Chapter 25

In a world where powerful men resembled vultures, preying on the vulnerable and acting as conglomerates of wealth, money laundering, and exploitation, loyalty was their paramount virtue. These men held sway over cities and towns, each controlling their own domains.

The outnumbered "Good" individuals stood against them. However, morales of immorality outlived, and spread more than morals.

One such powerful man was Mr. Matthew Dawson Sr., an esteemed banker and a highly skilled broker. In his thirty years of experience, he had maintained an impeccable track record, leaving no trace of illicit money linked back to him.

He engaged in philanthropy, supporting fundraisers for homeless children and assisting impoverished neighborhoods with food and a better quality of life. His connections and influence grew, and two years ago, a friend he had supported during a senate election rewarded him with a position in the New York State government.

Mr. Dawson was married to Gia Russo, an Italian woman from a respected family. They had two children, Claudia and Matthew.

Matthew Sr.'s background and connections made him the key to a secure financial haven. If he handled your money, no regulatory authority or financial crime organization would dare question its legitimacy. Moreover, Mr. Dawson possessed a shrewd business sense and knew when to be mean.

After Brian unlocked the heavy steel cell door, he playfully dangled the keys while humming a tune. His gaze roamed from Hanna's face down to her feet, then back up to her figure.

"Come on, sweet girl, to your tent O'...," he said with a sinister undertone.

Hanna peered inside the cell and her expression turned sour.

This was not the same cell she had occupied before. Now, there was only one girl inside. Hanna hesitated to enter the cell. She could attempt to run, but they had taken all her belongings, rendering her escape futile. They would eventually catch her.

"Could I please have a bottle of water?" Hanna asked Brian in a tiring gentle tone.

"Sure," Brian responded, his reply sounding awkward.

Unexpectedly, his demeanor shifted, and he became rude, forcefully grabbing Hanna's arms and pushing her into the cell. He lightly slapped her buttocks, mimicking the behavior of a pimp, and licked his lips.

No man had ever touched Hanna in such a demeaning way. Despite her appearance, she exuded an air of untouchable strength, like a queen riding upon a chariot of unicorns. She always carried herself with an air of dignity.

But Brian's absurd treatment crossed a line. "I pray you pay for this, Brian!" Hanna declared, her voice filled with a mix of anger and sadness, as she read his name from his badge.

Brian simply laughed it off, emphasizing that Hanna had no knowledge of her whereabouts and that she was nothing more than a disposable "hoe" for the night.

Brian, a thin-looking 29-year-old, happened to be the deputy's favorite among his peers.

His face, marked by deep-set wrinkles and a perpetual scowl, seemed to hold an ugliness that extended far beyond his physical appearance.

Every word that escaped his lips was like a venomous dart, filled with disdain and contempt. He reveled in the power he held, using it as a tool to inflict pain and discomfort upon others.

His character was a black abyss of immorality, lacking any sense of empathy or compassion. He took pleasure in belittling and degrading those who crossed his path, finding joy in their misery. His badmouth knew no bounds, spewing insults and derogatory remarks with a twisted delight that made the skin crawl.

His thin stature, ugly appearance, and despicable character combined to create a personification of irritation and revulsion.

As he continued to hum, his tune grew more distinct. It was cold inside the cell. Hanna folded her arms tightly, trying to stay warm as she slumped on the long concrete seat. This slab served as a place to sit, though in certain cells some of the more arrogant inmates would try to claim it for themselves.

Her gaze turned towards the other girl in the cell, who seemed strangely at ease. Curiosity welled up within Hanna, but thoughts of Matthew quickly overshadowed her curiosity. Was Matthew free now? She couldn't help but think he was cruel for leaving her behind.

Shaking her head, she couldn't escape the repeated echoes of Mr Dawson's words in her mind. Overwhelmed with sadness, she covered her face, unsure whether to cry though the urge was welling up inside her.

Noticing Hanna's distress, the girl in the corner spoke up. "Hey, hi. I'm Stacie. I'm from around here. What about you? Looks like you're not from these parts."

