06

Chapter 06

The car came to a halt in the middle of the road due to heavy traffic. I found myself staring at the people passing by outside the window and at the various lights scattered throughout the surroundings, my eyes drinking in sights I had never been allowed to see before.

I couldn't help but feel amazed as I watched the lights and the sheer number of people moving about on this day. The world outside the car window was alive with activity—street vendors calling out their wares, children running between their parents' legs, couples walking hand in hand, elderly people sitting on benches watching the world go by. It was a tapestry of human life that I had only heard about in stories.

Suddenly, I remembered my nanny describing the places outside the mansion to me during those precious moments when she would sit by my bedside and paint pictures with her words.

When she described the outside world to me, she made it sound like the most beautiful place imaginable—peaceful, where everyone was happy and lived without fear—a paradise where people lived freely and joyfully. But now that I was actually outside the mansion, experiencing the reality rather than the dream, I could see the truth was far more complex.

I could say that it wasn't as beautiful as I had imagined, and it certainly wasn't as enjoyable as my nanny's stories had led me to believe. The world was vast and overwhelming, filled with more people than I could have ever conceived, and most importantly—I looked at the men in the car with me—filled with many bad people just like my father.

The realization hit me like a cold wave: the world wasn't divided into the safe mansion and the dangerous outside. Danger could be anywhere, in any form, wearing any face. These men who held me captive were proof that evil wasn't confined to my father's house—it moved freely through the world, taking whatever it wanted.

"Please, have mercy on me. Let me go," I whispered pleadingly, looking at the two large men flanking me on either side, but they acted as if they hadn't heard me at all.

Their faces were stone masks, professional in their indifference. These weren't men driven by passion or anger—they were simply doing a job, and I was nothing more than cargo to be delivered. Somehow, that made them even more frightening than my father, whose cruelty, at least, came from emotion, twisted though it was.

The car started moving again, and as the journey grew longer, the people and houses around us gradually disappeared, giving way to more desolate landscapes. We were leaving civilization behind, heading toward places where screams wouldn't be heard and disappearances wouldn't be questioned.

Is this really my end? I swallowed hard, my throat dry with fear. In those moments, I called upon every saint I could remember, especially when we entered a tunnel and everything became pitch black around us.

The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever, a concrete throat swallowing us whole. The darkness was so complete that I couldn't see my own hands, and the sound of the car's engine echoed off the walls in a way that made me feel like we were descending into the underworld itself.

"Ahhh!"

I screamed when something suddenly exploded with a loud bang. I grabbed my ears as the sound reverberated through the confined space of the tunnel. The car came to an abrupt stop, and I heard Truson's men cursing violently in multiple languages.

The man in the driver's seat got out, along with the one on my left, but I recognized this as the opportunity I had been desperately waiting for. I didn't let it pass. With all the strength I could muster, I kicked the man hard, sending him tumbling out of the car.

I had forgotten there was still someone on my right who suddenly grabbed me by the neck, his fingers digging into my throat like steel cables. But due to my absolute dedication to escape, my desperation giving me strength I didn't know I possessed, I headbutted him with all my might and jumped out of the car.

I couldn't see anything at all in the absolute darkness, but I kept running away from the car, my bare feet slapping against the cold asphalt. I could hear the shouting of those chasing me and the sound of the car engine roaring to life behind me.

I quickly spotted the tunnel's exit ahead, and beside the road, I could see many trees offering potential shelter. The moonlight beyond the tunnel's mouth looked like salvation itself, a silver beacon calling me toward freedom.

I immediately looked back at Truson's men, who were now in the car pursuing me. When I exited the tunnel, they had gotten ahead of me, but since they were now in front of me, I had no choice. I ran toward the trees and hid among the tall grass, my heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it.

Even though I was still dizzy from the headbutt I had delivered earlier, I didn't stop running. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping me moving, pushing me forward when every muscle in my body screamed for rest.

"Ouch!"

My foot caught on a tree root, and I fell hard onto the dry grass, the impact knocking the wind out of my lungs. I stood up crying from both fear and pain, my body trembling uncontrollably.

