My Mafia Brother Gave Me to the Acid

Just as Farrow reached for the car door, Uncle Zac grabbed his arm. The old man's knuckles were white from the force of his grip."That's your sister, Farrow!""How can you talk about her like that?"Zac lowered his voice. "The intel on last month's shipment, Grace got that from the Mexicans, risking her life. She was chasing down leads day and night, just to help you secure your position.""She's been busting her ass every day, trying to be the kind of sister a Don needs."Farrow shook him off, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit, his eyes filled with scorn."Don't be naive, Zac. She'd say anything to get back on your good side.""You're getting old. Your emotions are clouding your judgment."He turned to one of his men, his voice hard. "Any of our people reported missing in the last few days?""No, Don. No missing person reports in the territory for the last two days."Farrow's brow furrowed."This girl's been dead for days and no one's looking for her? People put up flyers for

I could see the dark circles under Farrow's eyes. I knew his insomnia was back.An unidentified victim, a killer who had vanished without a trace.I'm sorry, brother. I'm still causing you trouble, even in death.Uncle Zac once again stood in his way, his old, trembling finger pointing toward the door."Farrow, I'll say it again. You can disown her as your sister, but I can't abandon her. Grace has been missing for four days! Four whole days! This isn't normal!""Your father entrusted you both to me. I have to see this through."Farrow violently swept the files off his desk. Papers fluttered through the office like snowflakes."You're still going to bother me with that spoiled brat Grace?""I've got a goddamn corpse on my hands and the Family's reputation is in the toilet, and you want to talk about her? All she does is cause trouble! If she dares to miss the launch tomorrow, I'll let her rot in Sicily!"I shrank into a corner, my soul feeling a chill that went straight to the bone.Br

Once the floodgates of memory opened, they swept over me like a torrent, carrying the stench of blood.During the so-called "peace talks," my father, the Don of the Steele family, had taken my mother to a sit-down in neutral territory to end a decade-long war with a rival family.His birthday was approaching, and I had carelessly mentioned his travel plans to a friend on the phone, wanting to discuss a surprise party for him.The armored car carrying my parents erupted in a fireball on 5th Avenue.The moment the ignition turned, the car exploded, shattering every window on the block.When Farrow arrived, all he saw was a field of wreckage and me, my hands a bloody, mangled mess.After that, my memory was just the stench of burning flesh and my mother's last look through the car window, her eyes full of an unspoken worry.The rain was heavy on the day of the funeral. Farrow wore a black mourning suit, his eyes as cold as the grave.He had learned what happened. He grabbed me by the thro

Farrow stood at the morgue's entrance and lit a cigarette. He needed the nicotine to stay sane.In truth, the clues had been there all along.Like two years ago, when Betty ran to his study in a soaking wet silk nightgown, crying."Brother, it's one thing for Grace not to get me a glass of water... but she threw the whole pitcher of ice water on me and said I wasn't worthy of drinking the Steele family's water."Back then, Farrow hadn't given me a chance to explain.In front of all the servants, he stood by as Betty shoved me onto the cold marble floor."Grace, this is your last warning. If you dare bully Betty again, I'll have you thrown out of this house."No matter how I cried, how I swore it was Betty who had poured the water on herself, he only saw excuses and dismissed me as a vicious sister.After that, Betty took over my room, wore my couture gowns, and even stole my place at family dinners.To survive in that house, to catch even a fleeting glimpse of my brother, I humbled mys

A bucket of ice-cold, filthy water splashed over his head.Farrow choked awake, coughing violently, the movement jarring the wound on the back of his head and making him wince in pain.He opened his eyes and found himself bound tightly to a rusty iron chair.Dim lights, and on the walls, the same shocking, mottled bloodstains.Marco was toying with a hunting knife that seemed blindingly sharp in the dim light. He ran the blade along Farrow's jawline."So, Don, you want to know what your Principessa looked like at the end?""Right here." Marco pointed the tip of his knife at the corrosion-scarred concrete floor. "Right where you're sitting.""The acid melted her skin, little by little, but I didn't let her die right away.""I have to admit, that Grace girl had a backbone of steel. Tougher than most of the men in your family."Farrow clenched his jaw, the veins on his temples throbbing. But the ropes bit into his flesh, holding him immobile.Marco leaned close to his ear. "Oh, and by the