Touch Me And Your're Dead! [English]

08

Chapter 08

"So don't try to escape, because once you leave this building, you become an intruder. The lighthouse will sound an alarm, and all the members in this city will hunt you down," Gabriel warned me, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty.

I looked at the lighthouse visible from the building, remembering how I had seen it light up once before, and the memory filled me with dread. How could it not? The entire city had suddenly been bathed in red light—it was like something out of a nightmare, transforming the peaceful community into something sinister and threatening.

I had heard conversations among my guards outside about someone who had entered the city uninvited. The casual way they discussed the intruder's fate made it clear that such incidents were handled with swift and permanent solutions.

After I showered, I came out of my room and, as had become my habit to pass the time, I sat near the glass wall and watched the people below. The routine had become a strange comfort—observing a world I was part of but not truly allowed to join.

It was morning, and everyone seemed busy with their daily lives. I could see many vehicles entering and leaving through the gate, as well as people walking toward their respective destinations. The city moved with the rhythm of any normal community, yet I knew the darkness that lay beneath its peaceful facade.

I noticed that in this place, only those wearing black suits had cars. They had earpieces attached, and besides cars, only ambulances and fire trucks were running on the roads. Everyone else used bicycles or walked.

I could also see children running around in the middle of the street, sometimes getting separated from their parents. What was heartwarming was seeing suited men get out of their cars to return the children to their parents, as if they immediately recognized who the child's parents were. It spoke to the tight-knit nature of this community—everyone knew everyone, and everyone looked out for each other.

I didn't see anyone fighting, and the surroundings were clean and well-maintained. I touched the glass wall, longing filling my chest. I wanted to go down and see the entire place up close, to walk those streets and experience what it felt like to be part of a community where people cared for each other.

Soon, my attention was caught by a car entering the gate. I stood up, sure it was the Padrino's vehicle. How could I not recognize it? More than nine cars followed it, and there was a dragon symbol wrapped around a cup attached to the hood of the main car.

They all got out, and my eyes were fixed on the last person to exit the vehicle, wearing a large hat that covered half of his face. Even from this distance, there was something commanding about his presence, an aura of power that seemed to bend the very air around him.

I saw him enter the building across from mine. I hoped I would have a chance to talk to him. I didn't want to be imprisoned here for life—I needed to find a way to earn my freedom or at least negotiate better terms for my captivity.

I waited almost half a day, and no Gabriel came to take me to the Padrino. I was almost losing hope when the door finally opened.

I stood up and saw Gabriel laughing, saying it was obvious I was getting bored there.

"I've been waiting for you since earlier. Have you talked to your boss yet?" I asked eagerly, hope fluttering in my chest like a caged bird.

Gabriel smiled and said he was indeed there to pick me up. The boss was calling for me. I almost jumped with joy, finally seeing a path forward.

But that joy quickly faded when I actually saw the Padrino. The atmosphere was too heavy, too intimidating. I was scared, and because of that, I forgot everything I had planned to say. The words I had rehearsed over and over simply evaporated in the face of his overwhelming presence.

"Gabriel told me that you want to talk. I'm curious what it is," the man said. I swallowed hard at the coldness and depth of that voice. I looked up at the man sitting alone on a sofa, staring directly at me with an intensity that made me feel exposed and vulnerable.

I couldn't see his face clearly because of the dim lighting, but I could clearly see his green eyes. They gleamed like gemstones—beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There was an intelligence there, a calculating coldness that suggested this was a man who saw everything and forgot nothing.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Wake up, Hilda. That's not the reason you're here. I took a deep breath and said I wanted to leave this place.

"Didn't you say that we should take you?" he replied, his voice carrying a hint of dark amusement.

I was grateful that he could understand Tagalog, but the problem was I couldn't understand English well enough to follow rapid conversation.

I looked at Gabriel, who was behind me. Nervously, I asked what his boss was saying since he spoke too quickly for me to follow.

"He said you were the one who said we should bring you here," Gabriel translated.

I looked at their boss, swallowing hard as I said I wanted to leave, but their boss immediately answered "no," which made my eyes widen in shock. He stood up and stepped closer to me, his movement predatory and deliberate.

I was sitting on the floor, looking up at him, feeling like prey before a predator.

"You... can't," he said, each word deliberate and final.

"We lost a billion-dollar deal because of you."

Gabriel translated everything their boss said, and that's when I learned that they had to return quickly because of me. When Truson's men followed us, they had to leave immediately, along with the police and several other groups. The domino effect of my escape had cost them dearly.

