The Return of the Almighty Dragon Jackal

Chapter Five: The Mafia Lord's visit

The rain tapped softly against the tall windows of the study like it was trying to warn her. Carina sat behind Roger’s grand mahogany desk—her throne now—with a cigarette burning slowly in the crystal ashtray. She never used to smoke, not when Roger was alive. But lately, she needed something to fill the growing hollowness inside her.

Papers were strewn across the desk, most marked in red. Rejected. Denied. Frozen. A towering pile of unopened legal letters sat to the left, each envelope a reminder that although she wore the crown now, the kingdom was still shackled. Roger’s accounts, tied up in legal disputes. Assets frozen. Access blocked pending estate proceedings.

She tapped a manicured nail against her wine glass, her eyes trailing to an email from Olivia’s school, St. Delphina’s Academy of Arts, blinking impatiently on the laptop screen.

Urgent Reminder: Tuition Payment Overdue.

Final Deadline: 7 Days.

Her throat tightened.

“Of course,” she muttered bitterly. “They’ll teach your daughter violin in Switzerland but won’t wait a damn week to be paid.”

A knock came—soft, calculated. Before she could answer, the door opened.

Edward, a reputed Mafia lord, strode in with an unsettling calm, his sharply tailored suit and charming smile masking a darker and dangerous presence. Those who crossed him were terrified by the whispers of his ruthless tactics, violence, extortion, and corruption. His cold, calculating glance seemed to reach out to everybody around him, assessing them for opportunities or hazards. Tension was in the air, and people who knew Edward knew that to cross him was to invite destruction, chaos, and possibly even death itself.

“Carina,” he greeted, voice like silk over steel. “You look... overwhelmed.”

She straightened slightly, fixing her posture as if that could mask her unraveling.

“What do you want, Edward? I’m in no mood for games.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender and walked over to the desk, casually examining a few of the papers.

“Frozen accounts... unpaid tuition... estate bureaucracy. You’ve got your hands full. Such a shame Roger didn’t leave things in better order.” He paused. “Or with someone else, perhaps.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you came here to insult me, you can leave.”

Edward chuckled and reached into his briefcase. “Actually, I came with a solution.” He pulled out a folder—leather-bound and thick—and placed it gently in front of her.

“This,” he said smoothly, “is a financial proposal. I’ll cover Olivia’s tuition. All of it. Plus additional funds to tide you over until the estate clears. Enough to get back on your feet.”

Carina arched a skeptical brow. “And what’s the price? You never offer charity, Edward.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You’re right. I don’t.” He nudged the folder closer. “Go on. Open it.”

She hesitated. Then slowly, she flipped it open.

And froze.

“You want to trap Andrew under you for 10 years?” She exclaimed.

“Well, I've got my eyes on him for a while, someone like him can bring fifty of my gang men to their knees within a blink of an eye. He would be a good trainer for my men and a reliable personal guard. He won't really have a choice after all.” He said with a black chuckle on his face.

“This is extortion.” She said, gazing at Edward’s malicious eyes.

“No,” he said. “It’s called a business.”

“No, I'm not gonna do this with you. It's too risky, "she retorted.

He laughed hysterically, then stopped suddenly. “Do you think you also have a choice?” He said pulling out another folder and placing it in front of her.

She hesitated. Then slowly, she flipped it open.

Her face drained of color. Her fingers trembled. Her lips parted slightly, just the faintest whisper of a gasp slipping through. She slammed the folder shut.

“How did you…? This is blackmail,” she whispered, eyes locking with his. “You son of a—”

“Careful,” Edward cut in, calm as ever. “I’d hate for Olivia’s future to be ruined because of your temper. Or Richard’s care to... lapse.” His gaze was cool. “You know the consequences of not cooperating.”

She swallowed hard.

“Please... just keep this between us. I’ll make sure he signs it,” she pleaded, her voice shaky with desperation.

Don't you worry, your little secrets are safe with me. I'd send the money to you when you send the signed document.

