Chapter 8

"Mom?" The little boy peeks through the room, clutching his result sheet in his hand. He tilts his head to check if his mother is still there, but she doesn't say 'Alexlander' like she used to. With determination, he squeezes himself through the small opening of the door, even though he could have easily opened it wider. He walks into the room, looking around for any sign of her presence, but there is no one.

"Mom?" he calls out again, moving toward the bathroom door. She would usually sit on the bed, staring at nothing. She has never left that spot, so where could she possibly be? The little boy tries to reach the handle of the bathroom door, but it's too high for him. He knocks on the door repeatedly, but he doesn't hear anything.

Turning around, he walks out of the room and heads to his father's room to check if she's there.

"Father!" He knocks loudly on the door, but no one answers. As he reaches to knock again, his older brother approaches him. The little boy quickly runs to him.

"William, I can't find my mother. I wanted to show her my performance at school," he says to his 12-year-old brother, waving the result sheet in front of him.

William chuckles, "What's the use of showing it to her if all she will do is stare at it like a zombie?"

The little boy grits his teeth in anger. "I have told you not to call my mother a zombie again," he glares at his brother.

"Then what is she? She's nothing but a living corpse."

A zombie. That's what everyone calls his mom, and it breaks the little boy's heart every time.

"Lexis!" The little boy turns around as he hears his name. His eyes meet Erica, his friend, walking toward them with a smile on her face. The little boy's face lights up with hope as he decides to ask her; maybe she would know where his mother is.

"Lexis, what's the matter?" She asks, gently stroking his head.

"Erica, did you see my mom?" The little boy asks her, his eyes shimmering with tears.

"Your mom?" The six-year-old girl tilts her head, contemplating where his mother could be. "I don't know. Let's check downstairs," she suggests, taking the little boy's hand and leading him down the staircase. He follows her, and as they descend, they come into view of a perplexing scene.

His father sits on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, surrounded by a group of capos. William's mother is seated beside his father.

Confused and concerned, the little boy rushes over to his mother, kneeling in front of her. "Mom? Why are you kneeling? What happened?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

"Alexander," is the only word that escapes her lips, the same as always, as she continues to stare at him.

He turns to his father, seeking answers. "Father, why is Mom kneeling? Her knees would hurt," he pleads with his father for an explanation.

His father scoffs, delivering a harsh response. "Alexander, how many times must I tell you that this woman is not your mother? She's merely a living corpse, an exhibit for all of us," his father scolds, leaving the little boy bewildered and heartbroken.

"Get the gun, Lexis," his father orders, shocking the young boy with the severity of the situation and the task he's been assigned.

"Get the gun," his father repeats, and this time, it's clear he means it.

Reluctantly, the little boy walks to where the pistol is and takes it from the table. It's not the first time he's held a pistol; his father has occasionally shown it to him and his brother but has never taught them how to use it.

"Help your mother, Lexis. Life is already hard enough for her, and she can't continue to live like this. She has become a problem for us, and I don't want her to become a problem for the family in the future. So help her out," his father instructs.

The little boy stares at the pistol in his hands, his innocent eyes filled with confusion and fear as he turns to his father.

"How will I help her?" he asks innocently.

"Just pull the trigger, and she will live a peaceful life after that," his father responds, his words heavy with a grim finality.

The little boy looks at the pistol in his hands. Pull the trigger? He knows very well that doing so would end someone's life. He has seen his father do it to people countless times, and those people have never been seen again.

He lowers the gun and turns to his father, his voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "She's my mother. She will get hurt."

His father's anger flares, and he slams his hands on the table before springing up. "Stop being such a weakling and shoot her!" he yells at the little boy, his frustration evident.

The boy shakes his head frantically. He can't comprehend why his father would ask him to do such a terrible thing.

"No," he says, tears welling up in his eyes as he continues to shake his head vigorously.

His father grips his arm forcefully. "End your mother's suffering, Lexis; help her," he insists, desperation in his voice.

But the boy remains resolute. "I won't do that. It's bad. I won't hurt Mom."

"Fine, then. I'll ask someone else to do it," his father says coldly, releasing him and turning to his right-hand man.

"Just end this," he instructs his right-hand man before returning to his seat.

The right-hand man nods and takes out a gun from his pocket, aiming it at the boy's mother. Fear grips the little boy, and he rushes forward, clutching the man's leg.

"No, don't. Don't hurt my mom," he cries loudly, struggling to prevent the man from pulling the trigger. But the right-hand man pays him no mind and is prepared to shoot the boy's mother.

In a desperate move, the boy positions himself in front of his mother, using his small frame to shield her from harm. His father screams at him to move away, but he remains steadfast. Then, in a surprising turn of events, the boy rushes to the right-hand man and tries to wrest the gun from him, but the man is stronger and holds onto it tightly. The boy's tiny hands grip the gun as he struggles to take it away from the man, who in turn, grabs both of the boy's hands and turns him around to face his mother.

As the trigger is pulled, the gunshot rings out, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. The little boy, still clutching the gun, is thrown backward by the recoil. He scrambles to his feet, his heart pounding with terror, and his eyes fixate on the lifeless body of his mother sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.

