Broken

Chapter 19: Before it all

Fifteen years ago, Fatima's heart raced as she heard a gunshot echo from outside. Instinctively, she shot to her feet, eyes wide with panic. The front door crashed open, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the house. Her breath hitched as she quickly darted toward the dining table, remembering the firearms Que had discreetly stashed in strategic places. The bottom of the dining table was one of them. With trembling hands, she reached under the table, her fingers grazing the cool metal of the gun taped beneath. She yanked it free, taking cover behind the wall, her back pressed against the smooth surface.

If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was how to shoot. She could feel the cold sweat trickle down her spine as she braced herself, counting down silently in her head.

3... 2... 1..

In one swift motion, she whipped around the corner and pulled the trigger. The gunshot reverberated through the air as the bullet tore through the shoulder of a strange man who had just entered the house.

"Fuck!" the man yelled, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

But before Fatima could fully process what had happened, a chillingly familiar voice called out, freezing her in place.

"FATIMA!"

Her blood ran cold. In walked Denzel, his presence dominating the room. Her face went pale as she stared at him in shock, her chest tightening with tear.

"You just fucking injured my bodyguard," Denzel said nonchalantly, nodding towards the injured man. "Help him," he ordered, and a few of his men quickly rushed over to assist.

Fatima remained frozen, her grip tightening on the gun as Denzel walked further into the room, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

"Surprised to see me? I got bail," he said, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. Her frown deepened, and a sense of dread settled in her stomach.

"I know it was you," Denzel said, pointing a finger at her. "You made an anonymous call to the cops. What did you think, that I wouldn't find out? I have eyes and ears all over Atlanta, baby girl."

Fatima's heart pounded in her chest. He knew. Of course, he knew. She could see the disappointment in his eyes, mixed with a twisted sense of pride.

"Now, l'm not gonna kill you... because, believe it or not, you were always my favorite," Denzel continued, his voice almost tender. "Because you're just like me. And I know you only did what you believed was the best thing to do."

As he spoke, Denzel's eyes roamed the room, taking in the opulence of the mansion. He nodded approvingly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Nice place," he murmured, seemingly impressed by her new life.

But Fatima's mind was elsewhere. Slowly, she lifted the gun, her hands trembling as she pointed it directly at her father. His men immediately tensed, ready to spring into action, but Denzel held up his hand, signaling them to stand down.

"She doesn't have the balls to do it," he said, his voice calm, almost mocking. He stared directly at Fatima, their gazes locked.

Her chest heaved with emotion, her finger hovering over the trigger. But as the seconds dragged on, her resolve crumbled. The gun shook in her hand, and then, with a sob, she dropped her aim to the ground, tears streaming down her face.

"Exactly," Denzel said, shaking his head with a knowing smirk, the final blow to her spirit.

"Oh yes," Denzel continued, as if nothing had happened. "I came to tell you that my trial is in two weeks, drug charges obviously. They're too useless and stupid to find any evidence that proves I orchestrated the deaths of your mother and sister. Meet my lawyer, Tom Skye." He gestured towards a tall, light-skinned man who entered the room. Tom had piercing green eyes, his presence commanding.