Unraveled Control

Maisie It's hard to believe that my father, Samuel Taggart, the so-called Scottish Mafia King, could have such darkness inside him. To the outside world, our family might appear regal, untouchable, but the truth is far more sinister, especially since my mother's death. That day not only stole her from me but also any semblance of a normal life. Everyone thinks being the daughter of a Mafia King means a life of luxury, power, and respect. But they couldn’t be more wrong. Ever since the boat explosion that killed my mother—a brutal attack my father orchestrated against The Order—everything has been a nightmare. The Order is the governing body of all mafias, ensuring every house follows the 13 laws, or they face annihilation. My father despises their control and longs for the old days when mafia families could do whatever they wanted without consequence. He loathes their rules and dues, and our home became a wasteland after my mother's death. She thought she was going on a romantic getaway, but it was really a death trap, a twisted message from my father to The Order that he wouldn’t be tamed. He survived; she didn’t. The boat was loaded with explosives my father planned to use to take down The Order and their headquarters. He told my mother it was a romantic getaway, knowing she would never have let him go through with this otherwise. As they sailed closer and closer to The Order's headquarters, everything went wrong—the explosives detonated prematurely. Nothing went according to plan. My father intended to unload the explosives and plant them at the headquarters, but it was too late. My father’s hatred for The Order only grew stronger, his desire for revenge consuming him completely. He became more ruthless, more obsessed with destroying those he believed had tried to control him. He blamed The Order for the explosion, claiming they had shot at the boat when it got too close to their headquarters, triggering the detonation of the explosives. He spun a story of betrayal and sabotage, convincing himself that The Order had been waiting for him, ready to strike the moment he made his move. Whether it was true or just a lie he told himself to ease the guilt, I’ll never know. But in his mind, The Order was responsible for my mother’s death, and nothing could convince him otherwise. And in his obsessive quest for vengeance, he destroyed everything good we had left. Our home became a twisted nightmare, a place of constant fear and tension, where the slightest mistake could set him off. His obsession with bringing down The Order consumed him, leaving no room for anything else. We were prisoners in our own home, trapped in the darkness of his hatred with no hope of escape. The loss broke something in him, or maybe it just unleashed the beast he always was. He became more tyrannical, more brutal. If I drop a plate, miss a spot while dusting, or if dinner is five minutes late, the beatings follow. He calls them lessons, says he's making me tough, but all I feel is broken, more like his prisoner than his daughter. My father’s vendetta against The Order has consumed every bit of our resources. Our wealth is vanishing into the abyss of his obsession, leaving us teetering on the brink of ruin. And the worst part? To fund his rebellion, he’s started trafficking women and young girls—a vile business that makes my skin crawl. I’m forced to witness these horrors, unable to help, feeling every bit the slave as those he sells. Living here, in this grand house that feels more like a gilded cage, I dream of escape, of a life where I am more than just a tool in my father's cruel games. But every morning I wake up to the same walls, the same oppressive air, the hope for a miracle fading a little more each day. This isn't a fairy tale; it's a nightmare, one that I can't wake up from. Before my mother died, my life was a fairytale, a perfect blend of love, adventure, and learning. My family was incredibly close-knit, and our home was filled with warmth and laughter. My mother homeschooled my brother and me, creating a nurturing and loving environment that felt like an endless journey of discovery. She was passionate about making our education an adventure, turning every lesson into an experience. One of my most cherished memories is from when we were learning about the rise and fall of Rome. To bring history to life, she took us on a trip to Rome. I can still recall the awe I felt standing amidst the ancient ruins, the Colosseum towering above us, and the cobblestone streets that whispered stories of the past. We wandered through the Roman Forum, touched the weathered stones of the Pantheon, and marveled at the intricate details of ancient sculptures. It was an amazing experience that etched itself into my heart. My mother had a way of making history come alive, her enthusiasm infectious. My father used to call me "little mini" because I resembled my mother so closely. We shared the same medium brown hair, the same blue eyes that sparkled with curiosity. I think that resemblance is part of why it's so hard for him to look at me now. As I grow older, I see more of her in myself, which I used to take pride in. My father used to cherish those similarities, too. He would tell me stories of how my mother and I were like two peas in a pod, inseparable and