My Mafia Brother Gave Me to the Acid

A hideous burn scar sliced across the palm of my left hand.

It was a souvenir from the nightmare of the car bomb five years ago.

Seeing Farrow stare at that scar, my soul screamed silently in mid-air.

"Do you see it, brother?"

"Back then, when Mom and Dad were trapped in the twisted wreck of the car, it was me who rushed forward like a madwoman, grabbing the red-hot door handle with my bare hands."

This scar was the proof that I had tried to snatch our parents back from the jaws of death.

The smell of my own burning flesh was a memory I could recall with perfect clarity, even in death.

I remember when Farrow arrived and saw my bloody, mangled hand. His eyes filled with tears of pain as he held it gingerly and asked me, "Does it hurt?"

But I couldn't feel a thing back then. All I wanted was to save Mom and Dad.

I was certain that if Farrow saw this hand, he would recognize me.

Even if my face was ruined, he would never forget this scar.

For a year after that, he would hold this hand whenever I woke from nightmares, apologizing over and over for not protecting me.

But the pain I'm in now, brother, is so much worse.

At that moment, Farrow's fingers were clenched around the body bag's zipper.

The sound of the metal teeth was like a countdown.

My soul drew closer, as if I could feel the coldness of his fingertips.

Look, brother. Look at this hand again, I beg you.

Just as the zipper was about to slide down, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the silence.

Farrow let out an impatient sound, released the zipper, and answered the call.

The firm, anxious voice of our aunt, Sophia, came through the speaker.

"Farrow, where is Grace? Today is the family's prayer day. She never misses it."

Aunt Sophia was the most powerful elder in our family, and one of the few people who still cared about me after our parents died.

Hearing her voice, I almost wanted to cry. I wanted to hug my aunt and tell her that Grace was in so much pain.

Hearing my aunt mention my name, Farrow's expression darkened, his voice full of dismissive disgust.

"Aunt Sophia, don't waste your breath on her. She's probably holed up in some club, playing the big shot with the minor families, or slumming it with those wannabe writers."

"But..."

"It's nothing," Farrow cut her off coldly.

"She's just throwing a tantrum. It's her usual tactic. Hides for a few days so I have to search the whole world for her, just to satisfy her pathetic vanity."

"I've already sent people to look for her. She'll come crawling back once the money runs out."

"After Betty's book launch, once I'm done with this, I'll send her to a convent in Sicily to think about what she's done. That's all."

Hanging up, the frustration in Farrow's eyes was about to spill over.

That call had exhausted the last bit of patience he had for this corpse. He had no desire to look at it anymore.

"Get these samples to the lab. I want a rush on the DNA comparison."

He stripped off his gloves, tossed them into a bin with disgust, and turned to a capo behind him.

"I want definitive results, not a guessing game."

"And find out which unlucky family this stiff belongs to. Someone dumps a body on my turf, I'm going to skin the killer alive."

Just as he was turning to leave, the doors to the morgue were thrown open.

A young family soldier burst in, his face streaked with tears. He forgot all protocol, dropping to his knees right in front of Farrow.

"Don! Please! Help me!"

I recognized him. His name was Luca, one of Farrow's most trusted bodyguards.

Farrow stopped, frowning at his distraught subordinate.

"Stand up and speak. Steele men do not cry."

The young man choked back a sob, but his voice trembled. "My sister... she's been missing for two days. Her phone's off, and she's not at home. She just turned eighteen!"

"She's the only family I have left, Don. Please, use your resources to find her!"

Looking at the young soldier's desperate eyes, the hard lines of Farrow's face actually softened.

He must have been thinking of Betty in that moment. It certainly couldn't have been me.

He stepped forward and patted Luca's shoulder.

"Don't panic. She's your sister, which makes her one of the Steele family's own. I won't let anything happen to her."

"Mobilize everyone. Scour the entire city to find her. Use my car."

I watched this scene; it felt like my soul was being ripped apart.

This young soldier's sister was missing for just two days, and he felt like his world was ending, even daring to storm in and beg the Don for help.

I had been missing for four whole days.

My brother not only felt no concern, but also thought I was just "throwing a tantrum," complained to our elders about my "crimes," and was busy planning my exile.

That night, Luca's sister was found.

She had just gotten drunk at a friend's house and overslept.

When Farrow heard the news, he personally called to comfort her and sent a gift to calm her nerves.

I couldn't understand it. He could show such empathy for a subordinate's sister.

Why was there nothing left for me but harshness and suspicion?

Word spread through the Family, praising the new Don's mercy and loyalty.

Only Uncle Zac remained in his office, his face ashen as he stared at the pending DNA request.

Two days passed. The identity of the body was still unknown.

The investigation into the brutal murder had hit a dead end. No clues, destroyed security footage, a ruined face, and filed-off fingerprints.

Rumors began to spread that the new Don couldn't even catch a killer who operated on his own turf.

For Farrow, this was the ultimate humiliation.

In his office, he hurled an expensive whiskey tumbler against the wall, sending glass shards flying.

"Useless bastards! You still can't ID the victim?!"

"My patience has run out."