Mafia House
1233 Words
As I slowly opened my eyes, the drumbeat in my head threatened to shatter my skull. Grogginess clung to me, refusing to relinquish its grip. I lifted my hand, gingerly touching the tender spot on my temple.
Memories flooded back: the stranger's menacing voice, the needle's piercing pain, and the darkness that consumed me.
I sat up, taking in my surroundings. The room was a masterpiece of luxury, with plush carpets, velvet drapes, and a four-poster bed adorned with delicate lace. Confusion swirled within me.
Where was I?
Whose opulent sanctuary was this?
My gaze fell upon the bandaged area on my neck, and I winced. The tenderness lingered, a harsh reminder of the stranger's attack.
Fear crept in, its icy fingers wrapping around my heart.
Why was I here?
What did they want from me?
With a newfound sense of determination, I tossed off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness washed over me, but I pushed through the haze.
As I stepped out of the room, I expected to find resistance. But the door creaked open, revealing a sprawling living room that took my breath away.
Elegance and sophistication danced in every detail. Immaculate surfaces reflected the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, while polished marble floors shimmered like still water. Plush sofas invited relaxation, carefully arranged to create cozy conversation nooks.
Each piece was carefully curated, reflecting a deep appreciation for beauty and refinement.
As I reached for the door handle, a deep, commanding voice stopped me cold.
"If I were you, I wouldn't be fool enough to do that."
My heart racing, I slowly turned around, my feet feeling rooted to the spot.
My gaze traveled up, meeting the stranger's piercing eyes.
They were unmistakable.
The same eyes that had haunted me since yesterday.
My eyes widened, confirming my fears.
It was him.
The man who had taken me.
His chiseled features were even more striking in the daylight.
Strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, and full lips that curved into a sly smile.
His dark hair was perfectly messy, framing his angular face.
Broad shoulders filled out his tailored shirt, exuding confidence and power.
But it was his eyes that held me captive.
Intense, intelligent, and unnervingly calm.
They seemed to see right through me.
"What do you want from me?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady.
With each step, the man's presence seemed to grow more imposing.
My heart pounded, anticipation coursing through my veins.
He stopped beside me, his proximity making my skin crawl.
"Take a look," he said, handing me a document.
My trembling hands accepted the papers.
Glancing down, my eyes widened in horror.
The man's voice cut through the silence, his words dripping with an unnerving intimacy.
"Sophia Elizabeth Thompson," he began, his eyes locked onto mine.
I felt a shiver run down my spine.
"Born on November 12th, 1995, in New York City."
My grip on the document tightened.
"Your parents, John and Emily Thompson, died in a tragic fire when you were just ten years old."
Memories long buried surfaced.
"The investigation ruled it an accidental electrical fire."
His words stirred the embers of a pain I thought I'd long extinguished.
"You were adopted by Mark and Sarah Lee."
My heart sank.
"Tragically, they died in a car accident on your 18th birthday."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
"You completed your undergraduate degree at Harvard and are currently a resident at St. Michael's Hospital."
How did he know everything?
"What do you want from me?" I demanded, desperation creeping into my voice.
He walked over to the table, his movements deliberate and calculated.
he gave me another document from the stack.
He handed it to me.
My hands trembled as I accepted the papers.
Hospital records.
A name leapt off the page.
"Alexander Grayson."
The stranger's eyes locked onto mine.
"That's me," he said, his voice low and even.
I scrutinized Alexander Grayson's hospital records, my trained eyes scanning the pages with a growing sense of unease. The diagnosis leapt off the page like a stark warning.
"Severe traumatic brain injury with intracerebral hemorrhage."
A bullet fragment lodged in his brainstem, threatening to sever the delicate threads of life. My gaze lingered on the CT scan images, the bullet's proximity to vital structures making my heart sink.
The prognosis was grim.
"Diffuse axonal injury...subarachnoid hemorrhage."
The words echoed in my mind like a death knell. I felt the weight of responsibility settling upon me, the burden of deciding whether to attempt a desperate bid for survival.
"Less than 5% chance of survival without surgical intervention," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Grayson's eyes locked onto mine, his gaze burning with an unspoken plea.
"But even with surgery..." I hesitated, the words faltering on my lips.
"Risk of paralysis: 70%."
"Risk of fatal complications: 50%."
Grayson's face remained impassive, yet his eyes betrayed a glimmer of desperation.
"If they don't operate on me, I'll die," he said, his voice low and even, but laced with an undercurrent of urgency.
"But if you do..." he trailed off, leaving the unspoken consequences hanging between us.
"Why didn't you go to a hospital?" I asked, incredulous.
Grayson's gaze dropped, his jaw clenched.
"I trust no one," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I frowned.
"Why me, then?"
His eyes snapped back to mine, piercing.
"Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Thompson," he said.
"Your compassion for your patients...it's legendary."
A flush rose to my cheeks.
"How did you—"
"I've been watching," he interrupted.
"Your dedication, your empathy...it's rare."
He leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
"I need someone who'll fight for me, Sophia."
"Fight to save my life."
His words sent shivers down my spine.
"You're putting a lot of faith in me," I said.
Grayson's smile was faint.
"I have no choice."
Before I could respond, a commotion erupted outside.
The door burst open, and two burly men dragged in a battered figure.
His face was unrecognizable, swollen and bloodied beyond belief.
"Please, Don Cassano," the man begged, his voice barely audible.
Alexander Grayson's expression transformed.
"Don Cassano," the man repeated, his eyes pleading.
Grayson's gaze locked onto the wounded man.
"Luca, how dare you betray despite stealing from me" he said, his voice low and commanding.
Luca's words tumbled out.
"They're coming for you...the Esposito family...they will kill you."
Grayson's jaw clenched.
"I'll take care of it."
The air thickened as Vinnie, one of the men who brought Luca in, handed Alexander a sleek, black pistol.
Luca's eyes bulged, terror etched on his battered face.
"Please, Don Cassano, mercy!" he begged, his voice cracking.
Alexander's expression transformed, his features chiseled from granite.
"Sophia, bear witness," he said, his voice low and even.
"This is the fate of those who betray me."
Luca's pleas dissolved into screams.
Alexander raised the gun.
Three shots echoed through the room.
Luca's head jerked back.
Each bullet struck its mark.
Luca's head exploded.
Blood splattered everywhere.
I stumbled back.
Horror gripped me.
Alexander turned to me.
"Sophia, loyalty is everything," he said.
His eyes seemed to bore into my soul.
"I expect the same from you."
The weight of his words crushed me.
I was trapped.
In a world of violence.
With a man who held life and death in his hands.
- Writer