I was terrified of the darkness, and I remembered that when my nanny was still alive, I never agreed to be alone in my room because I was afraid of the dark. And here I was now—I looked at the many trees ahead of me, their branches reaching toward me like gnarled fingers.

All I could see now was darkness, with only the moonlight providing illumination in the forest. The shadows seemed to move and shift, creating shapes that my frightened mind interpreted as threats. Every rustle of leaves, every crack of a branch, sent new waves of terror through my already overwrought system.

"I'm scared," I whispered, standing up with tears streaming down my face. I dragged my feet as I continued walking because in the distance I could hear the voices of Italians chasing me, their calls growing closer with each passing moment.

I stopped when I saw a road ahead and immediately headed toward it, hoping that a passing car might help me. The road represented civilization, safety, the possibility of finding someone who might show me kindness rather than cruelty.

I climbed to a higher part of the road and indeed saw the lights of a car heading in my direction. Hope flared in my chest like a candle in the wind—fragile but desperately needed.

I immediately stepped into the road and fell to my knees, my hands raised in supplication. The car stopped, and several men got out. I was stunned into silence.

How could I not be? These men were also armed and truly intimidating in their size and bearing. They moved with the same predatory grace as Truson's men, their weapons visible and their intentions unclear.

"Dear Lord! I don't want to die yet! I have so many dreams in life! I haven't even eaten fried chicken or roasted pig yet!"

I rubbed my palms together and begged them not to kill me, my voice breaking with desperation. Where was I? Was I inside a comic book or some fictional action-drama? For God's sake, why did everyone I encountered have guns? Was this legal in this country?

The absurdity of my situation wasn't lost on me—here I was, a sheltered young woman who had never been allowed to experience normal pleasures like fried chicken, now facing armed men in the middle of nowhere. My innocence felt like a cruel joke in this harsh reality.

I turned when another car arrived, and—Truson's men got out of that vehicle. The two groups faced each other across the dark road, and I was caught in the middle like a prize to be fought over.

"Nicastro?"

"Triad?"

I stopped breathing. What was Triad? Nicastro? Was that a surname? I looked up at the men in front of me, trying to understand the dynamics of this confrontation.

"I hope that your group knows whose territory you are treading on," one of the big guys in front of me spoke, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

My eyes widened, and I immediately screamed when the men started shooting at each other. The night erupted in muzzle flashes and the deafening crack of gunfire, turning the peaceful road into a war zone.

When I looked around, I was horrified to see many bodies scattered on the ground, blood pooling beneath them in dark, spreading stains. I couldn't hear the conversation of the men anymore because of my overwhelming terror. The metallic smell of blood filled the air, mixing with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

My senses only returned when I saw that the men who had helped me earlier were about to leave. In my panic and desperation, I found myself hugging the leg of what appeared to be their boss, clinging to him like a child to a parent.

"Don't leave me here! I'm afraid of ghosts!" I cried out, my voice muffled against his leg.

The sight of those bodies, the reality of violent death, had shattered what little composure I had left. In my traumatized state, the dead men seemed like they might rise at any moment, seeking revenge on the living.

"Fuck," the man cursed, rubbing his temples in obvious irritation. I didn't let go of his leg, my grip tightening with my fear.

He was tall and imposing, dressed in expensive clothes that spoke of wealth and power. Even in the darkness, I could see the cold calculation in his eyes, the way he assessed situations like a chess master planning his next move. This was a man who commanded respect through fear, who had built his empire on the foundation of violence I had just witnessed.

"Put her in the compartment. Make sure she won't make any noise and won't cause trouble later," he said, and that was the last thing I heard before his men suddenly dragged me away. Where were they taking me? I had no idea.

Before I could scream, they opened a compartment in one of the cars and shoved me inside. Someone put duct tape over my mouth and tied me up, the adhesive pulling painfully at my skin.

The space was large enough, but still—what if they were planning to assault me or worse? My mind raced through all the terrible possibilities, each scenario more horrifying than the last.

