Heart corruption

Sherry looked up only to meet the mafia heiress dark eyes glued on her, confusion instantly clouding her features, her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the situation. Across from her, the mafiress—who went by Grace—smirked, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "I get it. That’s exactly how I felt when Dallion told me he bought a maid—you," she emphasized.

The word confused didn’t even begin to capture Sherry’s emotions. Dallion hated captives. He’d made that clear. So why would he buy her off the black market?

Grace leaned back casually, flipping open an ornate box and rummaging through it. "Hate?" she scoffed, "That doesn’t even cover it. He loathes them. The mere idea of a captive especially from the Bluebeard market disgusts him." She pulled out a kaleidoscope, the type Sherry had only seen at fairs in distant villages in cinemas. The colors swirled hypnotically as Grace turned it to catch the light. "So, have you two met before?" she asked, though her attention was still on the shifting patterns in the tube.

Sherry shook her head slowly. "No, we haven’t." She would’ve remembered him. Dallion was the kind of man whose presence you didn’t forget. Cold. Calculating. And terrifying.

"Interesting," Grace murmured, lowering the kaleidoscope. "Not many people know he hates captives. I guess being his older sister gives me some insight others don’t get."

Sherry was beginning to realize that maybe Grace hadn’t invited her up to this dusty, forgotten attic just to talk. Perhaps this was a game—a subtle interrogation to uncover Dallion’s intentions on why he'd bought her. After all, Grace had told her to speak freely. But how freely? She had hated her guts when Sherry first arrived with Dallion she took a slow shaky breath, letting it out slowly as she asked, "Why does Dallion hate captives so much?"

Grace’s expression darkened as she toyed with a small box. "It’s because of what happened to his friend... One of his closest allies, a fellow mafia girl, She had a captive—a little boy. He was young, maybe fifteen. She adored him, treated him like a son." Grace paused, her eyes distant as if recalling the tragedy. "And then one day, he killed her. Stabbed her in the heart. The boy escaped, but not before spreading corruption in the mafia circle—infecting others with his betrayal."

Sherry swallowed. "But... aren’t mafias supposed to be ruthless in their own games?"

A cold, knowing smile crept onto Grace’s lips. "Oh, sweet Sherry, if only. We believe hundred percent on each other, yes, but trust? That’s just a myth. Mafias can break their trust easily, infact mafias don't trust anyone because it will be deemed as a weakness reason being emotions are involved, as a Mafia I can assure you we don't like being emotional, but it’s not just trust that can do the job. There’s something called heart corruption. It’s a slow decay—a disease that seeps into a mafia's soul. Once it starts, it spreads, infecting the body and mind. And eventually... it kills the meaning of brotherhood, sisterhood, and family in mafia."

The silence in the attic seemed to press down on Sherry. She could hear the faint creaking of the mansion’s old bones in the wind outside, a reminder that she was trapped in a place that didn’t belong to her.

"It’s a nasty way to go," Grace continued. "That boy—he ran. No one knows where he is, but Dallion... he never forgot."

Grace closed the box and set it aside, her smile softening as she added, "Humans can be willful and foolish. You must have seen it yourself—selling their own kind for a few coins. It’s no wonder Dallion doesn’t trust easily."

Sherry couldn’t argue with that. She’d witnessed enough betrayal to last a lifetime. Humans selling humans. It was the ugliest truth of all. She shifted uncomfortably as Grace went on.

"The corruption spreads through betrayal, heartbreak, loss. It twists a mafia’s emotions until they no longer recognize themselves. And when that happens... well, chaos follows."

"That’s terrifying," Sherry whispered.

Grace shrugged, her tone lighter now, as though they hadn’t just been discussing something so dark. "It’s life. You learn to cope." She stood, brushing the dust from her hands. "Thank you for your help, Sherry. You’ve been wonderful company."

Sherry bowed slightly, trying to calm her racing heart. "It was my pleasure, Lady Grace. Let me know if you need me again."

When they stepped out of the attic, a figure appeared in the doorway. Nickison, the butler, looked pale, his eyes darting nervously between Sherry and Grace. "Lady Grace," he stammered, bowing, "the girl... she was missing from her room."

Grace arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile. "Was she now? Well, she’s here, isn’t she?" She cast a glance at Sherry. "Sherry's smart. She knows better than to disobey her master."

Nickison visibly relaxed, relief washing over his features. Sherry remained silent, keeping her heartbeat steady. She had learned one thing about the bloody mafia—they could sense fear. And in a house like this, weakness was the last thing she wanted to show.

Back in her room, Sherry collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The rain outside pounded against the mansion’s thick walls, drowning out every other sound. For a brief moment, the chaos faded, replaced by the peaceful rhythm of the storm.

But Sherry couldn’t shake the feeling that she was trapped in a cage—surrounded by monsters, some wearing masks of civility. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep up the pretense. All she knew was that in this world of mafias, secrets, and corruption, survival was a delicate balance. One wrong move, and she could end up just like the captives Dallion despised.

With that haunting thought, Sherry closed her eyes, listening to the storm rage outside. It was the only thing that felt real anymore.