[ARTEMY]
“He’s terrorizing our people. They’re living in fear,” Leon said, his voice filled with concern, as we exited my office. I struggled to contain my anger, but it coursed through me so strongly that my entire body trembled with its intensity.
Ever since the news broke about Raffaele murdering Herman and seizing control, fear had gripped my organization. Knowing that he had killed a Boss and taken over, my people understood the seriousness of his threats.
“What’s our plan?” Brayden asked, walking beside me.
“He won’t lay a hand on my people. I’ll make sure of it. Milandro, I want you to keep a watchful eye on everyone. Ensure the Watchers are attentive and report any and all information,” I responded, trying to maintain a calm demeanor despite my internal turmoil.
“Yes, Boss,” he replied promptly, giving us a nod before briskly walking away.
Turning to Leon, I nodded at him. “Inform the major families that we’ll be paying them a visit. I want to speak with them personally.”
He nodded in acknowledgement and swiftly retrieved his phone from his pocket. After typing feverishly for a few seconds, he returned it to its place. “Done,” Leon confirmed.
If Raffaele truly believed he could overpower me and seize my empire, he was gravely mistaken. I had built this empire with my own hands over the span of nearly a decade. Half of my life had been devoted to making it the strongest mafia family. I wasn’t about to surrender now, and I damn sure wasn’t going to let that bastard defeat me.
As we descended the stairs, a sudden scream pierced the air, freezing us in our tracks. Avim had already drawn his gun, and I noticed Leon and Brayden reaching for theirs.
My eyes widened when I heard my name being shouted. Reaching behind me, I retrieved my own firearm.
“That’s Lynda’s voice,” Leon hissed, but I was already sprinting back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
When I reached the top, I paused, scanning left and right, trying to determine Lynda’s location. Another scream echoed through the corridor, and with my heart pounding forcefully in my chest, I turned towards the source of her cries.
“Shit,” I whispered. It was emanating from Rebecca’s room.
The door stood ajar. Gripping my gun firmly, I pushed the door open wider with my free hand. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw my men adopting similar stances, ready for whatever lay ahead.
With a sharp nod, I motioned for them to follow as I entered the room. Tension gripped me as I scanned the empty space, my apprehension growing. Suddenly, the sound of sobbing filled the air. I turned to the side and noticed the bathroom door ajar, its lights illuminating the room. Before I could react, Leon hurriedly approached the door and pushed it open.
“Oh, shit! Shit! Fuck!” he exclaimed in a panic, rushing inside. My heart raced, and my stomach sank at the sound of Lynda’s cry. I followed Leon, and as I drew closer, the metallic scent of blood assaulted my senses. Alarm surged through me, and I hastened my steps into the room.
The sight before me nearly brought me to my knees. Rebecca was drenched in blood, her eyes closed, and her complexion ghastly pale-a sight I never wanted to see. Acting on instinct, I dropped to my knees beside Lynda, my heart pounding wildly.
“Here,” Brayden’s voice came from beside me. I glanced up and saw him handing me some towels. “We need to apply pressure to her wounds to stop the bleeding.”
He was right; we had to staunch the bleeding. “Call Wyatt!” I ordered sharply, my eyes fixed on Rebecca’s face. Taking the towels from Brayden, I placed them on her cuts and applied gentle pressure. She didn’t react, not even a flinch. Lynda continued to sob silently, her chest heaving with each suppressed cry.
Leaning forward, I took Rebecca from Lynda’s arms and drew her closer to my chest, disregarding the blood that stained me. I raised a trembling hand to her cold, pallid cheek. “Rebecca?” I whispered, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar to my own ears.
There was no response. She remained limp and lifeless in my embrace. But she was breathing, barely. Rebecca was alive, and I forced my mind to accept that reality, even as it felt like my heart was tearing apart. The pressure in my chest became unbearable, and my stomach twisted with painful cramps.
The last time I experienced such anguish was when I witnessed my mother’s death. I drew a painful breath at the memory, shaking my head vigorously. No. This couldn’t be happening again. I refused to let it.
Embracing Rebecca tightly, I rose to my feet, my unwavering gaze fixed upon her. Leaving the bathroom behind, I guided her tenderly to her bed, delicately laying her down on the mattress. As I settled down beside her, I carefully pulled her arms forward, maintaining pressure on her wounds.
With her eyes shut and her face drained of color, Rebecca appeared incredibly fragile. She seemed so vulnerable, like a shattered porcelain doll. Witnessing her in such a state pained my heart, causing me to close my eyes momentarily, overwhelmed by the anguish that surged within me.
It was difficult for me to comprehend why Rebecca would resort to such drastic measures. She had seemed content, happy even. I couldn’t fathom the reasons behind her self-destructive actions. Inquisitively, I examined her arms, desperately seeking an answer to the question that incessantly echoed in my mind. I didn’t want to assume anymore; I craved the raw truth.
Leaning in slightly, I brushed aside the stray strands of hair obscuring her face, my fingers lingering there, silently pleading for any sign of response from her. Yet, receiving no reaction, I sighed and withdrew my hand.
Rebecca’s breathing was slow and labored, her chest rising and falling with effort. Helplessly, I gazed at her, feeling utterly powerless in the face of her suffering. Diverting my attention away from her momentarily, I turned to Brayden, who stood behind me, his expression grave and anxious. “Where is Wyatt?” I growled, my voice tinged with frustration.