Reality crashes down upon him like a heavy weight. He gazes at the gun in his trembling hands, and the horrifying truth becomes painfully clear. The magnitude of what he has just been a part of dawns on him, and he is left to grapple with the unimaginable horror of the situation.

"I shot her, I hurt Mom," the little boy whispers, his voice filled with anguish. His tiny hands tremble as he continues to stare at the lifeless body of his mother, and tears stream down his cheeks. The weight of what he has done and the heart-wrenching scene before him are too much for his young soul to bear.

He falls to his knees, curling up into a ball as his body shakes violently with grief and remorse. The world around him blurs into a painful haze as he grapples with the overwhelming guilt and devastation of the moment.

**********

*Present*

"Underboss! Underboss! Please wake up! Please!" Erica's voice fills the room as she desperately tries to rouse Lexis from his troubled slumber. His shirt is drenched in sweat, and he tosses his head from side to side in discomfort, trapped in a nightmare he can't escape. Despite her frantic efforts, he remains unresponsive, trapped in the grip of his own subconscious.

"Underboss! Lexis, please!" Erica pleads, shaking his shoulders with mounting concern. She has been attempting to wake him for what feels like an eternity, but he remains trapped in his distressing dream.

Then, as if released from a tormenting grip, Lexis's eyes snap open, and he jolts upright in bed, gasping for air.

"G... Get me... Get..." He struggles to articulate his words.

Erica quickly comprehends his request and rushes to the table beside the bed, flinging open the cupboard to retrieve his medication. She places the pills in his trembling hand and provides him with a glass of water, her eyes filled with worry and care.

"It is the nightmare? Has it started again? You really should see a therapist," Erica implores, her voice tinged with panic. She's pleaded with him countless times to seek professional help for the recurring nightmares and the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) he exhibits, but he continues to resist. It's evident that he's still grappling with the trauma, even though he denies it.

He shakes his head wearily, "It's fine, just a nightmare."

It's been a week since he last had one, but they always return. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep without battling his own mind. It's only been two hours since he managed to close his eyes, and yet, the nightmares have returned. He climbs out of bed and retrieves the cup of coffee Erica has prepared, then moves to the window. He takes a sip of the steaming brew and gazes out, lost in thought.

"I have a feeling the consigliere is up to something, underboss," Erica voices her concern from behind him.

"He's always up to something; just leave him be," he dismisses with a hint of frustration.

"But this time, I just feel..." Erica begins, trying to articulate her unease.

He cuts her off, his tone unyielding, "His plans are as foolish as he is. Nothing good ever comes of them, so why would it be any different this time?"

Erica persists, "He brought in a girl and didn't even take her to the hideout, but to his room. That's what's bothering me..."

He sighs, weariness evident in his voice, "He's probably taken an interest in her. He'll dispose of her when he grows tired, or his wife might beat him to it."

Concerned for him, Erica shifts the conversation to a different topic. "About your nightmares..."

He interrupts her, unwilling to delve into the subject. "Let's not talk about that. It's not a big deal; I've just been stressed lately, and that's why they've returned."

Erica simply nods in obedience, though she remains skeptical about his claim that the nightmares are just a result of stress.

"Have the supplies been transported?" he inquires, shifting the conversation to business matters.

"Yes, Underboss, and the payment has been made in full," she replies promptly.

He acknowledges her response with a nod, then moves to the table and retrieves a cigarette from the pack. He lights it and takes a seat on the couch, allowing tendrils of smoke to curl around him. Just as he settles in, his phone vibrates on the table, prompting him to check the caller ID.

"Father," he states curtly into the phone's speaker, exhaling a puff of smoke as he listens to his father on the other end.

"I want to see you. I was told you were at the mansion earlier," his father's voice comes through the line.

He sighs and absentmindedly plays with the piercing beneath his lower lip. Seeking some peace and solitude, he had left the family mansion earlier and retreated to his own place, which is a mere 40-minute drive away.

"Yes, I will be there," he replies before ending the call and placing the phone back on the table.

Erica respectfully exits the room as he prepares for the day. He disposes of the cigarette butt in the ashtray and stands up, shedding his night robe to reveal a body adorned with tattoos and scarred from battles and gunshots. His fingertips trace the lines of his tattoos, a silent testament to his tumultuous past. Sighing, he proceeds into the bathroom to freshen up.

Once he's done, he selects a sharp black suit from his closet and dresses in it with precision. He retrieves a Rolex from his collection of wristwatches and fastens it securely.

Descending the golden staircase that leads to his opulent living room, he exudes an air of confidence and power. The first two buttons of his black shirt remain undone, revealing the chiseled contours of his chest.

"Good day, sir," Ron, his personal assistant at the company, greets him, though his shaky legs and pallid complexion betray his anxiety. "Sir, the maid has refused to return to work again, and I..."

Lexis interrupts him, already aware of the situation. "You did your best to convince her, but you couldn't change her mind. I understand," he reassures Ron.

