Vicious (5) (Patreon)

Author's note: hello everyone! I hope you enjoy the following chapter. Let me know what you think! 

word count: 2.2K

"He's gone." Federico had essentially abandoned her there. He denied her a place in the car, covertly ordered her bags packed, leaving her feeling betrayed by her own father. She wasn't prepared to move in; the prospect of residing in the unfamiliar manor, with its intricate family dynamics, intimidated her. Y/N sensed the impending challenges of being accepted into the family, particularly given her less-than-amicable start with Harry. Fear gripped her as she contemplated the potential difficulties that lay ahead. "I suppose I'm moving in now."

"Who gave you that order?" Harry's questioning tone cut through the air. The last thing he needed was an unfamiliar presence wandering the estate, potentially stirring up trouble. His distrust of her was palpable—she wasn't part of the family, and in his eyes, that meant she hadn't earned any respect or loyalty.

"My father," Y/N retorted, a hint of annoyance evident in her eyes. "Listen, I don't want to be here. The feeling is mutual. I'll be out of your hair as soon as I'm able to leave."

Harry turned to Charlie, seeking answers. "Where is Lex?" Confusion mirrored on Charlie's face, matching Harry's bewilderment.

"He's downstairs, disposing of some things," Y/N revealed, her eyes rolling in disdain.

"He's taking care of the body downstairs," she added, a subtle revelation conveyed to Harry. His sharp gaze turned towards the Italian woman.

"No one was talking to you. Mind your own fucking business," Charlie snapped at Y/N, an unspoken tension filling the room. Unfazed, Y/N merely shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the hostility directed her way. The stage was set for a collision of personalities within the intricate web of the English mafia.

"Go find Silas," Harry commanded Charlie.

"Where is he?"

"How would I know, Charlie?! Go find him. He is probably doing nothing as always," Harry retorted, his frustration evident. The presence of Y/N in the estate irked him; it meant he had to be more discreet about his activities. Her moving in seemed to symbolize a level of commitment he wasn't ready for.

"Who is Silas?" Y/N inquired, her tone laced with curiosity. "Also, can I get a room? Just to leave all of my stuff and shit?"

"Do you know that you ask too many questions?" Harry responded, fingers flying over his phone as he texted Lex, attempting to bring him into his immediate service. There were tasks at hand, and Lex was the only one capable of assisting him.

"You called?" Silas appeared, extricating himself from Charlie's grasp. She had essentially pulled him away from his haven, where he spent his days immersed in books, avoiding the inevitable clashes with Harry.

"Find Y/N a room and keep her out of the way," Harry ordered Silas. The strained atmosphere between the brothers had lingered since their father's funeral, the bitter taste of disappointment for Silas, who felt that Arthur's will had unequivocally favored Harry. Silas turned to glance at Y/N, sizing her up with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

"Who do you think I am? Her fucking babysitter?" Silas spat, disdain dripping from his words. "I've got better things to do than to be at your beck and call." He pivoted on his heel, ready to leave, but Harry had other plans. Something had snapped within him—perhaps it was the insubordination in front of Y/N and his men or the lingering discomfort from Silas's entrance at their father's funeral. Whatever it was, Harry saw red.

Without warning, Harry reached out and seized Silas by the back of his shirt, forcefully bringing him back. A swift punch connected with Silas's nose, and the onslaught continued. The sounds of bones crunching and blood splattering filled the air, and Y/N, horrified, shouted, "STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!" Desperation colored her voice as she tried to pull the enraged Harry away from his battered brother.

Y/N surveyed the room, taking in the unsettling sight of men passively observing Harry disfigure Silas's face. A chilling stillness gripped the air; none of them made a move, objected, or attempted to intervene. They knew the unwritten rule: interfering would redirect Harry's wrath onto themselves, and none dared to challenge the boss. The ominous tableau unfolded, a tableau of silent submission.

Harry eventually halted his assault, his knuckles worn and Silas's body limp beneath him. The room bore witness to a scene reminiscent of a crime documentary, with Harry rising from his knees to his feet. Specks of blood adorned the collar and sleeves of his button-down shirt, and his hands were stained, knuckles split open. Unfazed, he pushed his hair back, presenting a picture of calculated violence.

Without a word to Y/N or anyone else, Harry retrieved a cigarette from his pocket. As he walked past Y/N, a cold and sinister look lingered on his face, leaving an indelible impression on the room's atmosphere.

Y/N waited until Harry left the room and knelt beside Silas. His face bore the evidence of the brutal assault—cuts, a fractured nose, bruised and purple skin, busted lip, and injured eyebrows.

“Don’t touch him or move him,” Charlie warned, already dialing his phone.

“He needs help,” she argued, the memories of her father's similar actions resurfacing, though never with such hatred and never directed at his own brother.

“I know,” Charlie nodded, “What do you think I am doing?” Within ten minutes, the medic and nurse living on the grounds arrived. Silas was carefully transferred upstairs. Y/N could only hope he would recover.

Charlie guided her to a room, noticeably smaller and darker than what she was accustomed to.

“I'm sure this will be enough for you,” Charlie stated. “Dinner will be at eight,” he added before leaving the bedroom. The bed, though not as grand as her usual one, boasted a beautiful canopy, casting a shadow over the somber atmosphere of the English manor.

