My Mafia Brother Gave Me to the Acid

I could see the dark circles under Farrow's eyes. I knew his insomnia was back.

An unidentified victim, a killer who had vanished without a trace.

I'm sorry, brother. I'm still causing you trouble, even in death.

Uncle Zac once again stood in his way, his old, trembling finger pointing toward the door.

"Farrow, I'll say it again. You can disown her as your sister, but I can't abandon her. Grace has been missing for four days! Four whole days! This isn't normal!"

"Your father entrusted you both to me. I have to see this through."

Farrow violently swept the files off his desk. Papers fluttered through the office like snowflakes.

"You're still going to bother me with that spoiled brat Grace?"

"I've got a goddamn corpse on my hands and the Family's reputation is in the toilet, and you want to talk about her? All she does is cause trouble! If she dares to miss the launch tomorrow, I'll let her rot in Sicily!"

I shrank into a corner, my soul feeling a chill that went straight to the bone.

Brother, you'd rather worry about some random dead girl than spare a single thought for your own missing sister.

The irony is, that corpse is me.

Just then, the intercom on his desk buzzed.

Farrow picked it up, his tone explosive. "Speak."

"Don, someone claiming to be a publisher's editor is looking for Miss Grace, said something about her manuscript..."

"You dare forward this garbage to me?" Farrow's rage erupted.

He roared into the receiver, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Tell that editor I don't give a damn about the cheap, smutty little stories she writes! That kind of trash is a disgrace to the Steele name! Tell him to get lost!"

Click.

The call was disconnected.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand.

He knew I'd had a passion for writing since I was a child. He used to support my dream.

But after Betty arrived, she would often remark, intentionally or not, in front of Farrow that the romance novels I wrote were vulgar and worthless.

Since then, my writing had become nothing but "garbage" in his eyes.

How amusing. This so-called garbage was still worth her every effort to steal.

Farrow, his anger still simmering, grabbed his personal phone and rapidly typed out a message.

[If you dare miss Betty's launch tomorrow night, Grace, don't blame me for sending you to Sicily to feed the fishes!]

I stared at the red exclamation mark, wanting to cry but unable to shed a tear.

You don't have to send me, Farrow.

I'm in the refrigerated drawer right next door. I'm not going anywhere.

The office door creaked open.

Betty walked in carrying a tray. The sweet smell of cookies instantly masked the tense, gunpowder-like atmosphere.

Her eyes were red, like a frightened deer.

The hostility on Farrow's face vanished. He strode to meet her, his voice full of concern. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Who bullied you?"

Betty bit her lip and set the tray down, deliberately revealing a prominent bruise on her wrist as large tears rolled down her cheeks.

Her acting was good enough to win an Oscar.

Farrow grabbed Betty's hand, his voice suddenly tense. "How did this happen? Who did this?"

Betty flinched, her voice pitiful. "It's nothing... brother. I was just careless."

"Tell me the truth!"

Betty sobbed, her voice as quiet as a mosquito's buzz. "It... it was sister Grace."

"I ran into her on my way here. I begged her to come home, but she... she pushed me, and said..."

"She said I was a cuckoo in the nest, a little thief."

As she spoke, she trembled and pulled something from her pocket, placing it on the desk.

It was a silver cross pendant, its edges worn.

"She threw this in my face and said she didn't want anything from this family anymore."

The moment I saw that pendant, I wanted to slap her across the face.

That was a gift from my mother, the only piece of her recovered from the fire five years ago.

I cherished it. I always wore it around my neck, never taking it off, and swore I'd be buried with it.

That night, when I was tied to the chair, one of those bastards had ripped it from my neck.

So this is where it ended up. In her hands, as evidence of how I had "hurt" her.

Uncle Zac, who had just returned, saw the cross and his face changed drastically. He lunged forward and snatched the pendant.

"That's a damn lie!"

Uncle Zac glared at Betty, his voice hoarse.

"Farrow, open your damn eyes! This necklace was her life! She would have starved before selling it. How could she throw it away? And how the hell did Betty get it?!"

Terrified by Zac's fury, Betty shrank into Farrow's arms, trembling.

"Enough, Zac. The facts are right in front of you. That lunatic Grace is jealous of Betty. There's nothing she wouldn't do."

"Since she wants to cut ties, I'll grant her wish!"

Farrow laughed, a furious, bitter sound, and pulled out his phone, putting it on speaker.

"I'm going to drag her back here myself and make her apologize to Betty's face!"

"Beep... beep... beep..."

This time, after a long wait, the call connected.

I froze. I remembered my phone was still at that hellish chemical plant...

Farrow was about to roar, "Grace, you..."

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was not mine.

The voice on the other end was gruff, a man's, nearly drowned out by the howl of wind and crackle of static.

"Don... it's the leader of the search team at the abandoned chemical plant on the outskirts."

"We found this phone in a mud pit at the scene."

"The screen is shattered... and it's covered in blood."