Ron is an average-height young man with a pleasant face, but he knows he can never rival his boss's striking looks. Lexis's features seem almost otherworldly, a stark contrast to those around him.

Lexis extends his hand, and Ron hands him the phone, a device reserved for matters outside of the mafia's business.

"I don't need a maid anyway; it's very uncomfortable. I have you, anyway," Lexis remarks casually, causing Ron's eyes to widen in alarm. Is his boss implying that he'll be tasked with maid duties? Ron realizes he'll need to find a replacement quickly.

"Sir, I can just em..." Ron starts to suggest, but Lexis interrupts him.

"What are my schedules, Ron?" Lexis asks, making his way towards the exit of the room. Ron hurries behind him, retrieving a book from his bag and flipping through it.

As Lexis waits for the door to recognize his face, Ron provides the information, his face beaming with pride as if he's accomplished something remarkable.

"You have a meeting at 3:00 pm, and you also need to be in Japan in three days, by 6:00 am," Ron reports enthusiastically.

"Good," Lexis responds tersely before heading out. Ron follows suit immediately.

"I'll be at the company later; I have something to take care of first," Lexis informs him before heading to the garage. Ron rushes to open the door for him and then takes his place in the driver's seat.

As Ron gets ready to start the car, Lexis stops him abruptly.

"Wait," Lexis commands. Erica joins them, slipping into the passenger seat beside him, before Ron initiates the car and begins driving them toward the family mansion. Lexis exits the car and proceeds into the mansion, making his way directly to his father's meeting room.

Richard Lawal, his father, occupies the head of the table, with William seated beside him. Lexis sighs, then takes a seat.

"You could at least say hello to your father," Richard remarks, toying with his beard.

Lexis remains silent, merely fiddling with a golden ring on his thumb.

"Why did you summon us, Father?" William inquires, shifting in his chair.

Richard turns his attention to William. "How are you preparing for the girls?"

"That's not a big deal, Father," William replies dismissively.

Richard nods before turning his attention to Lexis. "You're over 28 years old, Lexis. Time is passing quickly. If you aspire to become a boss, you should start thinking about starting a family. Alhaji Bawa has a very beautiful daughter, her name is Rahila. He's recently acquired significant assets and gained influence in businesses beyond his family. You know how the game goes; money talks. Not only is his family prosperous in business, but they also have strong connections with various gangs and mafia families in the country and even abroad. I believe you're well aware of that."

Lexis sighs, his eyes rolling in exasperation. His father's endless prattle is pushing him to the edge. He clenches his right hand into a fist, and his other hand pounds on the table, creating a resounding echo in the room.

"Let's not go down this path, Father," Lexis retorts, his hoarse voice cutting through Richard's rambling. Richard stares at him in shock, while William shifts uncomfortably in his seat, watching Lexis as he struggles to regain composure.

Lexis lowers his tone, adopting a gentler approach. "Forgive me, Father, but there's no way I'm considering that man's daughter..."

"This is business, Lexis," Richard insists, his frown deepening. "You stand to gain significantly from this arrangement, and it would put you on a more secure path to becoming the next mafia boss. Alhaji Bawa would be completely out of the picture."

Lexis licks his lips and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. Lately, his father had been relentless in discussing this matter. His father's obsession with wealth knows no bounds, and he's willing to disregard any potential trouble that Alhaji Bawa might bring if it means securing more money.

"I can't simply bring a stranger into the family, Father. Do you expect me to trust her as my wife, knowing how untrustworthy her father is?"

"That's only because you haven't met her yet," Richard counters. "How can you know if you can trust her if you don't give it a chance? You might actually like her, you don't know."

Lexis glances at William and shakes his head in disagreement with his father's perspective.

"Why the f**k are you staring at me like that?" William asks glaring at him. He has been trying to keep calm but Lexis keeps throwing him glances, shaking his head at him.

Lexis remains silent but shakes his head in response. "I need to get to the company now, Father. If there's any important business, please call me." He stands up from the chair, clearly frustrated.

Richard's brows furrow, and he purses his lips. "We will continue this discussion later."

Lexis lets out an exasperated sigh. "I wouldn't mind meeting the woman if her father isn't Alhaji Bawa. I know you have a liking for him, but that man brings nothing but trouble, and you know it. Find another woman, or I'll choose my own wife."

"Choose your own wife?" Richard scoffs. "Just marry her, Lexis. Your brother also wanted to choose his own wife, and I allowed it. But what happened afterward? They never stop fighting, and she runs away at the slightest issue."

"If she hadn't been the daughter of Martin Akinwole, one of the biggest business tycoons in the country, would you have allowed me to marry her?" William interjects with a frown.

"At least I gave you the opportunity to marry a woman of your choice, and you ended up with someone who clings to you like a leech. I still can't stand her," Richard grumbles.

William rolls his eyes and says, "Well then, I could just marry Rahila instead," teasingly. Richard only shakes his head in response.

He then turns to Lexis and says, "Let's discuss this later. Right now, there's something important I need you to handle. Please have a seat."

Lexis sighs and complies, saying, "I'm listening."

Xoxo