always up to some adventure. I remember building forts in his office with my brother. My father would often join in, helping us construct our little castles out of blankets and pillows. Those moments were filled with laughter and warmth, making me feel like he genuinely cared about me. My brother used to be incredibly protective of me. He was my guardian and best friend, always looking out for me and standing by my side. We would play together for hours, exploring the woods behind our house, pretending to be knights on a quest or explorers discovering new lands. Our bond was unbreakable, forged in the fires of shared adventures and secrets whispered under the cover of night. But after our mother died, everything changed. My father, consumed by grief and anger, became a different man. The warmth in our home was replaced by a chilling coldness. My brother, once my protector, was taught by our father to hate me. It was as if my father needed someone to blame for his pain, and I became the easiest target. My boldness and outspoken nature, which my mother had always loved and encouraged, became a source of conflict. She used to call me her "little warrior," praising my courage to stand up for myself and others. But that courage became my downfall. After losing her, my father's wrath knew no bounds. Any time I spoke my mind, he would beat me. One time, he beat me so severely for speaking out, saying, “Mother would never want you to treat me this way,” that I ended up in the hospital for five days. I nearly died. That beating broke more than just bones; it shattered my spirit. I realized then that my place was no more than that of a house slave. The vibrant, fearless girl I once was faded into a shadow of her former self. My brother, once my protector, became my tormentor, mirroring our father's hatred. The bond we shared was severed, replaced by a chasm of animosity. The house that was once filled with laughter and love turned cold and oppressive. Each day became a struggle to survive, to avoid my father's ire and my brother's scorn. I learned to stay silent, to keep my head down, and to suppress the fiery spirit that my mother had so cherished. My father's presence was a looming threat, his footsteps echoing through the halls a constant reminder of the danger I lived under. My brother's taunts and cruel remarks cut deeper than any physical blow, erasing any trace of the loving bond we once shared. Now, I feel like a prisoner in my own home, longing for the day I can escape. But deep down, I fear that day will never come. The dream of freedom is a fragile hope, constantly overshadowed by the grim reality that I might die at the hands of my father or brother. This is my true fate, a cruel twist of destiny that transformed my fairy tale into a nightmare. Despite the darkness that surrounds me, I hold on to the memories of my mother. Her love and the moments we shared are the flickers of light in my otherwise bleak existence. They remind me of who I used to be and give me the strength to endure, even as I feel my spirit slipping away. I dream of a future where I can reclaim my voice and my courage, where I can honor her memory by becoming the warrior she believed I could be. But until that day comes, I remain trapped in the shadows, waiting for a chance to break free. Every night, I lie in bed and think of my mother. I remember the softness of her voice, the warmth of her embrace, and the way her eyes sparkled with love and pride. Those memories are my lifeline, the only things keeping me tethered to hope. I replay our adventures in my mind, from our trips to far-off places to the simple joys of baking cookies together in the kitchen. She taught me to be strong, to never back down, and even though life has tried to strip that away from me, I cling to those lessons. I imagine her watching over me, her spirit a protective shield against the darkness. I can almost hear her voice, urging me to hold on, to stay strong. She believed in me, saw a warrior in me, and I want to make her proud. One day, I will find the strength to break free from these chains. I will reclaim my voice, my courage, and my spirit. Until then, I endure, drawing strength from the love and memories of my mother, my guiding light in the darkness. I know I need to escape this life but how. Arlo My whole life's been dictated by rules and expectations. I'm Arlo MacKay, supposed to be the heir apparent of The Order's second chair—my mother, Lana's position. But she's clinging to power, always on about how I'm not ready, how I need to mature. Her favorite line? "You can't even keep a steady girlfriend, and your decisions are too rash. You don't think things through." It's like a broken record, playing over and over. My father, Boyd, thinks he's got the solution—marriage. Not just any marriage, but a strategic one to Ella Anderson, his business partner's daughter. Sure, she looks like every man's dream, the kind of girl you see on magazine covers, but that's where the appeal ends. We went out once to appease our parents, and all she could talk about was her social media stats and the trophies on her shelf. "Can you believe I've hit 400K followers?" she'd giggle, flipping her hair. She then took a picture of us together and said, "Oh, my followers will love this dating Arlo MacKay. Who knows, maybe