BLOODLINE CHRONICLE: A MAFIA FATHER'S JOURNEY

CHAPTER 04: THE MIDNIGHT BAR

The journey home felt shorter than usual, Hakimi thought. Or maybe it was the weight of his thoughts, dragging him deep into his mind until he found himself standing at his door without remembering the walk. He dusted off his shoes, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

"I'm home..." he announced, his voice flat, carrying the exhaustion of the day.

From the kitchen, Akashi’s voice rang out. "Welcome home, Dad."

Hakimi paused, sniffing the air. The faint aroma of food was unexpected. His brow furrowed as he moved toward the kitchen. "Dinner?" he asked, almost incredulously. He knew they had no cash and barely any supplies left.

Akashi nodded, closing the lid of the steaming pot. "Yeah. I made fish sauce and mashed potatoes." He placed the spoon down and turned to his father, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Dad. Things will work out. My shifts pay me fair enough."

Hakimi swallowed the lump forming in his throat. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face. "You know you should focus on your academics, not work," he said, his voice low but firm.

"I know, Dad, Akashi replied with a reassuring smile. But I want to help. We’re a team, remember? Now go sit at the table. I’ll serve in a bit."

Hakimi didn’t say another word as he made his way to the dinner table. He sank into the chair, running a hand over his face. *Provide?* The word echoed in his mind. *Why is my son burdened with this? He's only eighteen.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dinner table was filled with warmth, the aroma of the meal blending with the soft hum of conversation. Amira broke the silence first.

"So, Dad, how was work today?" she asked, scooping a forkful of mashed potatoes.

Hakimi hesitated before responding. "Tiring, as usual," he admitted. "But seeing all of you here makes it worth it."

Khadijat glanced at her father. "Are you still thinking about getting a part-time job?"

Hakimi nodded slowly. "Yes. We need the extra income to stay afloat."

Before he could continue, Akashi spoke up. "Don’t worry, Dad. We’ll manage. If it helps, I can pick up more shifts."

Hakimi’s hand froze midair, his fork hovering over his plate. His tone shifted, suddenly stern. "Akashi, for Christ's sake, you're just seventeen. You should be worrying about homework, not shifts. Leave the bills to me." He slammed the fork down on his plate, his voice rising slightly. "I'll keep looking for opportunities tomorrow. Now finish your meal."

The tension at the table was palpable. Akashi lowered his gaze, sipping his drink in silence. Amira and Khadijat exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.

-----------------

The next day, Hakimi sat hunched over his laptop, eyes scanning job listings with a mix of desperation and determination. His inbox was flooded with rejection emails. Each one felt like a personal blow, a reminder of his inability to provide for his family.

His hand clenched into a fist. Two days ago, he had sold their mini fridge to scrape together some cash. Yet here he was—faced with nothing but closed doors.

Amira entered the room quietly, concern evident in her soft voice. "Daddy, are you okay? You’ve been at this all morning."

Hakimi forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m fine, sweetheart. Just tired."

"You should take a break," she suggested gently. "Something good will come your way. I know it will."

Hakimi nodded faintly. "You’re right. I’ll step away for a bit."

"Have you eaten anything?" she asked, her tone laced with worry.

Hakimi’s heart tightened. He knew she hadn’t eaten either. "I’m waiting for Akashi, she added. He promised to bring groceries after his shift."

Hakimi’s chest constricted with guilt. His son—a child—was out working to keep them fed.

------------------

Nightfall brought an unexpected knock at the door. Hakimi opened it, and his heart stopped. Akashi stood on the threshold, his face swollen and bruised, blood trickling from his nose.

"What happened?!" Hakimi’s voice cracked with urgency as he ushered Akashi inside. Amira and Khadijat rushed over, their faces pale with worry.

"Amira, get the ice pack. Dija, the first aid kit. Now!" Hakimi barked orders, his hands trembling as he guided Akashi to the sofa.

Amira returned with an ice pack, holding it gently to her brother’s bruised cheek. "What happened, Kashi?" she demanded, her voice tight with anger.

Akashi winced, shifting uncomfortably. "It was at the bar..."