Wyatt, our personal physician residing on the estate, was our best option in times like these. The hospital wasn’t always ideal, and we needed someone familiar with our lifestyle, someone who could act swiftly without prying into our affairs. Wyatt fit that role perfectly.
“I’m here,” Wyatt declared as he hurried towards us.
His eyes scanned over Rebecca, and a curse slipped from his lips. Leaning forward, he took my place, and with a reluctant sigh, I released Rebecca and stood aside, allowing him to tend to her.
Sitting in my spot, Wyatt removed the towel from Rebecca’s hand, wincing at the sight before him. My anxiety grew, and pins and needles prickled my legs as I anxiously asked, “Is it serious? How bad is it?” Observing Wyatt’s pensive expression, my panic intensified.
Shaking his head, Wyatt whispered softly while continuing his examination of Rebecca’s wound, “I need to clean away the blood to assess the severity. Her breathing is shallow, but stable. Her heart rate isn’t too alarming.”
That moment felt surreal. The words “isn’t too alarming” echoed in my mind, as if trying to convince me of something. I repeated them over and over again, desperately seeking solace and calmness amidst the chaos that unfolded before my eyes.
Wyatt carefully tended to Rebecca’s injured arm, wiping away the blood that stained her skin. It revealed a long, vertical cut that sent a chill down my spine. Anguish surged within me, imagining the excruciating pain she must have endured. The mere thought of her suffering pierced through my chest, like a serrated blade against my pounding heart.
Relief washed over me when I heard Wyatt exhale a breath of gratitude. I leaned forward, eager for an explanation. “What happened?” I inquired, my voice trembling with concern.
Thankfully, Wyatt clarified the severity of the cut. Cutting vertically could have been fatal, but fortunately, the incision wasn’t deep enough to damage any major arteries or veins. “She’s fortunate to be alive,” he remarked. “She did lose some blood, but not a significant amount. She was found relatively quickly. I wish I could use skin glue to lessen the pain, but stitches are the best option.” His gaze met mine, awaiting my decision.
Why was he wasting time with waiting? Anger surged through me, urging for immediate action. “Just do it already! Stop wasting time!” I snapped, my impatience evident in my tone.
He nodded in acknowledgment and proceeded to work on Rebecca’s wound. Hours ticked by as he painstakingly cleaned, stitched, and carefully bandaged her arm. I couldn’t remain still, pacing back and forth, consumed by an overwhelming sense of unease. No matter how hard I tried to hide it, my worry and fear were palpable.
Lynda wept silently, her tears falling unabated. Leon held her tightly, attempting to offer comfort in the face of uncertainty. Avim and Milandro leaned against the wall, feigning disinterest, but the tension etched on their faces revealed their genuine concern. Avim’s usually stoic expression appeared pale, his eyes fixated on Rebecca, while Brayden fidgeted nervously.
Nona, on the other hand, nearly collapsed upon entering the room. Brayden had to escort her away as she sobbed uncontrollably.
Finally, Wyatt broke the silence with a tired sigh. “Done,” he announced from his position next to Rebecca.
I halted my restless pacing, shifting my gaze towards her. The question lingered in the air, unspoken yet painfully present. “Will she be alright?” Lynda’s voice trembled, weakened by tears and anxiety.
“If you’re referring to her wound, yes, I managed to stop the bleeding,” I explained. “Physically, she seems fine, her breathing is stable. However, emotionally and mentally, it’s hard to say. This could have been a suicide attempt, but if it was, she would have inflicted deeper wounds. As long as she remains unconscious, we won’t obtain any answers. But what truly matters is understanding why this happened so we can provide her with the help she needs.”
“But there was nothing wrong with her,” Lynda argued, stepping out of Leon’s protective embrace.
“Has she ever tried something like this before?” Wyatt inquired.
“Not to my knowledge,” Lynda replied, walking closer and taking a seat beside Rebecca.
“There could be various factors at play here, with depression being the major one,” I suggested. “Something must have triggered her to resort to this. Does she experience nightmares?”
My eyes widened as realization struck. “Rebecca does have nightmares. She even had hallucinations where she believed she had blood on her.”
“Nightmares, hallucinations, and a suicide attempt,” Wyatt remarked, his gaze fixed on Rebecca. “My best guess is post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“Damn,” I swore, frustration coursing through me as I ran my fingers through my hair. The answer was right in front of me, painfully obvious, yet I had failed to see it.
Or perhaps I had deliberately chosen not to acknowledge her pain.
I noticed Avim moving away from the wall, taking a protective step forward. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Wyatt expectantly.
“PTSD?” Lynda questioned. “Are you suggesting that something happened to her?”
“It’s the only explanation that makes sense,” Wyatt explained. “It could be anything-rape, abuse, or witnessing a traumatic event. Something must have occurred that deeply affected her, resulting in nightmares, hallucinations, and ultimately, this suicide attempt.”
“She never said anything,” Lynda whispered.
“Many PTSD patients keep their experiences to themselves. Rebecca doesn’t know us well enough yet. Building trust between the patient and the person they choose to confide in is crucial.”
“How do we handle this? How can we help her? We can’t let her live like this!” Lynda’s panic escalated, her voice rising in pitch.
“We will help her,” Avim finally spoke up from behind me. It was the first time he had uttered a word since we discovered Rebecca bleeding on the floor.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she cried out, her voice trembling with fear.
“But how?” she exclaimed, her desperation evident.