Vengeance in His Bed

Bellero Boren’s venomous shriek shattered whatever fragile restraint remained in the claustrophobic alleyway. The sight of the fresh, vibrant mark resting boldly on Jannah’s pale collarbone acted like a spark thrown directly into a powder keg.

Before the echo of the old Mafia lord’s scream could even die down, a harsh movement erupted from the front lines of the gathered mob. An older woman with silver-streaked hair, her face lined with deep, permanent grooves of long-standing grief, surged forward from behind Mr. Dromote. She held a heavy, rusting iron cleaver in her trembling hand, her knuckles white as she pointed the blade at Dorrent’s face.

"Why are you here, Alpha Grefo?!" she screamed, her voice cracking into a breathless sob. "Look at this lane! Look at these houses! My eighteen-year-old boy was killed right on these cobblestones! He was just carrying groceries home for me, and your wild, bloodthirsty madness tore his chest apart! Why did you show your face here today?! Did you come back to laugh at our empty homes?!"

Before Dorrent could even part his lips to answer, a tall, gaunt man with a scarred arm shoved his way to the front, slamming a heavy wooden beam onto the dirt. "Answer us, you bastard!" the man roared, his eyes bloodshot with fury. "My younger brother’s body was found tossed in the drainage ditch during that black cycle of yours! You wiped out half of 3rd Street in three days! We suffered in silence while your family hid behind their high-district walls and threw pocket change at our feet to buy our silence! Why show up now?! Are you here to finish off the rest of us who survived your rampage?!"

"Give us answers!" a younger Beta man yelled, hurling a jagged piece of loose concrete that slammed brutally against the side of the car, shattering the side mirror into a shower of glass. "You think because you are an S-tier god you can just walk into our neighborhood with your expensive suits and strut around like you own the dirt our families bled on?! Why are you here?!"

"He brought the cursed girl with him!" a woman from the back row shrieked, pointing her finger accusingly at Jannah, who was still pinned against Dorrent’s side. "Look at her! Her own mother and father were slaughtered in those gutters, and now she stands there branded by the murderer! She sold her own blood to the tyrant!"

The crowd surged forward in unison, a wave of chaotic human rage closing in on the narrow space. The shouting turned into a deafening, chaotic roar that echoed off the rusted tin roofs and decaying brick walls. People were screaming, cursing, and brandishing makeshift weapons, their collective grief transformed into a violent, bloodthirsty demand for retribution.

Shadron, seeing the front line of the mob pressing dangerously close, immediately pulled out his phone and called for the Grefos security people.

Within few minutes, the roar of high-powered engines thundered from the main sector avenue. Four transports tore through the narrow alley entrances, their heavy tires grinding against the cobblestones as they forced the outer edges of the crowd back. Heavy doors slammed open, and dozens of heavily armed, body-armored Grefo security operatives spilled into the alleyway, forming an impenetrable physical perimeter around Dorrent, Jannah, Shalen and Shadron.

Right behind the lead vehicle, a sleek, bulletproof luxury cruiser came to a screeching halt.

The door opened, and Guron Grefo stepped out onto the grime-stained street, his tall, imposing frame radiating a cold, crushing authority that momentarily paralyzed the front ranks of the shouting mob. But before he could even take two steps, the rear passenger door slammed open with force, and Himelda Grefo marched out beside him.

Himelda looked completely unhinged. Hearing the urgent distress call that her only son was surrounded by a bloodthirsty slum mob had completely destroyed whatever remained of her composure. Her eyes were wide with a manic, terrified energy, her clothes rumpled as she shoved past the security guards without a single thought for her own safety.

She sprinted directly to Dorrent’s side, her sharp eyes scanning his face and his torso for any signs of blood. The second she saw him standing firmly, she rounded on him, her voice rising into a sharp, hysterical shriek.

"I warned you, Dorrent!" Himelda screamed, grabbing his arm with a desperate, claw-like grip as tears of rage spilled down her cheeks. "I begged you! I told you this girl was a walking curse! Look at where she has dragged you! She brought you straight into a death trap! Look at these savages trying to tear you apart!"

Dorrent slowly unclasped his mother’s fingers from his sleeve, his silver eyes unreadable as he held Jannah tightly against his ribs. "I wronged her, Mother," Dorrent delivered. "I wronged her family, and I wronged these people. I am here to fix this. I am here to uncover the truth."

"Fix this?!" Himelda let out a sharp, incredulous gasp, her face twisting into a mask of horror as she gestured wildly at the shouting, weapon-brandishing crowd surrounding them. "How on earth are you ’fixing’ anything when they want to tear you limb from limb, you foolish boy?! They don’t want your truth! They want your blood!"

Guron stepped forward, his chest expanding as he raised both of his hands in an authoritative, commanding gesture to quell the rising noise. His baritone boomed across the alley, using his Alpha frequency to press against the mob’s chaotic energy.

"Listen to me!" Guron commanded, his golden-flecked eyes sweeping across the hostile faces. "Calm yourselves! My son never intended to bring harm or death to your families years ago! It was a tragic, uncontrollable relapse in his biological system—an anomalous medical event! The Grefo family has already issued full financial restitution to every registered family in this sector!"

"Restitution?!" Mr. Dromote spat out, stepping past the line of armored guards, his scarred face contorted in rage as he glared at the old patriarch. "You think your filthy credits buy back my wife’s life, Guron Grefo?! You think wire transfers erase the sound of my son’s bones cracking under your monster’s hands?! It doesn’t matter whether he meant it or not! Your medical excuses won’t bring our dead loved ones back from the grave!"

The crowd roared in furious agreement, pushing hard against the riot shields of the security people, the noise turning completely deafening.

Amidst the roaring chaos, a calm, heavy clicking sound echoed from the elevated steps of the abandoned warehouse.

Bellero Boren slowly descended the stairs, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone. His white hair gleamed under the grey morning light, his suit immaculate amidst the filth of the bogs. Behind him, Damian Boren stood frozen on the steps, his face pale and grim, his golden eyes fixed with agonizing intensity on the mark glowing on Jannah’s neck.

Bellero walked straight through the parting crowd of angry slum residents, the protesters stepping back to let the powerful Mafia lord pass. He stopped just a few paces from Guron, a chilling, psychopathic smirk touching his lips.