"Shhh, our boss doesn't hurt women. Just stay quiet here, or our boss might suddenly change his mind and throw you into the sea," said the man who had put the duct tape on my mouth.

I stopped struggling because the man who put the duct tape on my mouth suddenly spoke in Tagalog, my native language. The familiar words were like a lifeline in this sea of foreign voices and incomprehensible situations.

He closed the compartment after throwing something at me. When he closed it, there was light inside. I looked at the small ball the guy had thrown at me earlier. It was emitting white light, a small LED device that would keep me from being trapped in complete darkness.

I leaned my head against what looked like a rubber bag inside while my hands and feet remained tied. The bag was soft and smelled faintly of chemicals, but it was better than the hard metal of the compartment walls.

With the idea that the guy I saw earlier didn't hurt women, and that they had picked me up when they were about to leave me there, I was somewhat confident that this wouldn't be my end on that day. It was a fragile hope, but it was all I had to cling to.

"I'm getting hungry," I whispered. Those were the words I uttered before I gradually closed my eyes to sleep, exhaustion finally overcoming fear and adrenaline.

---

After getting out of the car, Arthur glanced briefly at the other vehicle, his eyes settling on the compartment where they had stored their unexpected passenger. His mind was already moving on to more pressing matters, but something about the woman nagged at his consciousness.

Soon, a man approached him. He had long hair and chocolate-colored eyes, wearing a suit with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Despite his professional appearance, there was something urgent in his demeanor that immediately caught Arthur's attention.

"Padrino, we're glad you're here. All the contents of the cargo ship fell into the sea. We are currently sending people into the sea to search for the boxes containing weapons and exotic fruits," the man reported, his voice carefully controlled but unable to hide his anxiety.

Arthur's expression darkened. The cargo ship represented millions of dollars in investment, not to mention the strategic importance of the weapons and other items it carried. This wasn't just a financial loss—it was a potential catastrophe that could upset the delicate balance of power in their organization.

"What do you want me to do, Abbott? Did you call me just to tell me that our fucking cargo ship fell due to the negligence of your people? Do I look like a joke to you? Do I have time for these damn things?" Arthur's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that spoke of barely controlled fury.

Abbott raised his hands defensively and immediately apologized. He explained that he had something to show his boss, which was why he had called Arthur to this location. The man's nervousness was palpable—everyone knew that disappointing Arthur Nicastro could have fatal consequences.

Arthur followed his subordinate after ordering some of his men to stay behind to guard the area. The port was a dangerous place even under normal circumstances, and with a major operation compromised, they couldn't afford to let their guard down.

Arthur frowned as he looked at the fish tanks inside a container. The setup was elaborate and expensive, clearly designed for transporting live specimens across long distances. But something about it felt wrong, too sophisticated for simple fish smuggling.

"What is it?" he asked, his instincts telling him this was more significant than it appeared.

One of their men approached, holding what appeared to be a dead fish. The creature looked ordinary enough, but the way his men were handling it suggested otherwise.

"There's something inside the fish," the man said, then took out a knife and cut open the fish's body with practiced precision.

He revealed a small plastic package inside the fish's body cavity. The plastic contained a white liquid that they were certain was high-grade drugs, probably worth more than the fish itself.

"We examined this earlier. We found out that it contains high-class drugs," the man reported, holding up the package for Arthur to see.

Arthur's blood ran cold as the implications hit him. This wasn't their operation—someone had used their cargo ship as an unwitting mule for drug trafficking, which meant they had been set up.

"This is a fucking trap!" Arthur snarled.

As if summoned by his words, they heard police sirens in the distance, followed immediately by the sound of gunfire. It was an ambush, carefully orchestrated to catch them at their most vulnerable moment.

Arthur immediately drew his gun, and his men prepared for the attack, their training taking over as they moved into defensive positions. The port erupted into chaos as multiple groups converged on their location, turning the industrial area into a battlefield.

Meanwhile, inside the car's compartment, Hilda woke up to noise when something crawled on her thigh. The sensation was alien and terrifying in my already heightened state of fear.