if you play your cards right, you can marry me, and we can build a social media empire." I almost walked out of the restaurant. The thought of spending my life with someone so shallow, so consumed by appearances and followers, made me sick. My father's grand plan felt more like a prison sentence. How could he think this was the solution to anything? And her reputation? Let's just say she's made more rounds than the whisky bottle at our local pub. Dad's threatened me, saying I better shape up or he'll shove me down the aisle with her. "She'll straighten you out," he insists. As if tying me to someone like Ella would fix what he thinks is broken. No, I can't do it. I can't marry her. Not just because she's completely wrong for me, but because it feels like another chain they want to lock around my neck. Every time I think about it, a red haze clouds my vision, and I know I have to find another way out. A way to prove to them that I can lead The Order, not by their antiquated rules but by my own merits. Maybe it's time to stop playing the dutiful son and start playing the game my way. I need a plan, something bold, something... risky. But it has to be done. I'm not just going to sit back and let my life be decided for me—not without a fight. Maisie As I scrubbed the kitchen sink all I can think of is how I need to escape. My father has broken my spirt but I can not live like this anymore. I need to gather the last of my courage and run. I look out the kitchen window, now how do I escape, my father's and brother Darren's footsteps echoed ominously behind me. My hands trembled, the soapy water sloshing over the edge of the sink. Was another beating in store for me today? Before I could brace myself, my father’s hand grabbed my hair, yanking me away from the dishes. Pain seared through my scalp as I stumbled to keep my balance. “Maisie,” he sneered, his breath hot and reeking of whiskey, “I have an auction tonight, and you will be the jewel of the sale.” He laughed, a sound devoid of any humanity. “I know my enemies—or even my friends—will pay a fortune to have you as their s*x slave. Who wouldn’t want to f**k a Mafia King’s daughter? As long as they pay, they can do whatever they want to you. You’re useless to me. You’re worth more being sold.” His words sank in, cold dread settling in my bones. I looked at him, my voice trembling with disbelief and anger. “You’re going to sell me? Are you serious? I’m your daughter!” He slapped me hard across the face, making me stumble again. “Trust me, none of my allies want to make you their wife. You’re worthless to me. At least if I sell you, I can use the money to destroy The Order. I’m sure you’ll fetch a good price. Hopefully, whoever buys you doesn’t hurt you too badly. If you think your life here is bad, just wait until you see what happens next.” My brother just stood there, staring at me. I could see the pain in his eyes, but he wouldn’t say anything. He’s become my father’s perfect soldier, obeying without question. My father shouted for Fiona, the woman who managed the trafficking operations. She is my brother Darren's girlfriend, or more accurately, his w***e. Her short blonde hair and all-red outfit made her look like the devil incarnate. "Fiona, get Maisie ready for the auction," my father commanded. "I want her to shine, so make sure she’s in the prettiest dress with her makeup done. I expect her to go for a good value. Also, get her checked by the doctor to ensure she’s a virgin—that’ll bring in even more money." Darren’s cold laugh echoed through the kitchen, sending shivers down my spine. He set his gun on the counter, laughing so hard that he needed both hands to steady himself. My father threw me to the ground, making my knees scrape against the tile. “Careful, boss,” Fiona chimed in, her tone dripping with mockery. “We don’t want any bruises on her; that could lower her price.” At that moment, something snapped inside me. I was done being their punching bag. I wasn’t going to let them sell me like some piece of property. I pushed myself up from the ground, my voice shaking with defiance. “I’ve let you treat me like a slave, doing everything you asked, but you will not sell me. I am not yours to sell.” Before anyone could react, I grabbed Darren’s gun from the counter and pointed it at my father and brother. My hands were trembling, but I held my ground, aiming the weapon straight at them. My father’s eyes narrowed, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Oh, I see. You think you can point a gun at me? You think that will stop me from selling you?” He reached for his own gun, lifting it slowly and aiming right at me. “I am your father. I’ll do whatever I want with you.” I didn’t wait. I fired a shot in their direction and took off, not even looking back to see if I hit anyone. I sprinted into the night, my feet barely touching the ground, my heart hammering in my chest. I kept shooting blindly behind me as I ran, hoping to keep them at bay. I could hear the shouts of my father’s men behind me, their heavy footsteps pounding against the ground, getting closer. I pushed myself harder, trying to outrun the fear clawing at my insides, but it wasn’t enough. Two of my father’s men caught up to me, knocking the gun out of my hand before grabbing my arms and yanking me back. I fought