Pain had become normal.
That realization frightened Alessandro Verne more than the pain itself ever could. It wasn't the sharp bite of the ropes cutting into his wrists or the dull throb in his temples from days without real sleep. It was the way his body had simply accepted it, the way his mind had stopped fighting and started cataloging every ache like an old ledger. He sat slumped in the metal chair, wrists bound tight behind him, and felt the full weight of how far he had fallen.
His suit was gone. The expensive watch his wife had given him on their twentieth anniversary—gone. Even his shoes had been taken, leaving his socks dirty and threadbare against the cold concrete. He looked like any tired old man waiting for a sentence that had already been written in stone. No dignity left. Just the hollow shell of the politician who once believed his networks could shield him from anything.
His gaze wandered across the quiet warehouse, taking in the dim overhead lights and the handful of armed men standing at a distance. They watched him without expression, guns held loose but ready. Verne lowered his head quickly, not daring to meet their eyes. His throat felt like sandpaper. Thoughts drifted, unwilling, back to the moment everything had begun to unravel.
The explosion. The footage that somehow made it onto every screen. The country's sudden, suffocating attention. He regretted barking threats at Vincenzo more than he had ever regretted anything in his life. So what if Vincenzo had evidence against him?
Vincenzo hadn't threatened him directly. Hadn't moved against him at all. Why had he made that stupid, impulsive decision? Greed and fear of exposure had dragged him here, and now he cursed himself in the silence, wishing desperately for a way to undo it. But choices, once made, carved their own paths.
He had run. First one city, then another. Abandoned safe apartments. Switched vehicles under fake names. Burned every contact he could. Cut communications like they were live wires. He had spent years—decades—building influence across Akaka State. Favors collected like currency, networks woven tight. Yet when he needed them most, the threads snapped. Some refused outright. Others vanished. A few pretended they had never even heard his name. Fear moved faster than loyalty ever had.
The men chasing him weren't police. At least, not yet. That small hope had kept him going for a while—he told himself Vincenzo hasn't revealed anything, all he had to do was disappear. And the people chasing him were some rival faction, not the monster from Portovelo. But deep down, after the way they moved, the efficiency of it all, he knew. These were Moretti's people. And if that was true, Vincenzo's reach stretched far beyond the rotting streets of Portovelo. The thought settled like ice in his gut.
He remembered the exact moment they caught him. A roadside motel in the middle of nowhere. One second he was packing a bag with shaking hands, the next armed men were inside the room like ghosts. No shouting. No dramatic standoff. Just quiet, professional work. Like collectors picking up an overdue debt. The memory still twisted his stomach.
A soft click broke the quiet. The warehouse door opened. The armed men straightened at once. Verne noticed it immediately—the small tells of power he had learned over years in politics. The way conversations died. The way eyes shifted. Posture changed.
An elderly man entered. Gray hair neatly combed, dark coat, reading glasses perched on his nose. An ordinary face. On the street, Verne would have mistaken him for a retired accountant or a mild-mannered professor. The man carried a simple folder under one arm.
Every guard stepped aside to give him space.
The old man stopped in front of Verne and opened the folder, adjusting his glasses with a faint sigh.
"Mister Verne."
His voice was calm. Polite, almost friendly.
"I must say, you traveled more than expected."
Verne said nothing, jaw clenched tight.
The old man glanced at a document. "From Portovelo." Page turn. "To Ravenport." Another. "Then Southbridge." Another. "And finally East Hollow." He looked up. "Quite exhausting for a man your age."
Verne forced the words out. "Who are you?"
The old man smiled faintly. "Edward Hale."
Nothing more. No title. No explanation. Just the name.
Verne waited, heart hammering. Edward returned to the papers as if that had been answer enough.
Eventually, Verne spoke again, voice rough. "One of Moretti's people?"
Edward looked up. "Yes."
That single word landed like a hammer. Verne had suspected, but hearing it confirmed everything. No amount of money or secrets would buy his way out. He knew Vincenzo's temperament too well. Cold calculation wrapped in that unnerving calm.
Edward closed the folder. "You know, I was curious." He tapped the papers lightly. "You attempted to kill the boss. Then another group tried the same. Police moved on your orders. And somehow it all exploded because of that second group." He adjusted his glasses. "Boss didn't plan the explosion. He just understood what people like you would do." he smiled frankly. "Truly, he is really smart."
