7 ~ Fire To The Rain

Brinda

Stepping into the expansive living room of the mansion, my breath hitched. The space oozed luxury — everything in sight screamed money, from the opulent furniture to the gleaming marble floors. 

A part of me couldn’t help but envy the grandeur of this place. What would it have been like to live here? I wondered bitterly.

I cursed my parents under my breath, the frustration of my past life bubbling up once again. But before I could dive deeper into those thoughts, I heard noises coming from upstairs. Curiosity pricked at my senses, urging me to find the source.

I hurried up the staircase, following the sounds, and soon I found myself standing outside a door that creaked open, revealing a scene that made my stomach twist. 

Inside, a man with a bulging belly knelt close to a plush chair, surrounded by three women — prostitutes by the look of them — also kneeling on the floor.

Francesco stood by the door, flanked by his men, his presence as commanding as ever. His gaze was sharp, full of silent judgment.

“Purab Chaturvedi,” Francesco's voice rang out, cutting through the thick silence of the room. He casually sat on the sofa opposite the man, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard.

“Yes?” Purab stammered, visibly unnerved. His Indian accent, not betraying him.

“You know I don’t like wasting my time,” Francesco continued, his voice chilling as it rose slightly in tone. “Tell me who your leader is.”

Purab’s demeanor shifted suddenly, as if an unseen switch had been flipped. He stood up, clapping his hands together in a mock display of bravado. 

Francesco’s men moved forward instinctively, but Francesco raised a hand, signaling them to stop.

“Who are you to control me?” Purab sneered, his swollen belly shaking with the movement. “I’ve been in this business long before you were even born.”

Francesco’s lips curled into a smile — one of those smiles that never failed to send a shiver down my spine. It was the kind of smile that spoke of things far darker than mere mockery. “Don’t mistake my patience for kindness, Purab,” he said, his voice low, full of menace. “Tell me who your leader is, and I’ll spare your life.”

Purab, tall and huge, marched towards Francesco and slapped him hard. Really hard. I raised my hands to shield my eardrums from the deafening sound while the ladies cried. 

I couldn't help but feel pity for Francesco. The slap was the loudest I've heard in my entire life. 

“Who gave you the power to threaten me? Your father who did that the last time is already dead. He is fucking dead.” Purab’s laughter was infectious, filling the room with joy. 

Francesco’s temper flared, ignited by Purab's taunts. He grabbed his neck and pushed him till he reached the bed stand and because of his weight, he dropped to the bed which after Francesco climbed on top and punched him severally till blood dripped out of his mouth. 

When Francesco climbed down, it was then I saw he had an iron bracelet in his hand. He looked at me for the first time. “Did you see that?” He asked, breathing profusely. “I will do the same to you if you don't follow my rules. My world, my rules.”

“Are you talking to me or someone else?” I asked before I rushed to where Purab was, almost lifeless. 

If Francesco came after Purab, it means that he is Francesco's enemy or he is an associate to Francesco's enemy. 

What does Francesco want from him? 

I concluded sharply that with the look of things, he wouldn't let the man die since he needs the man to reveal who his boss is.

But I thought wrong, really wrong. 

One of Francesco's men who were close to where he stood, threw a pistol to him and within a twinkle of an eye, Francesco shot the ladies. 

I was forced to yell, “Francesco. Why? They did nothing.” I rushed closer to the bed stand where their bodies were laid. “You are cruel.” I tried wiping the blood stains from my hand but they remained there. 

“Wait till you see how cruel I am.” He said and in a swift move to the left, he shot Purab thrice — Head, left chest and stomach. 

The blood spilled on my face which resulted in me closing my eyes. 

The same life I never wanted is coming back and I have killed more than enough. I have caused the death of different heads of families. I have sown the seed of sorrow in many households. To this day, a lot of families are still grieving because of my actions. 

But that's in the past, not anymore. 

“Get rid of the body. There shouldn’t be a trace left.” Francesco’s voice was cold and commanding as he turned and exited the room without a second glance. “And someone, drag that weeping woman out too.”

Two of his men approached and roughly hauled me out of the room. The air felt heavy as they led me through the building, and by the time we stepped outside, three black cars were lined up, their headlights cutting through the night. 

I was shoved into the back of the car that Francesco had entered.

I could feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, my frustration with him growing with every passing second. The blood stains on my clothes, a reminder of the violence I'd just witnessed, made my stomach churn. 

I turned my gaze to the window, hoping to lose myself in the night view of Vietnam, trying to clear my mind.

As the car sped through the streets, my thoughts were a jumbled mess. We were heading somewhere, but where? The uncertainty gnawed at me.

As we neared the airport, Francesco reached for a bag and began pulling off his clothes. I quickly turned away, not wanting to be subjected to the sight of his pitiful physique.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice cut through the cold air like a blade. I couldn’t believe this was the same man I once fell in love with.

I glanced back at him, my eyes narrowing as he handed me some clothes. I held his gaze for a moment, but he avoided it, his focus shifting to the driver. I snatched the clothes from his hand, my fingers trembling with frustration, and hurriedly changed. 

Just as I finished, the car jerked to a sudden stop, sending me lurching forward and crashing my head into the driver’s seat.

“Can’t you drive properly?” I shouted, my hands frantically tugging at my hair as I tried to straighten it.

The door swung open, and in stepped a woman dressed in tight black jeans, a black blouse, and a matching cap. 

Her presence was enough to send a chill through the air, her aura as cold and intimidating as her outfit. Without a word, Francesco shoved me aside, making room for her as though I didn’t even matter.

“Brinda, meet Bullet,” he said nonchalantly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Bullet, this is the stubborn lady beside me, Brinda.” I chose to look away, my lips pressed tight, refusing to acknowledge her grin.

“B and B,” Francesco added with mock enthusiasm. “What a perfect combination.”

Turning to Bullet, he asked, “Was the mission successful?”