against their grip, kicking and thrashing, but they were too strong. They dragged me back toward the house, and I knew I was in for it. My father stormed over, his face twisted in rage. Without a word, he drew back his fist and punched me hard in the stomach. The air rushed out of my lungs, and I doubled over, gasping for breath, pain radiating through my abdomen. “How dare you try to shoot at me. I am the f*****g Mafia King!” he hissed, his voice cold and menacing. “Now you’re going to behave. You’re going to be sold, and after you’re sold, you can do whatever the hell you want. You won’t be my problem anymore. I’m disowning you. You’re nothing to me.” His words cut deeper than the punch, each one a blade slicing through the last shreds of hope I had left. I looked up, searching for some sign of mercy or hesitation in Darren’s eyes, but he just stared back, his expression blank. He wasn’t going to help me. He was letting this happen, choosing loyalty to my father over me. My father grabbed me by the arm, dragging me back into the house. I stumbled behind him, my body aching, but I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. He shoved me toward Fiona, who was waiting with a smug smile on her face. “Make sure she’s ready for the auction,” my father ordered, his grip on my arm tightening painfully before he finally let go. Fiona nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll make sure she’s perfect.” She grabbed my arm, yanking me towards the back room. As I was pulled away, I looked back one last time at Darren, hoping for some sign of regret or remorse. But he just turned away, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the ground. Any hope I had of him saving me was gone. He had made his choice. Fiona shoved me into a chair in the small, dimly lit room and began tying my wrists together with rough rope. Her hands were quick and efficient, and I knew there was no point in struggling. “You should have just done what you were told,” she said, her voice laced with false sympathy. “Now look at you. All this for nothing.” Tears welled up and spilled over as we walked. Fiona glanced at me, her expression hard. "Maisie, you need to toughen up. This isn’t going to be easy, but you can’t show weakness." I didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. I stared blankly at the wall, trying to keep my breathing steady despite the pain in my stomach and the terror that gripped my heart. I had to find a way out of this, but right now, I was out of options. For the moment, all I could do was wait and hope for a miracle. She ushered me into a room where other women and girls, some not even sixteen, were getting their makeup done. Fiona pushed me into a chair and began working on my face, covering my pale skin with foundation and adding bronze eyeshadow to highlight my blue eyes. She finished with bright red lipstick, making me look like someone I didn’t recognize. My hands shook, and Fiona noticed. She poured a shot of vodka and handed it to me. "Chug it. This will help your nerves." I did as she instructed, the alcohol burning down my throat. She styled my long medium brown hair, leaving half up and letting the rest cascade down in waves. Feeling numb, all I could think about was how my father was going to sell me. "Come with me," Fiona ordered. "Time to see the doctor." We walked past armed guards to a small, sterile room where a doctor awaited. "Pull your pants and underwear down and get on the table," he instructed. Confused and scared, I looked at Fiona. "Maisie, it’ll be okay. The doctor just needs to check if you’re a virgin." "But I am a virgin, Fiona." "I know, but the doctor must verify it." With shaky hands, I did as I was told. The doctor’s cold fingers prodded and examined me. "She still has her hymen, so she is a virgin," he confirmed. "Fiona, you can say she is a certified virgin." "Good," Fiona replied. "Maisie, put on your underwear but leave the pants." We walked to a room filled with dresses. Fiona selected a bright red one, the only red dress among all the others. "Maisie, you will be in this red dress to stand out," she said, her tone almost gentle. The satin dress had double high slits showing my legs and a plunging V-neckline that exposed most of my chest. "Think of this as an escape," Fiona whispered as she adjusted the dress on me. "The house you might go to could be better. Who knows, maybe the person who buys you might even love you. Don’t think of this as a negative thing—this is a good thing. You’re getting out!" For the first time, Fiona’s mask slipped, revealing her own desperation. "I wish I could get out," she murmured. "Take this as a new beginning. You’re finally getting out of this hell house." I smiled weakly and hugged her, grateful for the small kindness. It was the first time Fiona had ever shown me compassion, and I realized she felt as trapped as I did. She probably didn’t want to be with my brother but felt like she had no choice. "When they call you, get on the stage and walk with confidence," Fiona advised. "Men love confident women." I nodded, trying to muster the courage. She led me to a seat among other women my age, some even younger, all awaiting the same grim fate. My heart pounded as I looked around, knowing that my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.