---

~~~ Earlier that night ~~~

Akashi was stacking shelves at the midnight bar when a staff member beckoned him. "Hey, new kid. Come with me."

Confused, Akashi followed, only to find himself in the manager’s office. The room was packed with employees, their faces pale with fear.

The manager, a short man with a long scar across his cheek, slammed his fist on the desk. "Ten thousand is missing,  he growled. You have ten minutes to return it, or whoever I find it with will regret it." His voice dripped with menace.

When the time was up, a search began. Akashi’s locker was opened, and to his shock, the missing money was inside.

---

"They didn’t believe me, Akashi said, his voice cracking as he recounted the events. They beat me up, Dad. I didn’t take it. I swear I didn’t."

Hakimi’s jaw tightened, his blood boiling. "Who was responsible for this?" he asked coldly.

Akashi hesitated. "It was the manager... i don't know his name."

Without a word, Hakimi rose and stormed upstairs. When he returned moments later, he was armed with a rifle, an axe, and a kitchen knife.

"Dad!" Akashi shouted, leaping to his feet despite his injuries. "What are you doing?"

"Tell me where that bar is," Hakimi demanded, his voice steely.

"Dad, no!" Akashi pleaded. "You don’t understand. Riqqo is dangerous. You’ll get yourself killed!"

"I’m not asking for permission," Hakimi snapped.

Akashi stepped in front of him, his eyes desperate. "Please, Dad. Don’t go. We need you here. I need you here."

Hakimi froze. The weight of his son’s words sank in, and his grip on the rifle loosened. Slowly, he placed the weapons down.

"You’re right," he muttered, his voice strained. He placed a hand on Akashi’s shoulder. "But tell me—what else do you know about this manager of yours?"

Akashi swallowed hard. "Just... that he’s not someone you cross."

Hakimi’s expression darkened. He gave a small nod. "Go to bed, all of you. I’ll take care of this."

As his children climbed the stairs, Hakimi sank into the sofa, his mind racing. The thought of the manager lingered like a curse. He couldn’t sit idly by, but he couldn’t risk losing his family either. For now, he would wait.

But the storm was far from over.

--------------

The morning sun strained through the heavy curtains, casting a faint golden hue over the room. It was a few minutes to seven, yet Hakimi remained in bed. A hesitant knock at the door broke the stillness.

Akashi poked his head in, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. His father, who was always the first to rise, lay motionless on the bed. "Dad? What’s going on?" he called out, stepping into the room. When there was no response, he moved closer, placing a hand on Hakimi’s forehead. It was scalding hot.

Panic flared in Akashi's chest. He sprinted to the kitchen, grabbing aspirin and a glass of water before returning to his father’s side. “Take this,” he urged, his voice thick with worry.

Hakimi groaned softly, forcing himself into a sitting position. Every movement seemed to drain him. He swallowed the pills with effort and leaned back against the headboard, his breathing labored.

“Will you be okay?” Akashi’s tone softened, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

Hakimi offered a weak nod. “I just need a few minutes. I’ll be fine... I need to get myself ready for work and see your sisters off to school.”

Akashi frowned, his jaw tightening. “No, Dad. You need rest. You’ve been overworking yourself. He hesitated, then added quietly, You keep pushing yourself to the edge, but we need you alive, not broken.”

Hakimi’s gaze fell on his son’s bruised and swollen face. A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. “And what about you?” he countered. You’ve been through enough. Aren’t you going to school?”

Akashi shook his head firmly. “Not today. I’ll go next week. When it heals up.”

Without waiting for a response, Akashi helped adjust his father’s pillows and ensured he was comfortable. “Breakfast is on the table. I’ll drop the girls at school.” His voice was clipped, leaving no room for argument. He turned and walked out without looking back.

Hakimi stared after him, speechless and riddled with worry.

The clock had just struck noon when Hakimi awoke from his restless sleep. His body ached as he shuffled to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time he reached the dining table, the bread and eggs Akashi had prepared had grown cold. He ate in silence, his mind replaying fragments of the previous night.

Helplessness simmered into anger. He couldn’t sit idle any longer.

Hakimi stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a scrape. He went straight to Akashi’s room, his movements deliberate as he searched through his son’s belongings. His hands paused on a staff ID card for the Midnight Bar. His jaw tightened.

Minutes later, Hakimi was out the door, his coat flapping against the brisk afternoon wind. His destination was clear........

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was a shadow of itself in the daylight, its dimly lit interior revealing its gritty underbelly. The faint aroma of disinfectant mingled with stale beer and sweat. Staff moved around, preparing for the evening rush—some cleaning tables, others stocking shelves.

Hakimi’s presence didn’t go unnoticed. A young man behind the bar, dressed in black and wiping down a counter, looked up with a frown. “Can I help you?” he asked, his tone neutral but watchful.

“I’m looking for the manager” Hakimi said, his voice steady but with a hard edge.

The bartender hesitated, eyes narrowing. “There’s no one by that name here.”

“I’m certain every establishment has one. Hakimi pressed, his voice rising slightly. I need to see him—now.”

The bartender sighed, setting down his rag. His thick Iranian accent made the next words deliberate. “If you’re looking to shout, come back at 7 p.m. That’s when we open to your kind of business. Right now, I need peace.”

Hakimi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I just need to talk to him. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

After a tense pause, the bartender motioned toward a back door. “Fine. He’s in his office. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hakimi moved swiftly, but his steps faltered when a hulking man stepped into his path near the entrance to the hallway. Tattoos snaked up the man’s muscular arms, and piercings glinted on his face. His presence exuded menace.

“What do you want?” the man barked.

Hakimi swallowed hard. “I—I need to see the boss.”

“Boss The man’s lip curled in disdain. Nobody does that. You some kind of idiot?” He stepped closer, towering over Hakimi. Why are you sniffing around here?”

“I didn’t mean—” Hakimi began, but the man cut him off with a growl.

“Greg! the bartender’s voice called out from behind. Let him through. The boss will deal with him.”

Greg shot Hakimi a dark look but stepped aside, muttering under his breath. “Hope you know what you’re walking into.”

The hallway was dimly lit, each step echoing ominously. Hakimi’s heart pounded as Greg stopped in front of a steel door. With a sharp knock, Greg waited for the voice inside to grant entry.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Hakimi stepped into the office. The contrast to the rest of the bar was stark—the space was meticulously organized. Shelves lined with neatly stacked files, polished floors, and spotless floor-to-ceiling windows betrayed the ruthless nature of its occupant.

Hakimi’s eyes landed on the imposing figure seated behind a sleek wooden desk. The man swiveled his chair around, revealing a scar that ran down his cheek like a jagged lightning bolt. His sharp, calculating eyes bore into Hakimi.

“Hello, brother,” He said, his lips curling into a cold smile.