~ongoing~ ~unedited~
After eleven year old Parker is faced with her stepfather's death, she has to move in with her five older brothers. Her newly discovered family has secrets they are hiding from Parker, but Parker is keeping secrets of her own...
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"I d-don't get it," I murmur in response. "Aren't mafia's like when you m-murder people?"
Reid is quiet next to me, while the man before us laughs again. What is so amusing to him?
"Yes dear, now you're catching on. But there is much more than just killing people." He responds in that same condescending tone.
"Bu-but my brothers would never do that." I state, still scared and utterly confused.
"Oh, but they do. Human trafficking, drug and arms dealing, torture, its all in the mafia business." He replies, before continuing seeing I am not convinced, "Tell me, have you ever wondered why all the bodyguards? The lavish lifestyle? The late hours? The secrecy?"
I ponder his words, yet quickly answer. I trust my brothers, they would not lie to me.
"It's because they have c-companies, they have money because they work hard an-and they earn it" I respond, refusing to believe my brothers, my kind loving brothers would ever do anything remotely like this.
"The companies are simply a cover up." He replies in a bored, "but yes, my dear, they work very hard indeed." He smirked, though I think his words hold a deeper meaning.
I remain silent, looking back over to Reid, his face impassive. He seems to have accepted it. I guess to him, he could see his brothers doing such things- but not me.
"You don't believe me, that's fine. I expected this." The man announces. He then snaps his fingers and another younger man enters, carrying a computer.
The new computer man is much younger, but clearly resembles the other sitting in the chair. He must be his son.
He opens the laptop and places it on the ground in front of me. Then, pressing play, a video begins on the screen. The video captures my complete attention as I immediately recognize my four eldest brothers, Luca, the only one not present.
They seem to be in a room similar in nature to the one I currently sit chained in. As my brothers move, I can see another person with them. However, this man is chained to the wall. I watch in horror as my brothers take turns torturing the man, before eventually killing him.
The video continues, switching to a new scene although the same thing happens again and again. I want to tear my gaze away from the screen, but can't seem to stop watching. Eventually, I see my youngest brother Luca appear, joining in the action. Tears fall down my face as I watch my brothers torture and kill person after person.
I attempt to console myself by convincing my mind it's not really them, however, the video is clear and through the audio I can distinctly recognize their voices.
What terrorizes me to my core is the apparent smiles on their faces, the fact that they can find joy in what they are doing. They are enjoying it. My brothers not only torture and kill, but they enjoy doing it.
Eventually, the laptop is closed and removed from my line of vision, but I can barely see through my tears - everything has been a lie, they are murderers.
I cry for the lives they took and I cry for myself, I cry for the brothers I thought I had.
Luca, my carefree, goofy brother. Bruno, my quiet, kind brother. He was teaching me how to tattoo. Ares, my tough, daring, bold brother. Matteo, my sweet, compassionate, loving Teo. He was the brother always fretting over my health. Lorenzo, my teddy bear Enzo. I wanted to be just like him, I looked up to him most. His betrayal hurts me the most, how is my Enzo the leader of the Italian Mafia? How could they do this? How could I fall for their act?
Pulling me out of my thoughts, I hear the younger man mutter something along the lines of that isn't even the tip of the iceberg. But, I disregard his comment as the older man speaks.
"As I've stated, you are here to pay for your brother's actions," The still unnamed man reminds us,"To be honest, I pity you. It's not your fault, but alas someone has to pay. So, I'll spare you the torture, but you will be dying." The man says, showing no remorse whatsoever.
Still sobbing, I continue my fight for air, struggling to not only come to terms with my murderous mafia brothers, but now I have to die? He is going to kill me.
He clicks his tongue, "Don't worry, I will send them something to bury." He taunts.
Through my tears, I see him approaching me. I cower as far as possible in my corner, praying he changes his mind. I curl into myself hoping he cannot get to me.
But much to my horror, he effortlessly grabs my right hand effectively forcing my body to uncurl. I use my left to desperately fight his grip. The hits from my hard plaster cast seems to do little to bother him, he simply uses his foot to hold it down.
The reflection of a blade momentarily blinds me as he flips open a knife. Although now immobilized, I still thrash while screaming, crying and begging for help, but my pleas seem to fall on deaf ears. The man easily overpowers me, not even seeming to struggle.
In one quick motion, he brings my right hand to the ground, forcing it to lay flat so all my fingers are displayed. Then, the knife's blade is lined up against the bottom of my pinkie. I realize now what his intention is. Without warning, he pushes down, using a sawing motion while doing so.
My finger comes clean off. He cut my pinkie off.
Paralyzed in shock, I don't register feeling any pain. I merely watch as he grabs my detached finger and places it in a bag. I quickly clutch my wound which profusely bleeds, soaking my clothes, cast and surroundings.
I watch in utter terror as he next approaches Reid. My friend is now forced to receive the same fate as me and he knows it. Much like I did, Reid fights relentlessly. It takes the other man to help hold him down, the same man who brought in the computer.
I turn away, clenching my eyes closed not wanting to watch the event unfold. After a few moments, I bravely take a peek towards Reid's corner.
Much like me, tears are running down his face however I never heard him scream or plead. He also clutches his hand, glaring at the culprit.
Sparing each of us one last glance, he turns to leave the room while still clutching our bagged amputated fingers. He turns to the man whom I assume to be his son.
Leaving the room, he nods his head once in our direction before speaking in a language I cannot comprehend,
