Katy P.O.V
The silence in my living room felt heavier than any scream.
I sat curled on the velvet couch,my knees drawn close,my fingers twisting the hem of my black dress as if I could wring the grief out of it.The house that once felt warm was now echoed with absence—my father's laughter was gone, my heart hollowed out and Richardo…was gone.
He had left early that morning.
I have some work to handle at the office,he'd said,pressing a brief kiss to my forehead. Calm. Normal. Too normal.
Now hours had passed.
No message.
No call.
My phone rested in my palm like a fragile hope,the screen dark. I kept glancing at it, waiting for it to light up, waiting for his name to soothe the storm raging in my chest.
Nothing.
Tears blurred my vision as loneliness crept in,wrapping itself around my ribs. I missed him—God, I missed him more than I wanted to admit. In the middle of my father's brutal death, Richardo had become my anchor.And anchors weren't supposed to drift away.
My thumb hovered over his name. I inhaled sharply and pressed a call.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
No answer.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
Something inside me cracked. With a sharp, angry motion, I flung my phone onto the opposite couch.It bounced uselessly against the cushions.
"Why does it have to be now?" I whispered, my voice shaking. Tears slid down freely. "Who could have done something so cruel...so monstrous?"
My chest tightened as the thought clawed its way up from the dark.
"Could it be Richardo…or James Bron?"
The name tasted bitter on my tongue.
Before I could sink deeper into the thought,the sharp buzz of my phone shattered the room.
I froze.
The phone vibrated again. And again.
I didn't want to answer.I really didn't.Whoever it was, I wasn't sure I could handle another blow today.
But the ringing wouldn't stop.
With a frustrated groan,I stood, crossed the room and snatched the phone from the couch. The number flashing on the screen was unfamiliar.
Unknown caller.
My heart pounded as I answered.
"Hello?"
A distorted voice flooded my ear, mechanical and cold.
"Miss Katy" The voice said calmly. "How far do you intend to take this case?"
My breath hitched.
There was a pause,long enough to feel intentional. Long enough to make me feel studied.
Then the voice lowered, threatening.
"Know your place"
My fingers trembled,but instinct kicked in. I silently started recording the call.
"Who the fuck are you?" I snapped,anger cutting through my fear. "I know who you are"
A low laugh echoed through the line—mocking, cruel.
"You won't realize the truth" The voice replied smoothly, "until you take your last breath"
My blood turned to ice.
"You can get my father" I shouted, tears spilling over, rage overtaking grief. "You can get my brother,but you will never have me, James Bron!"
The voice chuckled again.
"It's your final warning"
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone,my breathing shallow, my heartbeat roared in my ears. My hands shook uncontrollably as I saved the recording.
James Bron.
That was who I wanted it to be.
But Donald's words from earlier replayed in my mind like a curse—Richardo Alterdo. The doubt twisted painfully in my chest.
I sent the audio file immediately.
Then I called Donald.
He picked up almost instantly.
"Donald" I said firmly,wiping my tears away, "I have a task for you"
"I'm ready for any task,Miss Katy"
"I just received a call from an unknown number. The voice was pitched artificially.I sent you the recording"
"I saw it" He replied after a pause. "Removing voice distortion won't be easy"
"I don't care how hard it might be" I said, my voice became cold. "Find a way. Strip it bare. I want to know exactly who threatened me"
"Yes,ma'am"
I ended the call and sank back into the couch, exhaustion and fury crashing over me at once.I closed my eyes,tears sliding silently down my temples.
James Bron had already taken too much.
And whether it was him…or someone far closer than I dared to imagine—
I would uncover the truth.
No matter the cost.
The memory suddenly crawled out of me like a wound that never healed.
Grief had a way of unlocking doors you'd nailed shut.And now,the truth i had buried came rushing back in my head with brutal clarity.
Sharp and endless like a knife twisting deeper the more I breathe. Sitting there alone in my silent living room, I let it take me completely—back to the beginning of everything that led to blood, secrets and men who ruled from the shadows.
My father wasn't born corrupt.
That's the cruelest part.
He was once a man who believed in order, in law, in justice. I remember him teaching my brother and me that truth was sacred—that once you sold it, you lost yourself. I believed him. We all did.
Until power came knocking.
Until a name started circling his life like a vulture.
James Bron.
At first, it was subtle. A favor. A harmless leak. A phone call at midnight. My father told himself it was temporary—just enough to protect us, just enough to secure our future. He convinced himself that intelligence traded quietly couldn't hurt anyone if no one knew.
But James Bron always knows.
Once my father crossed that line, there was no return.
The information grew darker. Witness addresses. Encrypted files. Timelines of police raids. Names that were supposed to stay buried under protective custody. Each secret was another chain tightening around his neck.
I remember the way my mother's smile faded. The way my father jumped at every sound. The way he stared out of windows like someone was always watching.
Because someone always was.
And then my brother found the truth.
He had never been like me—never careful, never willing to look away for safety. He was righteous, stubborn, furious in a way that burned bright and reckless.
The night he confronted our father is burned into my soul.
The house was shaking with their argument. Words slammed against the walls like gunshots.
"You're working with a devil" My brother shouted. "Do you know how many people you got killed already?"
My father begged him to stop, begged him to understand. He said James Bron would never let him leave—said once you're in, you're owned.
That only enraged my brother more.
"So you just kneel and obey?" He spat. "That's what you taught us? To sell lives to save our own?"
I wanted to run between them. I wanted to stop it. But fear glued me to the floor.
When my brother stormed out, I chased him to the door.
"Please don't" I begged him,my voice cracked. "Just…come back"
He looked at me with exhaustion and fury tangled together.
"If I stay silent" He said softly, "then I'm just as guilty"
Those were his last words to me.
The next day felt wrong from the moment I woke up. The air was heavy. Phones were silent. My father paced like a man counting down his final seconds.
When the call came,it wasn't from police.
It was from a number my father recognized immediately.
His face went pale. His hands shook so badly he dropped the phone after answering.
"They've handled it" was all I heard.
That was it.
No explanation. No apology.
Just confirmation.
We identified my brother's body at a morgue that smelled like death and cold metal. I remember staring at his face—so still, bruised, emptied of anger and life. His eyes were closed like he was asleep, but I knew better.
James Bron had sent his message.
And my father understood it perfectly.
From that moment, my father became a prisoner in his own skin.He stopped pretending.He drank more. He slept less.He waited—for something he knew was inevitable.
Years passed,but the fear never left.James Bron didn't forget.He never does.
When my father finally tried to pull away—when he tried to correct mistakes,to protect what little he had left—it sealed his fate.
You don't betray a mafia king twice.
Now my father was dead.
My brother was dead.
And I was sitting in a house filled with ghost echoes, finally understanding what the threatening voice on the phone truly meant.
James Bron wasn't warning me.
He was reminding me.
This was never about one crime.
This was about finishing a story written in blood—
And I was the last chapter still breathing.