My Mafia Brother Gave Me to the Acid

Farrow's hand, holding the phone, froze in mid-air. His knuckles turned white, as if he had been struck.

"You said... where?"

His voice was hoarse, a strangled sound of raw fear.

"The chemical plant. The primary crime scene."

Farrow didn't even hang up. He couldn't wait for a car to be brought to the door. He bolted out into the rainy night.

He didn't even glance back at Betty, who was still standing behind him, her face a mask of tears.

"Farrow..." Betty reached for his sleeve. "Where are you going? You promised you'd come home with me..."

For the first time, Farrow shook her hand off without a second's hesitation, without a single word.

I followed him.

How could I miss the moment my dear brother was about to witness the cruel truth?

I floated in his passenger seat, watching as he floored the accelerator on the rain-slicked highway.

The speedometer climbed to 200 miles per hour.

I almost wanted to laugh. So, my brother did know how to feel worried.

What a shame. It was far too late.

The black sports car tore through the police tape at the abandoned chemical plant.

The pungent smell of chemicals and rust hit him. Farrow leaped out of the car before it even came to a complete stop.

One of his men, trembling, handed him an evidence bag.

Inside was a pink phone with a shattered screen. Dried, dark red blood was caked in the cracks of the casing.

That was my blood.

Seeing the phone's pink case, Farrow's body shuddered. He knew it was my favorite cartoon character.

Farrow took a deep breath. His finger hovered over the screen for half a second before he began to type in the unlock code.

He tried my birthday. Incorrect.

He tried the anniversary of our parents' death. Still wrong.

One last chance before the phone locked itself.

Farrow's breathing grew rapid, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Farrow..." Uncle Zac tried to stop him. "Don't try. Let the tech guys handle it..."

Farrow ignored him. As if on instinct, his fingers hovered over the numbers.

It was his own birthday.

The screen lit up.

The wallpaper was a photo of us as kids in Hawaii. He was giving me a piggyback ride, grinning like a fool under the sun.

Farrow stared at the photo, then staggered, nearly collapsing to the ground.

Uncle Zac caught him, his voice old but strong. "Hold it together, Farrow. This is not the time to fall apart."

Farrow pushed him away and stumbled into the room filled with instruments of torture.

I followed him, once again mustering the courage to step into this hell.

The blood splattered on the walls had dried to a dark brown.

In the center of the room was a rusty iron chair, surrounded by a barbed whip and barrels of industrial-grade acid.

Farrow stared at the chair, the corners of his eyes turning crimson.

His mind was replaying what must have happened here, while my soul relived the nightmare in a shuddering trance.

The memory washed over me like a tidal wave, drowning me.

It was four days ago.

Betty had lured me here, using the lie that Farrow was injured.

The moment I pushed open the door, a rough hand clamped over my mouth, and I was thrown violently to the ground.

Ropes bit into my flesh. I was bound to that chair, a lamb to the slaughter.

Betty, who always acted so weak she couldn't even twist open a bottle cap, was now swirling a glass of red wine, looking down on me.

"Well, look who it is. Our little charity case of a mafia princess."

"Does it hurt, sister?"

She ground the tip of her high heel into my ankle, her laughter echoing.

"You really think brother is coming to save you? Dream on. He's busy picking out a dress for my book launch right now."

"You're insane! What do you want?!" I struggled against my bonds.

"What do I want?" Betty took a sip of wine. "I want to get rid of you, you useless obstruction."

"As long as you're alive, that idiot Farrow will never fully trust me."

"So, what I want is for the entire Steele family to burn with me. And you are the first sacrifice."

She snapped her fingers, and a tall man emerged from the shadows.

Years on the run had hidden his face in the shadow of a hood, leaving only a pair of dead eyes visible.

He was carrying an iron rod, still dripping with blood.

"Go on, Dad," Betty cooed. "Don't let her die too quickly. Let's savor the main course."

"What did you call him?" I looked up, shocked. "Aren't you an orphan?"

Betty sneered. "Oh, Grace. That's why I always say you're a special kind of stupid. I'm no orphan. I never saw the inside of an orphanage."

Before I could process her words, a blinding pain made me scream.

The man grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcing my head up.

"This one is for what your father did."

"Those eyes... they're exactly like your damn father's."

"Your father slaughtered my brothers and burned my home to the ground. Today, I take it all back from his daughter, piece by piece."

In a flash, the fragments of memory clicked into place.

Killed his brothers, burned his home...

Seven years ago, my father had indeed wiped out a family called Rossi. They had broken the rules of the underworld by trafficking people.

It was a rare, bloody business.

The story goes that the head of the Rossi family swore on his deathbed to wipe out the Steele bloodline.

My eyes widened in terror as I stared at the snarling face before me.

"You're... you're from the Rossi family?"