Ensnared by Mafia, Days and Nights

"Keep searching,"

Henry Jefferson commanded, his voice trembled, steadied to an almost flat pitch as he battled to contain his emotions.

Assistant Cooper, frightened by the intensity, hoped dearly that Giselle Lambert would return soon.

"By the way, Mr. Jefferson," Assistant Cooper added cautiously, "your grandfather is furious after learning about the extensive resources you've deployed to find Miss Lambert." Henry scoffed dismissively. "Let him be angry. Go, mobilize a team of Class S mercenaries for the search under his authority."

"This..." Assistant Cooper hesitated, his discomfort palpable.

As Henry lifted his eyelids slightly, Assistant Cooper quickly nodded and retreated, "Right away, sir," he promised before departing.

The suite fell silent again after his exit.

Outside, the sea was tumultuous under the stormy skies, and the ship's pace had halved compared to its outbound journey, still over a hundred nautical miles from the nearest New York port. Suddenly, Henry swayed and collapsed onto the bed without warning.

The chandelier above blazed brilliantly, forcing him to squint and turn his head to block out the light.

His gaze, unfocused, landed on the dim table lamp.

Rubbing his eyes uncertainly, he inspected it again and spotted something indeed trapped under the lamp. With effort, he reached out, retrieving an envelope tucked beneath and examined it closely, squinting hard. It was too blurry to discern.

His consciousness was slipping; the third wave of the medication was taking hold.

The doctor had explained that the medication would peak four times, each more potent than the last.

The only recourse was rest, allowing the drug's effects to run their course, naturally slipping into and out of unconsciousness with minimal physical harm.

But fully overcoming the drug's effects would mean at least three days of unconsciousness.

Three days in which Giselle could have fled to the moon.

If he waited that long, Henry feared he might never see Giselle again.

Thus, he continually fought the drug's effects with sheer willpower, striving to stay alert to oversee the rescue operations.

This wave of the drug was fierce; clutching the envelope, Henry drifted into a deep sleep.

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...

A week later, as dusk fell, Laroc Estate was bathed in the sunset's fading light.

It was October, and the estate's roses were past their prime, beginning to wilt.

Assistant Cooper rushed into the villa, finding Sophie cleaning up a living room littered with wine bottles.

From the second floor came sporadic notes of piano music, each tone more dissonant and unsettling than the last.

Assistant Cooper paused, exchanging a look with Sophie and gestured upward, inquiring about the master.

Sophie silently shook her head, her gesture a clear warning against causing further upset.

With a resigned sigh, Cooper gripped the search report tightly and bravely stepped into the elevator.

The brief journey felt like a march to the gallows.

Upon the elevator doors parting, Cooper was met with a sight of glass shards scattered all around, some stained with fresh blood.

The owner of the blood was unmistakable.

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He carefully navigated around the debris to the piano room, where Henry was hunched over, one hand clutching a bottle of Queen Palma and the other limply resting on the piano keys, occasionally striking a few jarring notes. He was still dressed in the suit from their departure day, now splattered with blood.

The setting sun streamed through the window, casting him in a light that accentuated his utter desolation.

Cooper stood frozen for a long moment.

"Did you find her?"

Henry suddenly asked, his voice as raspy as if he were sawing wood, sounding like a specter clawing its way up from the deepest pits of hell.

Cooper shivered, hesitant to deliver the news directly, instead moved closer with the report in hand.

As he began to step forward, Henry suddenly stood, swaying momentarily before striding toward him.

Stepping on the glass, blood immediately began to ooze and spread across the floor.

Yet, he seemed immune to the pain, his face unmoving as he steadily walked across the shattered glass.