Vengeance in His Bed

The silence following Enock’s declaration hung over the alleyway like a suspended axe, but the Mafia God moved before the crowd could even process the words.

Bellero’s eyes flickered with a cold, ruthless efficiency. He didn’t lose his composure, nor did he raise his voice. He simply raised his cane a fraction of an inch, issuing a silent command to the four armed syndicate enforcers blending seamlessly into the edges of the mob.

"Hold him!" Bellero barked suddenly, his voice taking on theauthoritative cadence. "Hold that man immediately! Can’t you see he is delusional? He is standing in public, vomiting blatant slander against my family name! Subdue him before he hurts himself or anyone else!"

Before Enock could even take a step back, two enforcers surged forward from the crowd like shadow vipers. They slammed Enock’s arms behind his back with violent, bone-crunching force. The middle-aged mechanic let out a choked gasp of pain, his knees buckling onto the hard cobblestones as the men pinned his head down against the dirt.

"Let go of me!" Enock roared, struggling desperately against the iron grip crushing his spine. "I’m telling the truth! You paid me, Bellero! You paid me to clear out every Alpha near the girl!"

"Hold your tongue, old fool!" one of the enforcers hissed, shoving a gloved hand firmly over Enock’s mouth, smothering his frantic words into muffled grunts.

"Stop right there!"

A deep, thunderous baritone shattered the enforcers’ dominance. Dorrent stepped through the perimeter of his own armored security people, his towering frame cutting a terrifying silhouette under the dim morning sky. He crossed the distance in three heavy strides, his eyes flashing with an unholy crimson light that made the surrounding crowd involuntarily retreat.

Dorrent reached out, his hand slamming onto the lead enforcer’s shoulder with enough force to make the heavy man stumble backward, breaking his grip on Enock.

"Why are you in such a frantic hurry to drag him away?" Dorrent demanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl. He stood over Enock, his shoulders completely shielding the mechanic from Bellero’s men. "The man hasn’t even finished telling his story. Let him speak."

Before Dorrent could push the enforcers further back, a man from the mob—a local shopkeeper known to be on the Borens’ payroll—stepped out from the crowd, holding a white folder in his hands.

"What is there left to listen to?!" the shopkeeper yelled loudly, waving the folder in the air for the crowd to see. "The man is completely insane! He has a crazy mind! Look at this! I have the official medical records right here!"

He held up a stamped document, shouting over the murmuring crowd. "Enock has been suffering from severe psychiatric degradation and delusional schizophrenia for years! He was declared unfit by the district medical board six months ago! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!"

Bellero let out a heavy, sorrowful sigh, adjusting his silk lapels with a masterclass display of performative grief. "Ah... so that’s what it is," Bellero murmured, his voice laced with patronizing pity as he shook his head. "Since the poor man is in such a catastrophic mental state, I am only doing my civic duty. I am helping take him to a specialized mental health facility right now where he can be properly cared for."

"Lies! It’s all lies!" Joyline shrieked, throwing herself onto her knees beside her husband. She tried to tear the enforcers’ hands off Enock, her face blotchy and wet with frantic tears. "My husband is not crazy! That certificate is fake! He has never stepped foot inside a psychiatric hospital in his life! Look at him! He works every single day in the industrial yard!"

"Stop this madness!" Enock managed to choke out as he fought against the dirt, his eyes wide with desperate rage. "I am not mad! I don’t know where the hell that forged piece of paper came from! It is all a lie! This is all Bellero’s doing! He manufactured that report to shut my mouth!"

"I found this certificate hidden inside your own home, Enock!" the shopkeeper barked back smoothly, turning to face the mob with an expression of cold judgment. "You and your wife have been hiding your condition from the neighborhood for months because you were ashamed! You are using your delusions to drag down respectable men!"

"Liar! You don’t even know where my house is!" Enock roared, but his voice was suddenly cut short as a sleek medical transport—already parked in the alleyway—opened its rear doors. Two men in white coats, armed with tranquilizer restraints, stepped out.

Within seconds, despite Dorrent’s looming presence and Shadron’s sharp warnings, the syndicate men used the cover of the medical report to forcefully hoist Enock off the ground. They shoved his thrashing frame straight into the back of the medical vehicle.

"Enock! Enock!" Joyline screamed, running after the van, her hands slamming helplessly against the closing doors. She turned and threw herself at Bellero’s polished shoes, weeping hysterically. "Please! Please, Lord Bellero, stop this! Don’t take him away! He didn’t mean it! Please!"

Bellero didn’t even glance down at the weeping woman. He merely adjusted his cane, turned his back on the chaotic scene, and began walking toward his luxury sedan. Damian stood near the open door of the vehicle, his face deathly pale, his golden eyes locked in a silent horror on Jannah, who stood frozen in place, her entire universe collapsing under the weight of the deception.

Without another word, Bellero, Damian, and their private detail stepped into the luxury car. The doors clicked shut, leaving Dorrent, Jannah, Shadron, Himelda, Shalen, and Guron standing in the center of a volatile, confused, and hostile mob that refused to let them leave the bogs.

Inside the suffocating interior of Bellero’s sedan, the atmosphere was dead and heavy. The vehicle sped smoothly away from the slum perimeter, its tinted windows blocking out the chaos of 3rd Street.

Bellero sat back against the plush leather, pouring himself a measure of liquid from the built-in bar. Across from him, Damian sat rigidly, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees.