The Mafia's Bride The Auctioning

The tap of the pen on the table had been going on for less than five minutes, and it was already creating chaos in my head. I needed to think, but there was nothing.

No clue.

No evidence.

I was just staring at the footage, the only footage we could get our hands on and it only involved the man dying. The footage was tampered with, and we were here looking at a dead man.

"Did you see anything?" Kamal spoke from my side, and I threw my hands up in surrender.

"Nothing. Three murder cases in one week, five people murdered in the case, and not a single detail leading to this killer bee that suddenly came from... the land of the dead?" I huffed in annoyance.

"But what if that was the case?" I glared at Kamal and the stupid words that were about to come out of his mouth. "A serial killer died a week ago, and out of the blue, another comes up. What if he is not dead but pretended to be?" My mind railed in different directions.

"That's a good idea..." I stood up, reaching for the drawer.

"It is? Well, of course, it..."

"No. Your idea of having the dead being brought back to life is absolutely stupid. I'm speaking of the serial killer's background. Friends? Family? Anyone that seems like a perfect replacement. You never know if there's an agency connected to this." I picked up his file to search for anything, any clue, and... bingo!

I stared at the red-haired woman in the photo with him. Perhaps that's his wife, and that might just lead us to more things.

"Kamal, make a research on everything and everyone involving Peter Hans. Something doesn't seem right, even if he has been dead for a week. Jenny, get any information you can about the dead man in the footage."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"I must get all the reports by tomorrow, 4 p.m. Do not fucking slack or I'll have you fed to the dogs!" Both of them jumped, but they knew I was not joking about anything I said. "...Have a lovely night."

I stripped my badge as I stepped out of the station before driving home. I'd been out for two hours, and it had been nothing but one murder to another. But what do they really gain from killing people?

Taking a corner, I realized my front porch lights were on... My lights are never left on. I parked a few blocks away with my gun strapped in my waistband. I walked quietly to the house. I had no visitors coming, and no one had the keys to my house. The neighborhood was quiet, and it was exactly 11 p.m.

My senses heightened as I picked up movement in the dark through the window. There were two people, one in the living room, one in my room. I pulled my gun out, holding it to the side of my head, ready to fire, before I unlocked the back door quietly.

My nostrils flared as I walked in the dark. None of them spoke, but I could hear footsteps in my room.

"Hands over your head!" I growled and flipped the lights on, my gun pointed at his head... at my father's head. "...Papa!" I yelled in annoyance. "...I could have shot you! What are you doing here?"

"Don't be rude to your father!" my mother snapped, and I looked at them unbelievably.

"You break into my house, unannounced, knowing I could kill you!" I yelled at her, and she put her hand over her chest dramatically. "...Jesus! What the hell are you both doing in my house?" I really did not care about their God-forsaken emotions, for I know they certainly don't have one.

"You leave home and you've lost your manners, young lady. Apologize to your mother." He reached for his wife.

"I certainly don't remember having one when you both disowned me!" Mama gasped while my father looked at me with eyes that could kill.

"You are a disgrace to the family."

"I do not have a family! You chose your sweet little Dolores to be proud of because she's pretty and looks like Mama. But I chose to become the law, and guess what I get? Hatred. And I also get hate for looking like Abuela. If by the morning you are not out of my house, I will arrest you for trespassing!"

"According to the law, you are our daughter. Or do we need to remind you of what the law is?" Papa's cold voice pierced through my skin, and I was suddenly reminded of the cold basement.

"What brings you here, Papa?" I glared at him, still holding my gun and pointing it to his forehead. I was tempted to take his life, to let him be dead like he thought I would be.

"You will return home and get married to your betrothed." My heart skipped a beat.

"I do not have a betrothed."

"You do now." He pulled a folded paper from his pants and placed it on the counter. "If you are worried whether it is illegal or not, don't worry, it is a legally arranged marriage."

"Leave my house." I clicked the gun, and he narrowed his eyes at me. I shot the wall two inches above his head. "...I will not miss the next one," I warned, and he knew I wasn't that little girl anymore, the one who would keep her mouth sealed or run away.

Mama shuddered in fear after a scream, but I didn't blink or look away from my father's eyes. He grabbed his wife before heading to the door, but he paused.

"Be at the house tomorrow by 8 a.m. Your spouse wants to see you."

"Tell him to wait. A woman will take her time to get ready." He opened his mouth to speak, and I pointed the gun at him before he walked out of the room.

The gun dropped to the floor as my entire body shook. I grabbed the paper from the table before opening it.

"I, Alvaro Jimenez, agree to auction Isabela Rios..." The paper dropped from my hand.

Auction?