"If you want to leave here, pay for what we lost in my deal, and I will call Truson to pick you up here," he continued, his voice as cold as winter steel.

I cursed after hearing that. I said I had no money to pay. The man in front of me was too heartless. I told him that Truson would kill me if I was returned to them.

"I don't give favors and help other people for free," he said, his business-like tone making it clear that sentiment had no place in his world.

"But if you want your freedom so badly, I can kill you now and give you peace for good."

I heard laughter from another corner of the room, the sound chilling in its casual cruelty. I was crying now, overwhelmed by the callousness of these people. How could they treat human life like a game, like something to be bargained with and discarded at will?

"What do you want me to do, or what do you want in exchange? I don't have money," I pleaded, desperation making my voice crack.

He said there was something he wanted me to do, and I couldn't refuse. The way he said it made it clear that refusal wasn't really an option.

"I don't have a choice, do I? You'll kill me otherwise," I said, the reality of my situation settling over me like a heavy blanket.

I saw the corner of his mouth rise in what might have been a smile, and he said he had someone he wanted me to watch over. My life depended on my performance because that person could also kill me at any time. I was trading one form of captivity for another, one master for another.

"But—" I started to protest.

He pointed a gun at my head, and I felt my soul separate from my earthly body as I felt that hard object against my skull. The cold metal was a stark reminder of how quickly my life could end, how little my existence meant to the man holding my fate in his hands.

---

"Please, I will do everything as long as you don't kill me, imprison me, or return me to that old man. I'll accept any job," I said, almost kissing the floor in my desperation. The woman was terrified beyond measure.

"I'll accept any condition. I'll pay you back too," I continued, my voice breaking with the weight of my fear and desperation.

"Good, because I have work for you, and if you say no, I have no choice but to kill you instantly. I lost a billion-dollar deal, and we almost got caught because of you," the man said, causing me to stiffen in my seat.

"I have an adopted son who is near your age. I want you to watch over him and report everything he does to me," Mr. Nicastro said, holding his cup and staring directly at me with wide, frightened eyes.

I didn't know what kind of person was in front of me or what kind of new trouble I was getting into, but I no longer planned to go back. I bowed my head in submission.

I didn't want to return to the Philippines because I was sure my father would kill me once he found out I had escaped from the old Italian man he wanted me to marry. The arranged marriage had been my father's way of paying off debts and gaining political favor, and my escape had ruined those plans.

I was also sure that the man called Mr. Nicastro in front of me would kill me if I tried to escape or didn't follow what he wanted to happen. I whispered a series of curses under my breath, feeling trapped between equally deadly options.

I heard the c*****g of guns and, in my panic, raised both hands. I was suddenly being pointed at by guns held by two men on either side of Mr. Nicastro after I failed to respond immediately.

"I'll accept it! I don't want to die yet! Please have mercy. I'll watch over Mr. Nicastro's son. I agree to be a spy!" I said this even though I didn't know how I would do it or what kind of person Mr. Nicastro's son was.

The man raised one hand, and the guns were lowered, satisfied with my capitulation.

"I have a question," I said while trying to stand up. My knees were shaking, not from fear but because I had been kneeling for almost two hours.

"What is it?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. The atmosphere was too serious, and the air around us suddenly became heavy with tension.

"Does your son also speak English? Is he also handsome like you? Is he single? Can I apply to be his girlfriend—"

Before I could finish speaking, the man had me dragged out of his office by his subordinates.

"Wait! I'm not done asking questions—Mr. Nicastro!" I called out as I was pulled away.

When the door closed, one of the men who had been sitting on the sofa asked a question.

"There are so many women on our side who have experience. Why her?" came the cold question from the man sitting on the sofa wearing a cap.

"Because there is something about that girl that I know my son will be interested in," said the man, now holding his chin and looking at his companions in the room. There was something calculating in his expression, as if he were playing a chess game several moves ahead.

"If she fails, we can easily get rid of her," the man added. That was clearly stated by Arthur Cage Nicastro, an Italian Mafia boss and current head of the Triad—a large, influential organization built by the Nicastros that was not under government control.

With the Nicastros' influence and the size of the group, they had taken over a city in Italy and made it their territory. It was a kingdom within a kingdom, a place where their word was law and their justice was absolute.

Arthur emerged from the dark part of the room after putting down his cup and stood facing the veranda of the 16-story building. From there, he could see the entire city spread out below him. There were different colored lights coming from cars, mansions, and small buildings, creating a tapestry of life and activity.

