09

꧁♡ 𝔉𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔨 ♡꧂

The slap wasn’t dramatic.

It didn’t send me stumbling or anything like those kinds you watch in cheap rated movies.

The kind of sound that makes you blink even if you don’t feel the pain right away.

My head turned a little to the side. That was it.

For a second, my brain lagged behind, like it needed time to process what had just happened. Then my cheek started to burn. Not badly. Just enough to be annoying.

I looked back at Tim.

He looked worse than I did.

His hand was still raised, frozen mid-air like he hadn’t planned to hit me and was now shocked that he actually did. His face was red, not the angry kind, but the kind people get when they’re embarrassed and furious at the same time. His eyes were bright, glassy, but he wasn’t crying.

He was breathing too fast.

“Don’t,” he said. His voice cracked halfway through the word. “Don’t ever talk like that again.”

Then he turned around and left.

No shouting, no dramatic speech,no second glance. Nothing at all.

He just walked out and slammed the door behind him.

I stayed where I was.

I didn’t chase him. I didn’t call his name, I didn’t even move for a few seconds. I just stood there, staring at the door like it might suddenly reopen and explain everything.

It didn’t.

I touched my cheek. Yep. Still there and still stinging.

I laughed quietly.

Not because it was funny.

Because it wasn’t boring.

Most people reacted in predictable ways but Tim didn’t. That slap wasn’t planned. It came straight from instinct, from someone who had been cornered his whole life and suddenly snapped.

That alone told me more about him than anything he had said all night.

I leaned back against the wall and let out a slow breath.

“Interesting…..Very interesting.” I muttered to myself, holding the side he had slapped me and let out a chuckle.

The image of his face stayed in my head, the way his jaw had tightened right before he hit me. The way his eyes had looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole afterward.

Shame.

Rage.

And something else he hated himself for. I knew that look, it was something I knew very damn well.

And then there was the other thing.

Earlier, in the bathroom.

The way he had said Eric’s name, that part annoyed me more than the slap. It hit somewhere deeper, something I had buried inside of me and I didn’t like that.

I shoved the feeling away immediately. I wasn’t about to sit around and analyze why hearing my brother’s name from Tim’s mouth bothered me.

Eric had always been like that.

Even when we were kids.

He didn’t steal things on purpose. That was the worst part. He just existed, and things suddenly went toward him.

Our mother’s attention, teachers’ praise and friends. Even stupid things I cared about for no real reason.

If I liked something, Eric somehow ended up with it.

And people let him.

They always let him.

So I learned early that if I wanted something, I couldn’t wait for fairness, I had to be smarter. Quieter and more patient.

Tim was no different.

He wasn’t just Eric’s best friend. He was the one who stayed, the one who cleaned up Eric messes and kept Eric steady without asking for anything back.

A typical support system or should I say a safety net.

I wanted that gone.

Not destroyed.

Just… removed.

I wasn’t planning to ruin Tim’s life. I wasn’t interested in breaking him or making him fall in love with me.

That would be messy and so unnecessary.

I also had no intention of falling for him, the idea alone was ridiculous.

This wasn’t about feelings.

It was about putting things in their rightful position.

Once Eric lost Tim, he would finally feel what it was like to reach for something and find nothing there.

That was enough.

When everything was done, I would apologize properly. With gifts or something else.

If Tim wanted to continue his medical studies, I could arrange that easily. A better school with a better program. Somewhere far away, somewhere Eric wouldn’t touch.

If Tim didn’t want that, I’d give him money. Enough to disappear if he wanted to.

Clean ending.

I ignored the uncomfortable tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with revenge.

~~~~

The next morning, I woke up earlier than I usually did.

Not because of an alarm. I didn’t need one. My eyes just opened, and that was it. No grogginess, no urge to roll over and sleep more.

My head felt too full, like it had been working all night without telling me.

For a few seconds, I stared at the ceiling and tried to remember why my chest felt tight.

Then I remembered Tim’s face, the slap and the sound of the door closing behind him.

I exhaled slowly and sat up.

I told myself not to overthink it. People got angry and people leaves but that didn’t mean anything had gone wrong yet.

I had expected resistance.

I had even expected hatred. That was fine, temporary.

I picked up my phone and typed a message to Tim.

“Hey, you good?”

I stared at the message before sending it and placed the phone face down on the table, like watching it would somehow make a reply come faster.

But it didn't buzz with a reply from him.

I showered, got dressed, and checked my phone again.

Still nothing.

No reply.

I wasn’t offended. Or at least, I told myself I wasn’t. Tim had every reason to ignore me, he was angry and embarrassed.

Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me ever again.

That was possible too.

Fair enough.

I left the apartment and headed to the office like I did every other day. I stepped into my work building, nodded to security, and entered the elevator.

As it went up, I checked my phone one more time.

Still Nothing….

I told myself to stop.

The doors opened, and I stepped off the elevator.

That was when I heard laughter.

It came from down the hall. Loud and careless. The kind of laughter people used when they forgot where they were. It echoed slightly against the walls, sharp and out of place.

That alone was unusual.

My people knew better than to behave like that during work hours. Especially not in the open, especially not where I could hear them.

I slowed my steps but didn’t stop walking. At first, I assumed someone had made a stupid joke. It wasn’t worth my attention.

I ignored it and kept moving.

Then I started catching fragments of their conversation.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” someone said, laughing hard enough that he had to catch his breath. “Since when does the Boss have a wife?”

I frowned slightly.

Another voice replied, just as amused, “Right? Even if there was a Godmother, shouldn’t it be a woman? How could it be a man?”

I stopped walking.

“Those idiots from Le Dita di Ferro are saying they kidnapped the Boss’s wife. The Godmother of Monteforte, outside a nightclub. What a joke.” A third voice joined in, snorting.

The laughter grew louder.

I didn’t hear the rest.

I was standing in front of my office door now. My hand reached out on instinct and wrapped around the handle. I didn’t push it open.

I couldn’t.

For a second, my brain refused to cooperate. The words didn’t arrange themselves into meaning. Wife. Godmother. Kidnapped. They floated around separately, like parts of a sentence that didn’t belong together.

It sounded stupid.

Like a bad rumor.

Like something someone made up out of boredom or jealousy..

Like the kind of story that collapsed the moment you looked at it too closely.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Once.

I let go of the door handle and pulled my phone out slowly. Maybe Tim has decided to get over his anger and reply to my message.

I frowned when I unlocked the screen and it wasn't Tim, but from an unknown number. I clicked on the message, and was shocked with what I saw.

It was a photo.

Tim.

For half a second, my mind refused to accept it was real. Maybe it was just some rival playing a joke or something, with a badly edited image. Something staged, to get a reaction out of me.

Then I saw the details.

His hands were tied behind his back, the rope digging into his wrists. His ankles were bound together. There was a rag stuffed into his mouth, pushed in far enough that his lips were stretched tight around it.

His eyes were wide, not from crying or screaming.Just pure panic.

He was looking straight into the camera, and another message came immediately.

Rue des Pâquis 17, Geneva.

Old warehouse near the docks.

Come alone.