Verne swallowed hard, fear clawing up his throat.
Edward sighed. "For now, it's just you. We'll find the others soon enough." He reached for a knife on the nearby table, the blade glinting under the lights.
"Please," Verne begged, voice breaking the instant he saw the metal. "Let me go. I'm still useful. I'll do anything Vincenzo wants—anything. I beg you." Tears streamed down his face. He didn't want to die here, stripped and forgotten. The pleas tumbled out faster, desperate and raw.
A man entered from outside. "Sir."
Edward glanced over, irritation flickering, but nodded. The knife didn't hesitate. It drew across Verne's throat in one smooth motion. Blood surged hot and immediate. Verne convulsed in the chair, gurgling, eyes wide with terror as life poured out of him.
Edward barely reacted. "Are the documents ready?"
The man nodded. "Here sir."
Edward checked the new folder calmly while Verne shook violently, blood pooling beneath the chair. When satisfied, he handed it off. "Feed him to the dogs. Ensure nothing connects this to us."
The guard nodded. "Understood."
Edward turned and walked toward the exit. Cool evening air met him outside. He stood there a moment, then pulled a cigarette from his coat. The lighter clicked. Smoke curled up as he stared toward the distant city lights.
Too many problems. Far too many. He preferred things orderly. Predictable. The last few weeks had been chaos.
"We all take actions quietly," he muttered, exhaling. "Boss Vincenzo… why do you bring so much attention?" He sighed.
He, Felix, and Evelyn worked in shadows. Vincenzo's move had shattered that. But they trusted his judgment. There had to be a larger reason. Intelligence like his won't attract unnecessary trouble.
"Maybe he wants to expand."
His phone vibrated. The screen lit up with the caller's name
*Felix*
He straightened his back and answered.
"Status?" a calm voice sounded from other side.
"Stable."
"Others?"
"Still being searched for."
A pause. "That girl's identity?"
Edward glanced toward the treeline. "It's done."
"Good. The TKC gang?"
"They're watching." Edward's eyes narrowed. "TKC is a problem in Akaka— they run illegal sites, bounties, local supply lines. The explosion had them restless, seeing it as a challenge to their turf. If the government didn't act soon on un, they might move on our interests."
"Can they be contacted for peace?" Felix asked.
Edward laughed softly. "No." He had tried. But failed. Their demands were too much.
"Then prepare for fight. I'll talk to Vincenzo."
Edward agreed without question. Felix's authority was second only to the boss himself. The call ended soon after. Edward finished his cigarette, mind turning. The fake identity for the girl had been exhaustive—new records, school history, passport, digital trails. Not because it was hard to make but this has to be very secure. And all for a seventeen-year-old who wasn't even in the game.
Family. It was always family that complicated things. Cathy's face had spread too far. A random civilian was one thing. A Moretti was leverage. She needed to disappear for now.
He knew the family from a distance—gatherings, dinners, birthdays. Not out of sentiment. Protection required knowledge.
Another message buzzed. *Evelyn*
He opened it and felt a headache bloom.
"Those people already left Akaka state."
Of course.
She'd probably tortured the wrong leads and now covering herself. This girl is very unreliable, but the boss had taken her in for her sadism. Edward sighed and headed back inside. "Boys, we still have work left."
---
The black SUV moved steadily through the streets, part of a small convoy now. Necessary precaution. Vincenzo sat in the back, quiet. The city outside continued its rhythm—people heading to work, shops open, lights changing. Life went on. But every so often, someone noticed him. A double take. A phone raised. Whispers. He was used to it now, mostly. Still strange. Before the explosion, few outside certain circles knew his face. Now stares followed him.
Across from him, Cathy sat silent. Unusually so. Vincenzo glanced at her, then away, then back. She stared out the window, arms folded, unmoving. An hour had passed like this. Normally she filled the space with complaints, questions, threats, or demands. Today? Nothing.
He observed her carefully. She must really like the view, he decided. After all, her eyes hadn't left it. He felt a small relief. He had taken her to meet Edward for the passport and explained the temporary overseas study. She had agreed calmly. No arguments. No endless complaints. Perhaps she understood the weight of it. How thoughtful. Vincenzo nodded to himself.