The bedroom held an air of antiquity, its walls adorned with dark, polished wood paneling that seemed to absorb the ambient light. Heavy drapes, drawn tightly shut, further dimmed the space, casting an almost melancholic aura. The canopy over the bed boasted intricate patterns, a testament to craftsmanship from a bygone era. Despite the opulence of the bed, the room's overall atmosphere felt cold and unwelcoming. An ornate vanity mirror stood in the corner, reflecting the somber scene within the room. The furniture, though well-maintained, bore signs of wear, hinting at the passage of time and the weight of secrets held within the walls of the English manor.

Y/N immersed herself in the task of unfolding and hanging the clothes that had been packed for her, all the while dialing her best friend, Giana. Their friendship had withstood the test of time, enduring since the tender age of five. However, Giana now lived in the clutches of an Italian marriage, leaving Y/N feeling the void of her absence.

"Hi," Giana whispered, orchestrating her escape from the bedroom into the bathroom, where the sound of running water provided a disguise for her voice. The last thing Giana needed was to be overheard by her husband, Augusto. “How is everything?”

"My dad basically kicked me out of the house. I am now staying con gli inglesi," Y/N shared, her voice reflecting a mix of frustration and sadness.

"How is Harry treating you?" Giana inquired, sensing an underlying distress in her friend's response. Y/N couldn't hold back tears as she recounted the distressing scene she had just witnessed. "Quello che è successo?" Giana asked, concerned and probing for details.

"He beat his brother almost to death. It was horrible," Y/N admitted between soft sobs. The realization of the kind of man Harry was had unsettled her deeply. "I don’t know if I can take all of this. I want to leave already. Maybe it is time to put our plan in action."

Giana glanced nervously at the locked bathroom door, a barrier between her and the turmoil of her own married life.

"I don’t know, Y/N," she hesitantly responded. "What if we get caught? The repercussions can be worse."

"But what if we succeed, G? What if we can finally get away from all this shit and live a tranquil life, running that little cafe that you have always wanted to open in a very secluded town? Far and far away from our fathers and nightmares?" Y/N proposed, yearning for an escape from the suffocating grip of their current lives.

Before Giana could respond, and while she contemplated her life, the door began to be pounded by Augusto as he screamed for her to come out.

“I- I can’t, Y/N,” she nervously said, attempting to stay focused on their conversation rather than her husband's escalating shouts. “He won’t let me. He'll search until he finds me.”

“We can do it. You deserve a better life, G. Remember how miserably our mothers were and how young they died,” Y/N urged, able to hear the escalating shouts and the incessant banging on the door.

“Bene, but it must happen tonight,” Giana clarified. Her husband had some business to attend to, which only meant that she would have time to devise a plan to escape the premises.

“Okay. Stasera. Call me when you are able,” Y/N finally said before hanging up. The urgency in Giana's situation only fueled their determination to break free from the shackles of their oppressive lives.

She couldn’t wait. Y/N had to leave before dinner. At dinner all the men would be gather and waiting for her appereance. She had to escape before. That was the only way that she wuld have a chance.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing as she contemplated the escape plan. She glanced around the room, looking for any potential obstacles or challenges. The window seemed like her best bet; it was a risk, but she had to take it. The room's dim lighting and heavy drapes provided some cover, and she knew Harry would be too occupied with whatever he had happening to go check on her.

First, she quietly opened the window, praying it wouldn't creak and give her away. The chilly night air swept into the room, and Y/N took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She gathered a few essentials into a small bag – some clothes, her passport, and a bit of money she had managed to save over the years.

Y/N could still hear Harry’s muffled shouts from the other side of the house, giving her a sense of urgency. She looked back at the bed, debating whether to leave a note, but to who? None cared enough for her to want to know.

She experimented with various drapes and bed sheets from her room, carefully easing them down the window. Surveying the scene from her vantage point, she concluded that the space below was empty, ensuring her descent would go unnoticed.

With a quick glance around the room to make sure she had packed all the essentials in her bag, Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage to execute her plan. She wrapped the makeshift rope around her hands, securing it tightly, and then began her descent, cautiously lowering herself from the window.

The night air brushed against her face as she descended, and each inch brought her closer to freedom. The silence of the estate enveloped her, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and excitement. The ground neared, and with a soft landing, she released the makeshift rope.

Swiftly making her way to the edge of the property, Y/N took cover in the shadows, avoiding any security cameras or patrolling guards.

Waiting until the echoes of footsteps and voices faded into the night, Y/N swiftly darted into the dense woods. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting an ethereal glow on her determined face. Each step carried her farther away from the imposing estate and the looming fate of an arranged marriage to Harry.

Navigating the shadows and weaving through the trees, Y/N pressed on with a sense of urgency. The forest concealed her movements as she sought a path that would lead her to a road, a lifeline to escape the impending union. The rustling leaves beneath her hurried steps seemed to echo the beats of her racing heart.

In the silence of the woods, Y/N contemplated the enormity of her decision. Yet, the prospect of freedom, away from the suffocating expectations and uncertainties, fueled her resolve. The night air carried both the weight of her familial ties and the promise of a new beginning, and she pressed on, guided by the hope of a life of her own choosing.