realized I didn't have a father, he wasn't my father and all the pity I had for him vanished.
Even if my situation would be much worse than his. Even if I was the one who was going to be taken away, sold into a life of slavery and abuse. My father's face was not one I would ever wish to see again.
Literally, THE BEST FATHER.....
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