Cathy remained turned away, completely unaware of his conclusion. If she had heard his thoughts, she might have cried that she didn't want to go at all.
More minutes passed. Vincenzo decided conversation might help. "Cathy."
No response.
"Cathy."
She turned slightly, expression blank.
"Do you need something?"
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Thirsty?"
"No."
Reasonable, he thought. The silence returned. In the front, a bodyguard slowly closed his eyes—not from tiredness, but to hide the laugh threatening to escape. Boss didn't notice.
Vincenzo's phone vibrated.
*Mom*
He answered immediately. "Hello."
For several seconds nobody spoke. Then Clara's voice came through, hesitant. "Vincenzo."
"Yes?"
Another silence. Strange. Why is she sounding strange today. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Actually… yes."
"Hm?"
Why is mom talking as if she in denial.
"We found something about you."
Vincenzo immediately focused, his back straightening like a rod. The driver glanced back with a serious face; even Cathy turned, her eyes sharpening with sudden interest.
Judging by her tone had they found the dolls hidden in his room? Or worse—that plushie Barbie body pillow he swore was "for research"? Don't tell me they discovered the hentai novels tucked behind the textbooks. His mind spiraled. Should he flee the country tonight? Change his identity and start over in some remote village? Or just pin everything on Antonio and Nick like the good big brother he was?
A dozen ridiculous escape plans flooded his thoughts in seconds.
"What happened?" he asked, voice steady despite the internal chaos.
Isabella's voice joined the call. "Someone visited."
Vincenzo frowned slightly, then relaxed as the name clicked. "Antonello Castellano."
Vincenzo remembered. Sofia's father. The man who wanted help finding a husband for his daughter. A reasonable request. Though recent events had delayed things somewhat. Vincenzo mentally noted he should probably become more active regarding the matter. Several days had already passed. He was falling behind schedule.
"Yes, I invited him."
The other side became completely silent.
Nobody spoke. Not Clara. Not Isabella. Not Lucia. Nobody.
Vincenzo looked at the phone. The call was still connected. Strange.
"Is there a problem?"
The silence somehow became worse.
Then Isabella spoke carefully. "He came regarding Sofia."
"Yes, about that."
'Her marriage?" Clara asked carefully.
'I agreed."
The other side became completely silent again.
Then—
CRASH! Something shattered on the floor.
A loud shout followed. "What do you mean AGREED?!"
Nick. Definitely Nick.
Several voices immediately exploded together.
"What happened?!"
"Give me the phone!"
"No way!"
"HE ADMITTED IT!"
"Brother admitted it!"
"Water! Somebody give him water!"
"What happened to Antonio?!"
"Lucia calm down."
"Isabella don't just stand there."
The chaos intensified. Vincenzo lowered the phone slightly and stared at it in confusion.
Then came the horrifying sound.
"BLEEEGH!"
Someone had vomited. Violently.
Vincenzo blinked twice. "…Nick?"
"HE'S VOMITING!"
Lucia's voice rang out.
"Hold me I am feeling dizzy."
"Lucia fainted!"
"Antonio has gone unconscious!"
"Move!"
"Stop screaming!"
"Give me the phone!"
The shouting became impossible to follow. Somewhere in the background Antonio seemed to regain consciousness, only to immediately start screaming again. Then someone else joined in. Clara started yelling for everyone to calm down, which somehow made the entire situation ten times worse.
Cathy stared at him curiously—she didn't know about the marriage. If she knew, she might ascend on the spot.
Vincenzo stared at the phone. "…Mother?"
No answer. Only more chaos.
"…Is everyone okay?"
More screaming. Something else shattered. A distant voice yelled that the world was ending. Another insisted marriage was impossible.
Vincenzo frowned. Marriage? Why impossible? The conversation made less sense the longer it went on. Are they pranking me?
Finally he lowered the phone again. The shouting continued. Nick sounded like he was dying. Antonio was convinced reality had collapsed. Lucia was muttering nonsense in the background.
"Is everything okay at home?" Cathy asked.
"Yes, everything is okay. Just them playing," he said calmly, then glanced toward her.
She had already turned back toward the window. Seeing Vincenzo's relaxed face, she didn't think anything serious was happening. The driver also relaxed.
"…Was me helping someone really that shocking?" Vincenzo muttered under his breath.