Page 25 of Queen of Madness

A weeping willow that never got to grow to its fullest potential, but beautiful, nonetheless.

“Through here.” My father’s booming voice forces the boys to scramble away from each other, their backs suddenly upright as our eyes shift to the foyer where a shuffle of feet skirt across the freshly waxed floors.

Three of his men struggle with another who has a black sack over his head. He jerks his shoulder away from my father’s soldiers and muffled words spew from under the cotton hiding his face.

This does nothing but annoy my father who merely moves to the thin door under the right side of the stairs. He nearly yanks the door from its hinges before grabbing the hooded man by his neck. His fingers dig so fiercely into the sides, the man’s veins bulge out, and his body stills.

My father edges closer, his words calm but so commanding that goose bumps prickle along my arms. “You’re going to show some fucking dignity and walk down these stairs. If not, I have no problem breaking your knees and dragging you down. You have one second to comply.”

The man’s shoulders drop as my father’s hand leaves his throat, and he makes no move to shove away the soldiers when they grip him again. One of the guys stays at the door as Father disappears, shutting the door behind him.

“No, Onyx. I see that look in your eye. Don’t even think about it.”

My eyes narrow as I whip my head around to look at Trigger. “Did you just tell your future Boss what to do?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “My job will be to protect you one day. I’m trying to keep you from doing anything that may get you hurt.”

“But that’s no fun,” Trick chimes in.

“Yes, no fun at all.” Kilo bounces on his butt, his eyes wide as they skirt between the boys and me. “Onyx needs to watch her father if she wants to rule like him.”

“If she was ready to watch his interrogations, he’d have invited her down.” Trigger shifts back to his logo, ignoring the daggers I’m throwing with my gaze.

He’s right. Father and Mother alike say there’s still some time before they want me to watch that, but really, if I was a boy, I’d have been down there years ago. I mean, the twins and Kilo have already started going through something called torture training, and when I asked to join, my father nearly blew a fuse.

“No princessa of mine will endure such barbaric things. That’s why we have men that will protect you with their lives,” he all but shouted across the dinner table.

“You’re doing her a disservice, brother. I know we wish only for the best, but we need to prepare her for the worst. You’ve given her the brains and the brawn but not the resilience.” My uncle Antonio pushes away his empty plate, his thin lips drawn into a tight line.

“We agreed when she’s sixteen.” My mother’s soft voice does little to calm the fire radiating from my father. But the moment she places a tender hand across his, he blinks, dismissing his anger and staring at her. “We have plenty of time to worry about it. But for now, let us enjoy that the boys made it through three months of sobriety.”

He nods before kissing her hand, his dark, disheveled strands falling over his forehead. “Yes. Let this be a celebration.”

That was almost ten months ago, and anytime either myself or my uncle brought it up, he merely referred to my sixteenth birthday and refused to waste another breath on the matter. Well, if he doesn’t want to subject me to the same treatment as the boys, I can at least learn how to get answers from my enemies.

Besides, I know he’ll forgive me… if I get caught.

I shoot a wink at the boys before venturing around to my father’s vacant office. Behind the third bookshelf is a hidden door leading to the basement. It acts as a second entrance, but also a hidden observation area for when my father wants to watch prisoners who are kept for longer times.

The cold tile is a shock to my bare feet, shooting little waves of chills up my calves. But before I can dwell on the frigid temperature, voices and a scuffle capture my attention.

“Now that you’re all set up, let’s get started, shall we?” My father sounds calm, bored even.

“Fuck yo—”

A sharp pop rings out, followed by what sounds like spit hitting the concrete. It forces my feet down another few steps until I can peer over the side just enough to see them.

The two soldiers who came down with him are positioned against the far side of the gray room, near the wooden steps. My father is positioned in front of the now bound man, his arms strung above his head with ropes that are tied far too tight, rubbing his arms raw already as he struggles uncomfortably.

His cover has been taken off, and under the thick blood sticking to the side of his face, there’s a vague familiarness to him that has me wondering where I’ve seen him.

“I shouldn’t have to advise you to watch how you speak to me. But because I’d rather get answers than your screams when I slice your fucking thighs down the center, I will. Tread carefully, Mario.”

Mario. Mario.Where do I know that name?

“Let’s try again. How long?”

The man’s light-blue eyes fall to the floor before he swallows thickly. It almost reminds me of someone who’s done something they feel guilty for. But why would a Murphy feel bad?

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