What was in the file? Who knows…

____

A week later, the roses were white, the sky was blue, and Carina wore ivory lace for the second time in her life.

A remarriage.

The guests were few, the ceremony fast. Carina remarried Frank under a glass dome in their private garden—the same one she once danced in with Roger. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The officiant’s words drifted like fog, but Carina said her vows with perfect composure.

Frank kissed her like he’d won something.

Andrew stood in the distance, stiff in a black suit, holding Richard’s wheelchair with Charlotte beside him. His face was unreadable.

The air was too still.

___

Three days after the wedding, Carina summoned Andrew to the study.

He came alone.

The folder waited on the desk, now revised. The servitude contract, bound in expensive leather, detailed in ink so dark it bled into the paper.

Andrew scanned the opening page, confusion clouding his face.

“What is this?”

“A solution,” Carina replied. “Edward Thorne. The man who owns Thorne Industries.”

“I know who he is,” Andrew muttered. “The black-market mafia kingpin whose gangs are behind every kind of assault and dirty deal in the city”

“He’s offering you employment. A contract. Exclusive to you. He’s rich, powerful, and most importantly… generous. He’ll ensure your brother gets the best care. Round-the-clock doctors. Therapies. Everything money can buy.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “Why would he care about Richard?”

Carina shrugged. “Why does anyone care about anything these days? Profit. He sees potential in you. And I told him you’re willing to work.”

“Wait.. are you joking right now?. Why would I ever work for Edward? I can never do that! I never said I would.”

“No,” she said, standing and walking toward him, heels echoing like gunshots, “but you probably will.”

Flipping to the clause. His chest tightened. “This says ten years. Ten years of... servitude? I’m to work for him, under contract, as—what the hell is this?”

Carina stood slowly, walking to the window.

“You know we can’t afford Richard’s care without this. The estate is still tied up. The insurance barely covers the basics. And the best neurospecialists—the only ones who might wake him—they don’t come cheap.”

She turned to face him.

“You always said you’d do anything for Richard. This is your chance.”

He looked at her like she’d slapped him. “You want me to sell myself? For ten years?”

“No one’s selling you,” she said coldly. “It’s a business agreement.”

His jaw clenched. “I won't sign this!”

Carina stepped even closer, slid a photograph across to him—Richard in his hospital bed, unconscious, tubes in his arms, lowering her voice to a lethal whisper. “If you don’t… I’ll withdraw all funding from Richard’s care. His doctors. His treatment. I’ll transfer him to a public ward so underfunded he’ll die of neglect before the month’s end.”

Andrew’s throat closed. “You wouldn’t—”

“I will.”

Her voice was cruel, calm, and final.

“You think you're strong, Andrew. But strength is nothing without leverage. And you’re still just a boy playing hero. Sign it—or bury your brother.”

“And what are you getting out of this?” Andrew asked, searching her eyes for a shred of guilt.

“Well... maybe enough to send Olivia to Switzerland, after all.” She said with a wicked smile on her face

Andrew’s hands trembled as he picked up the pen. His eyes searched hers for mercy—for something.

But all he saw was a woman who had mastered the art of sacrificing others to protect herself.

He signed.

And Carina said nothing.

___

Later that night, Edward called. She answered with shaking fingers.

“It’s done,” she murmured.

On the other end, he was silent for a moment. Then came the voice, soft and merciless.

“Ten years of servitude isn’t too steep a price... not when it saves you from prison. Or worse.”

The ink had dried on the contract, but the weight of it never left Andrew’s hands.

Each day at Thorne Industries chipped away at what was left of him—one order, one bloodstained silence, one shadowy errand at a time. He had traded ten years of freedom for Richard’s fragile life, and every time he heard the hiss of oxygen in his brother’s hospital room, he told himself it was worth it.

But it didn’t feel like salvation.

It felt like damnation.

And in all the darkness that consumed him, only Charlotte remained his tether to something warm. Or so he believed.

She had been his light in the years of loss, the laughter in his quietest moments, the hand that found his when the world felt like it was spinning apart. He clung to her not just for love—but for sanity. For hope.

