All Chapters of Requiem of The Godfather: Price of a Memory: Chapter 31
- Chapter 40
52 chapters
Ch 31. Elite School Protocol
The sun shone far too brightly for a day that would end in bloodshed. In the middle of a neatly trimmed field, Chloe stood surrounded by her friends. She flaunted her newest designer bag with a triumphant smile. “This is a limited edition, you know. My dad ordered it straight from Italy,” Chloe said, her voice deliberately loud enough for passing students to hear. “Whoa, that’s insane! It’s so cool, Chlo! It must’ve been super expensive, right?” one of her friends gushed, eyes sparkling. Chloe lifted her chin, savoring the envy. “It’s nothing for my dad. His investment business is booming.” From a distance, inside a black sedan parked in the pickup area, Eduardo watched through dark tinted glass. He wore a driver’s uniform, complete with a cap that shadowed part of his face. The earpiece in his left ear vibrated softly. “Boss, you hear me?” Belerik’s voice crackled through. “I hear you. Report,” Eduardo replied coldly. “Claude’s completely lost it,
Ch 32. Highway of Death
Black smoke billowed from the crumpled hood of the black sedan. The engine roared unevenly, like a wounded beast forced to keep running. Eduardo wiped the blood streaming from his temple, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. The second white van belonging to The Cleaners had just burst through the curtain of fire from the guard post explosion. They did not slow down. They came to take lives. “Dad! My ears hurt! I want to go home! I want Mom!” Chloe screamed hysterically from the floor of the car. She curled into a ball, covering her face with trembling hands. “Stay down, Chloe! Don’t get up!” Eduardo snapped. His voice was hoarse, his throat burning from the dust of the explosion. “Why are you doing this?! Because of you, my school is destroyed! My friends are going to hate me! You’re awful! You’re a criminal!” Chloe kept ranting, her shrill voice cutting through the engine noise. Eduardo said nothing. He did not have the energy to explain this bitter reality to
Ch 33. The Wingless Guardian Angel
The wind howled across the rooftop of Skyview Apartments, trying to unsettle the steel tripod anchored into the concrete. Freya did not move. She lay prone, her body fused with her .50 caliber sniper rifle. In her ear, the static chatter of the comms sounded like the buzz of flies, irritating and constant, but her eyes, once praised as a national asset on the Olympic shooting circuit, remained calm, locked onto a single point 1.5 kilometers away. She chewed her strawberry gum in a steady rhythm. The sweetness was gone, leaving only a dull rubber taste that lingered, much like her life. "Freya! Can you hear me?! The second SUV is closing in on Eduardo’s left! Shoot, damn it! Shoot!" Belerik’s voice screamed hysterically through her earpiece. Freya blew a strand of hair out of her line of sight. "You’re noisy, office rat. I’m calculating the wind." "Calculating your head! The boss is about to die!" "Ten seconds," Freya said flatly. "I need ten seconds to clean up
Ch 34. The Prince of Comfort
The large house in the northern outskirts was supposed to be the safest hiding place money could buy. Its fence rose three meters high, topped with barbed wire carrying electricity, cleverly disguised by creeping vines. Inside, Italian marble covered every inch of the floor, and crystal chandeliers reflected a blinding glow. But to Eduardo, this place felt more like a coffin plated in gold. He stepped into the living room, his breath still heavy. His black shirt was torn at the shoulder, exposing a fresh gash that had been crudely bandaged by Belerik. The metallic scent of blood and gunpowder clung to his skin, clashing with the soothing aroma of sandalwood therapy candles filling the space. In the center of the room, Emily stood before a massive mirror. She wore an emerald silk gown that draped elegantly down her body. Two tailors, brought in by force by Belerik’s men, worked busily pinning the fabric along her waist. “Em, we need to talk,” Eduardo said, his voice
Ch 35. The Black Market Operation
The basement of the safehouse smelled stale, a mix of concrete dust and burnt wiring. In the center of the room, an old pool table had been repurposed into a makeshift war table. Belerik stood over it, his thin fingers dancing across a laptop connected to a cheap projector. Blue light reflected off his thick glasses, making his face look like an electronic skull. “Claude’s like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold, Ed. If we only clipped his wings on the highway yesterday, he’ll just grow them back with money,” Belerik said without turning around. His voice was hoarse, the kind of rasp that came from three days without sleep and too much caffeine. Eduardo stood in the shadows at the edge of the room, leaning against the cold wall. “I don’t need metaphors, Rik. I need a way to make sure he can’t pay the rest of his mercenaries.” Belerik grinned, revealing a row of slightly yellowed teeth. “That’s exactly the point. Claude’s financial oxygen source is called the Golden Cag
Ch 36. Dancing in the Serpent's Nest
The massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the Grand Palace ballroom scattered light in a nauseating glow. The scent of thousand-dollar perfumes mixed with expensive champagne and Cuban cigars, creating an atmosphere of luxury that, to Eduardo, smelled like polished decay. Here, in the most elite serpent’s nest in the city, everyone wore masks of civility to hide hands stained with blood.Eduardo adjusted his bow tie, which felt like it was choking him. The tuxedo fit his body perfectly, but the weight of the Glock tucked into the back of his waistband was the only thing that kept him grounded.“Ed, do you see that woman wearing the ruby necklace over there?” Emily whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. She clung tightly to his arm, her blood-red nails pressing into the fabric of his suit. “I’m sure that’s a real Burmese ruby. This place is on a completely different level from those cheap parties we used to go to.”“Focus, Em,” Eduardo hissed without turning.
