My Mob Matriarch Mother Faked My Overdose Death To Take My Syndicate Rank — 12 Years Later, A Hidden Mob Ledger Revealed Her Betrayal
A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Julian Rossi,” a deep voice rumbled. “You’re coming with us.”
I tried to twist away, but a second hand grabbed my other arm. They moved with a practiced efficiency that spoke of long experience.
“Leo ‘The Hammer’ Bruno,” one of them said, his face a hard mask. “You remember me, don’t you?”
Leo Bruno. Teresa’s primary muscle. The name clicked into place. My old life, or what was left of it, was pulling me back in.
They didn’t bother with subtlety. They dragged me to the back of the black SUV. The door slammed shut, plunging me into a tight, dark space. The smell of old leather and something vaguely metallic hung in the air.
My head hit the seat with a thud. The engine roared, and we sped off.
The ride was a blur of bumps and sharp turns. I caught glimpses of faded brick buildings and graffiti-scarred walls, until we pulled into an alley behind what looked like an derelict warehouse in Camden. The air here felt heavier, colder.
They pushed me through a nondescript steel door, down a narrow hallway. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, humming. The hallway opened into a small, sterile room. A single metal chair sat in the center, straps dangling from its arms and legs.
“Sit,” Leo commanded, his voice devoid of emotion.
I hesitated, bracing myself. They didn’t wait. A shove from behind sent me sprawling into the chair. Before I could react, the straps were pulled tight, cinching my wrists and ankles to the metal. My muscles screamed in protest.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened again. Teresa stepped in, followed by a man in a white lab coat. She carried herself with the same cold elegance she’d shown on the porch, as if she were entering a boardroom, not a capture chamber.
She pulled up a stool directly opposite me, her gaze unwavering. The lab coat man stood by the door, a syringe glinting in his hand.
“Julian,” she began, her voice calm, almost soothing. “Or perhaps Dominic, as the hospital records suggest.”
I strained against the restraints. “This is a mistake, Mother. You know who I am.”
She sighed, a slow, deliberate sound. “Julian, you suffered a severe drug overdose many years ago. It caused significant brain damage. Your memories… they’re fragmented. Toxic delusions, I’m afraid.”
My jaw tightened. “Toxic delusions? You faked my death! You had me locked away and drugged for twelve years!”
The man in the lab coat stepped forward. “We’ve had patients like him before, Mrs. Rossi. They cling to alternate realities. It’s a defense mechanism.”
Teresa nodded, as if this was perfectly normal. “You see? The doctors understand your condition.” She reached into her handbag, pulling out a thick envelope. “I’ve made arrangements for your continued care here, Dominic. A quiet place where you won’t harm yourself or others.”
She placed the envelope on a small table near the door. “Five thousand dollars,” she said to the man in the white coat. “For his indefinite sedation. Make sure he’s comfortable.”
The doctor’s eyes flickered to the money, then to me. A slight smile played on his lips. “Of course, Mrs. Rossi. We’ll ensure he gets the rest he needs.”
Teresa rose, her eyes sweeping over me one last time. There was no pity, no regret. Only a chilling resolve.
“It’s for your own good, Julian,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, before turning and walking out, leaving me strapped in the cold room, staring at the empty doorway.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours