Sold to Moretti Mafia

Markus

“Here,” I hand Fallon the items in my hand, “write the number on it.” She hesitates for a brief moment, then drops the washcloth on the nightstand and proceeds to write the number down. “I’ll be right back.”

Fallon’s gaze flicks to mine, searching for confirmation in my eyes. I give her a tiny nod, hoping to ease her mind, but I’m not sure there is anything I can do to convince her right now. Until I can actually deliver, Fallon is going to doubt me and my intentions.

I quietly slip out of the room, closing the door behind me. I walk to the end of the hall, where I can still see the door, but where I know Fallon won’t be able to listen in on my conversation with whoever is going to be on the other line.

Eagerly, I type in the number from the piece of paper and hit the green call button. I hold the phone to my ear and suck in a calming breath. I’m not the nervous type, never have been, but for some reason, there is an anxious feeling that washes over me as I wait for the person to pick up the phone. The phone rings exactly four times.

With each ring, my patience draws thinner, and dread weasels its way up my spine. Then the ringing stops.

“Hello,” a familiar gruff voice filters through the speaker, “Fallon, are you there?” I almost drop the sleek device, barely stopping it from sliding out of my hand.

No, this can’t be. It can’t be him.

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I look at it instead, as if that would explain why Victoria’s father kidnapped Fallon and sent her to the auction for me to buy. Before I do something stupid like talk to him, I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket.

All I can do is stare at the floor-shock coursing through my veins. I’ve expected all kinds of people behind this, but not him. I know he hates my guts, but Timothy is not the kind of guy capable of something like this… or so I thought.

My mind is spinning as I try to form a plausible explanation. Victoria’s father loved her. He was a good dad, an outstanding citizen. How could he do this? Kidnapping? Sending a woman to an auction? A woman who looks like his dead daughter, no less.

Regardless of how this happened, one thing is clear. This is bad.

Really fucking bad.

* * *

“I’m going to give her some antibiotics and morphine through the IV for now. I’ll probably do this for the next few days to keep her comfortable, then we can switch to oral medicine. I don’t see any injuries that will require surgery, but the amount of superficial trauma is so extensive that it will take her awhile to recover,” Doc. Schwarz explains. “She is also dehydrated and malnourished. I’ll leave some supplements for when she wakes up.”

“So, she is going to be out for a while longer?” I ask the doctor while he cleans the final few wounds. He has been here for over an hour, examining and cleaning every cut and bruise.

“For her sake, I hope, yes. The longer she is out of it, the quicker she can heal. The physical trauma in itself is a lot, but the mind is going to be the biggest burden. Your bones and skin can heal, but what’s done to you, the things you remember…”

I know what he’s referring to. The fact that she was obviously raped, repeatedly. Like I said before, putting a bullet in her head would be doing her a favor.

Fallon has been sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, watching the doctor take care of her friend. She watches him meticulously as if to make sure he’s not doing anything wrong.

“What about those cuts on her legs? Won’t you stitch them up?” I switch gears.

“It’s too late. Stitches have to be done within twenty-four hours of the injury. These seem to be older, and the skin is already healing itself. At this point, it’s better to just keep the wound clean and let her body do the rest.”

“Oh.” Fallon lowers her head.

“I told you, Doctor Schwarz is one of the best in the city. Julie is in good hands.”

“Her scarring will be very visible since it wasn’t stitched up, but that’s something she can have revised later. Right now, we’ll just make sure she doesn’t get an infection, so she can recover and get back on her feet.”

“Thanks, doc.” I watch him pack up all of his stuff.

I walk him out to the door and hand him a wad of cash before sending him off. When I get back to the guest room, Fallon is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Julie’s hand. The floor creaks as I walk in, and she looks to where I’m standing.

“What kind of doctor is he that he doesn’t even ask how this happened or demands we take her to the hospital and call the police?”

“The kind that is paid handsomely and told not to ask questions.”

Fallon shakes her head in disbelief, her eyes dropping back down to Julie’s hand. “Did you call the number?”

“I did.” I nod, taking a seat on the chair Fallon sat in moments ago. My chest tightens. “I know who has your sister.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

That has her interest peaked. Her head snaps up and her eyes connect with mine-the purest blue, soft like little waves that crest against the shore.

So trusting and kind. I can’t let her down. Not just because I don’t want to but because I already let another woman down once before.

“Who?” she croaks.

“His name is Timothy Brent, and he thinks I killed his daughter.”

“Did you?” Fallon looks me straight in the eyes. Emotions I have been trying to keep buried rush to the surface, bubbling over the sides and pushing past the walls I carefully constructed around myself.

Did I kill her? I didn’t pull the trigger, but I might as well have. Her connection to me is what inevitability got her killed.

“It’s my fault she is dead,” I admit.

“Do you know where my sister is? Can you save her?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll try.” My words seem to calm her down enough to drop the subject for now, but I’m sure it won’t be for long. One thing is clear, I can’t find her sister and take care of Julie at the same time. She’ll need around the clock care if she is going to make it. I’ll need someone I can trust to help me with this shitshow.

Tugging my phone from my pocket, I unlock the screen, navigate to my messages, and click on the one contact I know I can count on one-hundred percent.

Me: I need you to come to my place no matter how long it takes you. Get on a plane and get here. I need your help.

The answer comes only seconds after I hit send.

Felix: I’m on my way.