Ch 37. Symphony of Shattered Glass
Dark. Dense. Suffocating. Within milliseconds after the ballroom lights went out, the brief silence shattered into a storm of gunfire. The high-society guests who had been dancing so elegantly moments ago were now nothing more than panicked livestock in a slaughterhouse. The smell of gunpowder overpowered the expensive perfume, stabbing into Eduardo’s nose, a scent he knew all too well, the scent of death. Click. The world in Eduardo’s eyes changed color. His specialized contact lenses, linked to his system, flared neon green. Night Vision activated. He could see everything, silhouettes running, dust dancing in the air, and the muzzles of guns spitting fire toward the ceiling. “Ed! Eduardo! Where the hell are you, you bastard?! My dress... someone spilled wine on my dress!” Emily’s voice shrieked through the chaos. Eduardo turned toward ten o’clock. His wife stood frozen near the melting ice sculpture table, her hands groping blindly in the darkness, completely
Ch 38. The Wound That Does Not Bleed
The crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the master bedroom blazed too brightly, stabbing Eduardo’s eyes like thousands of heated micro-needles. The sharp scent of antiseptic clashed with the lingering aroma of expensive perfume trapped in the silk sheets. Eduardo lay stiff, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Beside the bed, a middle-aged man with cracked glasses and slightly trembling hands was stitching the torn wound on Eduardo’s arm. “Hold on, Mr. Alessandro, I mean, Mr. Eduardo,” the illegal doctor whispered. His name was Aris, a gambling addict whose life had been bought by Belerik out of debt. “You’re lucky the blade didn’t hit a major nerve. But you’ve lost a lot of blood.” Eduardo did not respond. His teeth chattered as he endured a pain that did not come from the stitches, but from deep inside his skull. “Doc… that light. Turn it off,” Eduardo rasped. His voice was hoarse, almost animalistic. “But I need the light to see your wound.” “TU
Ch 39. Siege Strategy
Cigarette smoke blanketed the emergency meeting room in the basement of Belerik’s logistics warehouse. The space was lit only by the blue glow of three massive monitors displaying digital topographic maps and the blueprints of an old structure. The air felt heavy, as if oxygen itself had been pushed aside by the tension radiating from the four people gathered around a pool table cluttered with weapons and whiskey bottles. Eduardo stood at the head of the table, his red, sunken eyes fixed sharply on the map. The bandage on his temple was gone. The wound had dried into a dark line that only made his face look more vicious. “Claude didn’t run out of the city,” Belerik said, fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. “He pulled back to Fort San Jago. It’s an old colonial military fortress on a rocky cape. The walls are two meters thick, solid concrete. The only way in is through the front gate, guarded by heavy machine guns, or by sea, and that route is full of sharp reefs.”
Ch 40. Corridor of Death
The aftermath of Gord’s tanker truck explosion left a long ringing in Eduardo’s ears. Thick black smoke billowed and curled, swallowing the shattered gates of Fort San Jago. Flames roared, licking at broken concrete, casting a hellish silhouette in the blind darkness of night. Eduardo stepped through the wreckage, his boots crunching over spent shell casings scattered across the charred ground. “Belerik, you still alive?!” Eduardo shouted without looking back. His hands gripped his HK416 tightly, the barrel sweeping every corner of shadow with practiced caution. “I... hosh... I think my lungs got left outside, Ed!” Belerik crawled in, his face smeared black with soot. He clutched his laptop bag like it was a newborn child. “Damn, Gord really doesn’t use his brain! That blast almost turned us all into skewers!” “But it worked, right?” Gord’s voice crackled over the radio, followed by heavy coughing. “I’m just a little scraped up, Boss. My hair’s a bit crispy on one side