The Truth

Chapter Four

"WHY?"

Tyron flinched when the entire living room suddenly lit up as he stepped into the house.

"Carly? You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Carlotta let out a sarcastic laugh.

"A heart attack? And what do you think my reaction was when I came face-to-face with Don Salvatorre's man?"

"Lower your voice. Papa might hear you," he warned, trying to keep his own voice down.

She waited for him to come home. She asked Belinda for a night off so she could confront Tyron. And honestly, she had been seething with anger while waiting. This time, she wasn't going to hold back. This was too much, way too much. She had forgiven his past mistakes. But this last one? Even if he rotted in his grave, she still wouldn't be able to forgive him.

"Why?" she repeated, ignoring the way his eyes widened as if warning her to keep her voice down.

She didn't care anymore, even if their parents found out. The more she kept covering up his mess, the worse he became. It was better that everything came to light. At that moment, she could barely stand the sight of Tyron. He was, without a doubt, the most shameless person to ever walk the face of the earth.

"Because you're not my real sister. You should be thankful. If it weren't for this family, you'd have no roof over your head."

"I've always been grateful, Tyron. And I will forever be thankful to Papa and Mama for raising me. But you, I have no obligation to clean up your messes just because I owe my life to the people who gave birth to you. Most of all, you have no right to sell me off like property!"

"You deserve that because you don't belong in this family! You're just an orphan, a charity case my parents took pity on. I've wanted to get rid of you for a long time, but you're just too good at sucking up to Papa. It's always you who's the best, always you who's right!"

"What's going on here?!" their father's booming voice rang through the house.

Their parents appeared on the upstairs landing, both clearly roused from sleep by their heated exchange of words.

"You two should be ashamed. The neighbors can probably hear you," their mother said, worried.

"Tyron, what is it this time?"

"Of course. Who else would be to blame? Right, Papa?" Tyron replied sarcastically.

"I'm asking you properly, answer me!"

"Why don't you ask your favorite daughter instead?" he spat, emphasizing the word favorite.

"Carly, what's going on?" their mother asked.

"Kuya Tyron owes ten million to the Quattro Assi Casino," Carlotta said, her voice tight with rage.

"Ten million?! Por Dios, por Santo, Tyron!" their mother gasped.

"Did you say Quattro Assi?" their father asked, suddenly looking alarmed.

"Yes, Papa. Kuya Tyron owes them ten million. Not in pesos. In U.S. dollars."

Carlotta saw her mother stagger, barely managing to keep her grip on the balustrade.

"You worthless piece of crap," their father growled, storming down the stairs like a raging bull. "You're completely useless! All you do is cause problems!"

Franz punched Tyron, blow after blow. Carlotta had never seen their father this furious. No matter how Tyron dodged or blocked his punches, it was useless. Every punch hit its mark.

When Tyron tripped on the carpet and fell flat on his back, Carlotta thought Franz would stop attacking him. But he didn't. Instead, he kept throwing punches. In fact, they seemed even more brutal now that his target was pinned to the floor.

Bleeding and barely able to open his eyes, Tyron could only lie there as Franz finally stopped, breathing hard.

"Do you even know what kind of mess you've dragged us into, you worthless piece of crap?! That casino is controlled by the most dangerous Mafia in Asia. If you don't pay up on time, they'll wipe out our entire family!"

"That's not... g-gonna happen. They only want her," Tyron rasped, pointing weakly at Carlotta.

"What do you mean by that?"

"They gave me a copy of the contract Kuya Tyron signed," Carlotta said, handing the document to her father.

Franz scanned it, even without his reading glasses. In the end, he crumpled it in his fist, enraged.

"This isn't legal."

"That's what I said, Papa. But with a network that wide, someone could already be watching us. We can't even go to the police. Who knows what they'd do once we bring this matter to the authorities."

"Then how are we going to pay them? This house, or even the garment factory won't be enough."

"I don't think we can raise that amount of money..." Carlotta said, holding back her tears. "I don't see any other choice but to go along with what they want."

"My daughter..."

"Can't you just let her go, for fuck's sake! You raised and nurtured her all these years. Isn't it just fair that she repays us back for all the kindness you have given her?"

Franz grabbed his house slipper--the one with a thick rubber sole. Carlotta wasn't sure what he planned to do with it until he started smacking Tyron across the mouth with it. Again and again, until his lips swelled and bled.

"From this moment on you're dead to me, you ungrateful bastard! Now listen closely. If anyone here owes her anything--it's us. You, me, and your mother. Yes, we raised her. Yes, we gave her a home and education. But did you ever stop to think where all the money that came into this household actually came from? All of it came from the inheritance her mother left behind."

The room fell silent.

"I'm sorry, Carly. I didn't want you to find out this way. When your mother died, she entrusted everything to me. Her house, her jewelry... her personal bank account. And even your trust fund. And though it pains me to admit it, I used nearly all of it just to keep this household afloat."

"I know."

"W-what?"

"Before she died, Mommy left me a letter. I was to open it on my eighteenth birthday. It's like she already knew she wouldn't be around. She said she trusted you with everything. And that I shouldn't worry, because you would take care of it all."

"Then... why didn't you ever ask? Or get angry?"

"Why would I? We're family, aren't we? I'm your daughter. And as a daughter, I saw how hard you worked to give me everything I needed."

Tears welled up in Franz's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't good enough to be your father. I didn't protect you from this scum," Franz eyes blazed with fury as he glared at his eldest son.

"No, Papa. You were more than enough--you and Mama. And everything's going to be okay..."

***

EVERYTHING'S going to be okay...

Pfft.

Easy to say. But when she was alone, fear crept in again. After that heated confrontation, Carlotta tried to return to normal. Writer by day, bar owner slash bartender by night. Sadly, she could only manage the second part. Her writer self had gone missing. She couldn't write. She was too anxious, constantly feeling like someone was watching her.

Yes, she had made peace with becoming the bride of that infamous Mafia boss for the sake of her family. But the fear never quite went away.

Who is Don Salvatorre Galliardi, really?

Since she couldn't write, she tried searching online. She browsed through whatever information she could find about the man they called the most powerful Mafia boss in Asia. She always thought organized crime like that was more common in Europe or the U.S.

Oh, who cares where they came from or where the center of their operations is?

She began reading through the search results. Occasionally raising an eyebrow. There was no definite information about his age. It was either between fifty to seventy. No photo, either. Apparently, he was pure Italian and had joined the Mafia at eighteen. Rumor was, he killed the previous boss, which led to him becoming the new don.

She skimmed through the rest of the information she found on line. Until something caught her attention.

The feared Mafia boss allegedly had erectile dysfunction.

Oh, dear.

Was that good... or bad?

And come to think of it, could that be the real reason he demanded her as payment for Tyron's debt? Is he planning to throw her to the wolves just to mask his own failure as a man? He's the head of a crime family, after all. And nothing shatters a king's crown faster than the world finding out the lightbulb he's been carrying doesn't even light up.

If that's really true, then she has every reason to celebrate. But what if he asks her for an heir? No one drops ten million dollars just to have a trophy wife to show off, no one's that generous.

But the real question is: how exactly are they supposed to make one? Is he going to force her to fire up a burned-out bulb?