Until the day he saw her destroy it all with her own two hands.

---

It was raining when it happened.

A slow, steady drizzle that blurred the world into streaks of gray and silver. Andrew had returned early from a private assignment with Edward—an errand soaked in danger and laced with quiet threats. All he wanted was rest. Quiet. Her.

But as he stepped inside the estate, something felt... off.

The halls were too still. No music, no laughter, no footsteps. Just the echo of his own breathing. Charlotte was supposed to be in her room, waiting for him like she always did.

A faint creak on the upper floor made his heart quicken.

He moved without thinking, feet silent on the stairs, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and dread.

The door to her guest room was ajar.

Laughter—low, muffled—leaked out. A voice he didn’t recognize.

And then he saw it.

Charlotte. Straddling a man on her bed. Her dress half-off, her hands buried in his hair, her head thrown back in a laugh Andrew had once lived for.

Time didn’t stop.

It shattered.

Andrew stood frozen in the doorway, breath caught in his throat, disbelief written across every inch of his face.

She looked up, finally noticing him.

But there was no gasp.

No horror.

Just… mild irritation.

“God, Andrew. Do you even knock anymore?”

Her lover scrambled to pull on his pants, but Charlotte didn’t even bother to cover herself. She slid off the bed with calculated grace, not shame. Not guilt. Just annoyance.

Andrew’s voice cracked like dry thunder. “What… what the hell is this?”

“What does it look like?” she said, tilting her head, arms crossed. “Fun. Release. A choice. Something you clearly don’t understand anymore.”

His fists trembled at his sides. “I gave up my freedom for my brother… I signed my life away. For us. You knew what I was sacrificing!”

Charlotte scoffed. “Us? There is no us, Andrew. Not anymore. You made your choice—servitude to Edward, running errands for criminals. You think that’s love? That’s a future?”

Her voice was sharp, unapologetic, slicing through him like a blade.

“I waited,” she said, stepping closer. “Waited while you drowned in pity and promises. You act like you’re some tragic hero, but all I see is a boy clinging to a sinking ship. I can’t build a life with someone who doesn’t even have one.”

“I did this for Richard,” he whispered, voice hollow. “For you.”

“And what about me?” she snapped. “You think love is enough? I want security. Power. A man who can offer me a future—not a ten-year prisoner of Edward Thorne.”

Andrew stepped back, as if her words had slapped him. Rain lashed against the windows behind him, as if the world itself was recoiling with him.

“So that’s it?” he murmured. “You were never going to wait?”

“I was never going to waste my life on a man too noble to save himself,” she said coldly. “You gave everything to your brother. And nothing to me.”

Silence stretched between them like a noose.

He turned toward the door, every step heavier than the last. But just before he crossed the threshold, he looked back—his face unreadable, his voice quiet.

“Did you ever love me?”

Charlotte didn’t flinch.

“Maybe,” she said. “But love doesn’t pay for plane tickets or penthouses, Andrew. And I’m done being poor.”

---

He didn’t remember leaving. Didn’t remember the stairs or the rain or the drive.

He just remembered the sound of his heart breaking—slowly, cruelly—with every word she threw like daggers.

He ended up on the cliffs behind the estate, the rain soaking through his clothes, the ocean churning far below like a mirror to his soul. His knees hit the ground, hands buried in wet earth, and he screamed into the void.

Not because she cheated.

But because even the last thing he believed injun… was a lie.

---

Edward’s voice cut through the storm an hour later.

“Rough day?”

Andrew didn’t move. The towel landed beside him like a ghost.

“You said betrayal tastes like blood,” he said quietly. “You were right.”

Edward crouched beside him, dry and polished and composed. “Betrayal is a teacher. It strips away illusions. Now you see the world for what it is.”

Andrew didn’t answer.

But something in him shifted.

A fracture deepened.

A fire lit.

Edward rose, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re one of us now, Andrew. And believe it or not… pain makes the best soldiers.”