Hilda screamed and thrashed in terror, thinking it was a cockroach or some other insect. Her panicked movements created noise inside the compartment, the sound carrying clearly in the night air.

Enemy forces were now approaching the car, where they heard the noise, having already shot the guards stationed around the vehicle. The battle was spreading, and Hilda had inadvertently drawn attention to her hiding place.

Hilda stopped moving when she heard gunshots and police sirens. The woman felt even more afraid, especially when she heard different voices outside the car speaking in languages she didn't understand.

Hilda pressed herself to the other side of the compartment, and when the car was opened, she saw two men now holding guns pointed directly at her. Their faces were hard and merciless, the faces of men who killed without hesitation or remorse.

They even smiled before pointing their guns at her, as if her terror was amusing to them. Hilda prayed and closed her eyes, preparing for the end she had feared was coming.

But before they could pull the triggers, the men suddenly collapsed after bullets struck their necks with deadly precision. The shots had come from somewhere in the darkness, fired by an unseen marksman with exceptional skill.

Hilda stopped breathing and opened her eyes. The two men who had been in front of her were gone, their bodies crumpled on the ground like discarded dolls.

She saw again the man wearing a hat who was the apparent boss of those who had helped her. He suddenly closed the compartment after looking at her with cold, calculating eyes that seemed to see right through her.

"Let's go back," the mafia boss said coldly before walking away from the compartment, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to making life and death decisions without hesitation.

If they left the port without finding the cargo ship, they would lose a lot of money, but if they stayed there any longer, there would definitely be big trouble and problems. Many police were heading to that area, and one group had tried to ambush them. The smart move was tactical retreat, even if it meant accepting significant losses.

Arthur's men quickly got into the cars. Someone opened the door for Arthur, and the man immediately got in, his movements economical and purposeful despite the chaos around them.

He took out a bottle of alcohol and immediately drank from it, the liquid burning down his throat as he tried to process the night's events. He needed to think of a way to recover the cargo ship and minimize the damage to his organization.

There were important items on that ship, and if they fell into the wrong hands, they would face even bigger problems. The weapons alone could arm a small army, and the other cargo contained items that could destabilize entire regions if misused.

"List and report all the items inside that damn cargo ship. Give them to me tomorrow," Arthur said irritably. He had a strong feeling that the cargo ship's sinking wasn't an accident, and there was only one person he could think of who had the audacity to do such a thing.

"What are we going to do with the drugs we got from the fish tank?" asked the man in the passenger seat, looking at the rearview mirror to check if they were being followed.

Arthur put a finger to his lips and thought about what they could do with those drugs. The discovery had complicated an already complex situation, but it also provided an opportunity if handled correctly.

"Let's return them and make sure you return those items with gratitude. Don't forget to give him a gift," Arthur said, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

The man's lips curved upward, and he said he would follow those orders. In their world, returning stolen drugs with a "gift" usually meant sending a very permanent message about territorial boundaries.

"Anyway, I saw a woman inside that compartment. Who is she?" the man asked, his curiosity getting the better of his professional discretion.

Arthur's expression became completely neutral, the poker face of a man who had learned never to reveal his thoughts or emotions.

"You have so much time to meddle in my business, Abbott. How about you go to Africa to handle our shipments and future business?" Arthur suggested, his tone deceptively casual.

Abbott cursed and said he would stop asking questions. The current driver laughed, knowing that none of them wanted to go to Africa because of the climate and the dangerous nature of their operations there.

"I didn't ask you," Arthur said to the driver, his voice cutting through the man's amusement like a blade.

Abbott felt like the sky and earth had collapsed on him because of the new mission that had fallen to him. Africa was where they sent people who had either disappointed Arthur or whom he wanted to keep busy and far away.

"I heard there are many beautiful women in Africa. Don't forget to bring at least one for us," said the man sitting in the driver's seat, trying to lighten the mood.

The man in the passenger seat muttered and told him to fuck off, knowing that his fate was sealed and that Arthur's decisions were never reversed once made.