THE MAFIA'S FORGOTTEN SON

Chapter Two – The Call of Blood

The city never slept, but Denilson felt as though he had. He sat in the driver’s seat, unmoving, the mysterious call still echoing in his ears. The lost son finally awakens. Words that felt less like a greeting and more like a judgment.

His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. His heart demanded he storm back to the mansion, to tear the sheets from Jenna’s bed and expose her hypocrisy to every one of her smug relatives.

To show them he wasn’t the servant they believed. But another voice, quieter, colder, whispered: And what then?

Would that undo five years of humiliation? Would that return what she had stolen his dignity, his love, his very self?, No.

The river glimmered beneath the moonlight, mocking him with its serenity. Denilson exhaled shakily, letting the rage settle into something sharper. Not forgiveness. Not despair. Something else, Resolve.

His phone buzzed again. Same number, He answered without hesitation. “Who are you?”

This time, the voice didn’t chuckle. “Who we are doesn’t matter yet. What matters is who you are. And you, Denilson Franfurt, are not who they made you believe.”

Denilson’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know what game this is, but I’m not interested,“Not interested?” The voice sharpened, like steel unsheathed. “Your wife spreads her legs for another man while her family laughs at your bleeding hands, and you’re not interested?”

Denilson froze. His breath caught. Whoever this was, they knew. They had seen. “How”

“Because we have always watched,” the voice cut him off. “Waiting for the day you’d stop groveling. Waiting for the moment your cage shattered. That moment is now.”

The line clicked. Silence, Denilson’s pulse thundered. His cage?, He shook his head, threw the phone onto the passenger seat, and pressed the ignition. Enough. He needed air, clarity, distance from shadows and riddles.

But as the car engine roared, headlights flared in his rearview mirror, One car, Then two, Then three, Black sedans, gliding out of the darkness like predators.

Denilson’s gut tightened. Coincidence?, The first sedan pulled up alongside him, window lowering just enough for a gloved hand to toss something onto his hood.

A card, White, Embossed. A single crest gleaming under the streetlights: a serpent coiled around a crown, Denilson’s breath caught. He didn’t recognize the symbol, but something in his chest twisted with familiarity.

The sedan sped off. The others followed, He sat frozen, staring at the card. The longer he looked, the heavier it seemed to grow, as though the weight of an entire legacy had been pressed into its paper.

His phone buzzed once more. A text this time, Tomorrow. 9 p.m. The Black Orchid Hotel. Top floor. Come, or remain their dog forever.

Denilson swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, his heartbeat deafening, Remain their dog, The words stabbed deep, Jenna’s laughter echoed in his mind, sharp as broken glass.

He barely remembered driving home. When he entered the house, the corridors were silent. Jenna was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps asleep. Perhaps not. He didn’t care.

For the first time, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself, to crawl back into the role she had written for him. He walked past their bedroom without a glance, retreating into the study that had always felt more like a cage than a sanctuary.

There, he sat at the desk, the serpent and crown card placed in front of him, His thoughts swirled, Could he go? Should he? What awaited him at that hotel? A trap? A scam? Or truth?, He leaned back, closing his eyes, and for the first time in years, memories stirred.

A different house. A different city. His father’s voice deep, commanding. His mother’s hand, warm but trembling. Shadows at the window. Whispers of danger, Then darkness.

Denilson’s eyes snapped open, heart racing. He hadn’t thought of that night in decades. The night everything ended, Or maybe, the night everything began.

The next day was a blur, Jenna was cold, distant, as though nothing had happened. She didn’t mention the man in her bed. She didn’t mention the glass, or the blood, or his absence, Neither did Denilson.

For once, silence wasn’t surrender. It was armor. He went through the motions  breakfast at the long dining table, polite nods to her sneering family, another day at a job he had long abandoned his ambitions for. But beneath it all, something coiled tighter with every passing hour.

A serpent waiting to strike, By the time the clock struck eight, his decision was made.

The Black Orchid Hotel towered over the city like a dark jewel, its windows glowing against the night. The lobby was all marble and velvet, too lavish for casual visitors.

When Denilson stepped inside, the receptionist glanced at the serpent-and-crown card in his hand and immediately lowered her gaze. No questions asked. No name required. “Top floor, sir,” she whispered.

The elevator ride felt endless. Each ding of passing floors tightened the knot in his stomach.

At last, the doors slid open to a single corridor lined with golden sconces. At the end, a pair of double doors loomed.

Denilson approached. Pushed them open,The room inside was dim, smoke curling from half-burned candles. Leather chairs encircled a mahogany table. And in those chairs sat men and women whose presence pressed against the air itself.

Eyes turned toward him. A voice rose from the head of the table, the same deep voice from the call., “Welcome home, Denilson Franfurt.”

Denilson froze at the threshold, pulse hammering, And for the first time, he realized: whatever waited here would change everything Forever.