Arthur had a strong feeling that this time they would be able to plant a spy on his son's side, but for some reason—something about that woman made Arthur restless. There was something different about her, something that nagged at his consciousness in a way he couldn't quite identify.

"How could I see the color of that woman's lips and eyes?" Arthur said coldly while his face darkened as he looked at the entire city. The whole city was wrapped in different colors, but in Arthur's eyes—he could only clearly see red lights, and everything his eyes could reach was shades of gray.

"I'm not familiar with those colors," he murmured to himself.

He had lost the ability to see color since he began training under his father. Apart from gray and red, he could no longer see any other color. It was the price he had paid for the power he wielded, a sacrifice that had seemed worthwhile at the time.

He thought it was just his imagination that night when he saw the color of that woman's lips and eyes. He hadn't paid much attention to it, thinking it was just due to fatigue and the effects of alcohol. But now, in the clarity of sobriety and daylight, the memory persisted.

I was returned to my room, and after the door closed, I banged on it with my fists.

"At least tell me what kind of person Mr. Nicastro's son is and what his name is!" I shouted through the door.

I stamped my feet and turned around in frustration. What if he was a child or already very old? The uncertainty was almost worse than the fear.

I stopped after realizing something important.

"But it seems like Mr. Nicastro isn't that old yet. Based on his voice, he seems to be only in his 40s, and he said his son is almost my age," I reasoned aloud, trying to piece together what little information I had.

I paced back and forth, thinking about the mission ahead of me. The reality of what I had agreed to was beginning to sink in, and with it came a mixture of fear and strange anticipation.

The door opened, and Gabriel entered. I stopped walking and approached him, hope lighting up my features.

"Did your boss say anything else about the mission?" I asked eagerly.

"Break a leg," Gabriel replied with a grin.

My eyes widened, and I sat on the floor in shock. I said I didn't want to do it anymore, hugging my knees and saying I would do the mission anyway.

"How can I do that if I don't have legs anymore!" I wailed in terror.

Gabriel winced and scratched his cheek, realizing the misunderstanding.

"He means good luck, something like that. He's not going to cut off your legs," he explained patiently.

I stood up as if nothing had happened after hearing that, my mood shifting with the mercurial speed of someone under extreme stress.

"Anyway, he sent me here to tell you everything about his son," Gabriel said, showing the documents he was holding. "Everything is here, including pictures."

I was somewhat worried while looking at the papers. I couldn't read, and the documents might as well have been written in hieroglyphics for all the good they would do me.

"Don't worry, that's why I'm here, right?" Gabriel said reassuringly.

Gabriel said he would read everything in the document and tell me everything about Aron Nicastro. The name alone carried weight—it was clear that this young man was someone significant, someone whose actions could have far-reaching consequences.

"Aron?" I repeated, testing the name on my tongue.

"He's Padrino's adopted child who is currently outside the city. He doesn't just give Padrino headaches—he gives the government headaches too," Gabriel explained, his tone suggesting a mixture of admiration and concern.

I asked what specifically I needed to do, my practical mind already working on the logistics of my impossible task.

"You need to get close to Sir Aron. Find out all his movements and report them to Padrino because Padrino is worried that someday Aron will cause trouble that he will really have difficulty getting out of. One of those concerns is him having connections with other large and dangerous groups," Gabriel explained, his voice taking on the serious tone of someone delivering classified information.

I touched my chin thoughtfully, my mind racing with possibilities and complications.

"Does Aron hate his dad, so he does that to rebel?" I asked, trying to understand the psychology of my target.

The question hung in the air, and Gabriel's expression suggested that the answer was far more complicated than a simple yes or no. The relationship between Arthur Nicastro and his adopted son was clearly a source of tension that went deeper than typical father-son conflicts.

"It's... complicated," Gabriel said finally. "Aron isn't just rebelling—he's trying to prove something. To himself, to his father, to the world. And that makes him dangerous, because a man trying to prove himself will take risks that a rational person wouldn't."

I nodded slowly, beginning to understand the weight of what I was being asked to do. I wasn't just being asked to spy on a rebellious young man—I was being inserted into a complex family dynamic that could explode at any moment, taking me with it.

But what choice did I have? Behind me lay certain death at the hands of Truson or my father. Ahead lay uncertainty, danger, but also the possibility of survival. Sometimes, the devil you don't know is preferable to the one you do.

"When do I start?" I asked, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through my veins.