Hanna slowly lowered her hands to look at Stacie, who continued talking. "I have a little sister at home with my mom. I work at Pekas - it's a place that serves grilled meats and drinks. I was on my way back last night when I got stopped and arrested..."

Finding her voice, Hanna replied, "I'm Hanna. And yeah, I'm not from around here. Why were you arrested, then? Because I honestly didn't do anything wrong."

"You are so pretty," Stacie said with a smile, causing Hanna to feel better yet perplexed. She was still preoccupied with thoughts of how to secure her freedom.

Hanna appreciated the compliment but couldn't help but express her concern, "You seem so at ease, just like the girls in the previous cell. Aren't you worried about being implicated for something you didn't do?" Stacie stared at her, lost in thought for a moment, intensifying Hanna's curiosity about her response.

Before Stacie could respond, the morning bells signaled 12 o'clock. Time seemed to fly by in the cell.

Across town, Mr. Dawson emerged from an urgent meeting with his hotel company's board of directors.

He had just received a call from his wife Gia, checking on his return flight to New York. Dawson estimated his arrival in 30 minutes to an hour but wanted to wrap things up quickly.

"Love you," he said, ending the call.

That's when his assistant approached with a worried expression. "Sir, I have troubling news. Jim Russo is in town and requesting a meeting. You know how impatient and forceful he can be when he doesn't get his way."

Dawson sighed heavily. Russo was an important client but also notoriously difficult to please. He would have to cancel his flight and deal with the situation, no matter how much his assistant disliked the man.

It seemed his day was about to get much more complicated.

Jim Russo was a man shrouded in mystery. While he maintained expensive properties abroad and had significant business interests within the country, very little was truly known about his origins or early life.

What was clear was that Russo now commanded a sizable criminal empire as one of the most powerful mob bosses on the East Coast. Through intimidation and violence, he had established a network of loyal foot soldiers who were willing to do anything for their don. Stories swirled of men who had crossed Russo meeting grisly fates, their brutalized bodies left as warnings to those who might defy him.

No one dared refuse a meeting when Russo came calling. His impatience and short temper were legendary, and his retaliation against those who kept him waiting was swift and merciless. Dawson knew that cancelling his flight and delaying his return home was a risk, but ignoring Russo altogether would be sheer folly.

As his assistant drove him to the designated meeting place - an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town - Dawson felt a knot of anxiety form in his stomach. What did the shadowy mafia don want this time? And how far would he go to ensure he got it?

Dawson steeled himself as he exited the car, steeling himself for a tense encounter with the most ruthless man in the city...

After what felt like hours, the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape. The weather remained normal, neither too hot nor too cold. Hanna walked along the road with her head down, desperately hoping to come across a junction or a sign that would guide her to safety.

She couldn't believe she had managed to escape from the confines of the cell. The roads she walked on were dry and still in the process of being developed, giving her a sense of isolation. She couldn't help but wonder why a police station would be situated in such a secluded and desolate area.

And her battery was dead…

Letting out a heavy sigh, Hanna's legs grew tired from carrying her, and exhaustion settled into her bones. Every moment leading up to this point felt like a blur, and all she craved now was a good meal to replenish her energy.

As she walked, deep in thought, four dark vehicles suddenly appeared on the road up ahead.

Four black convoys screeched to a halt beside her, their engines roaring to a halt. She froze in her tracks, her heart pounding in her chest. The doors of the vehicles swung open, and a group of stern-looking men stepped out. They approached Hanna, their presence commanding attention and exuding an air of authority.

"Miss, it's not safe to be walking out here alone after dark," one called out. "Why don't you let us give you a ride until we can get you to a town or station?" The tenor voice erupted from one of the cars.

Hanna eyed them warily, memories of her escape from imprisonment still raw. But her legs ached and night was falling fast, with no other help in sight. Better the devil you know, she thought, and nodded slowly.

She climbed carefully into the backseat of the first car, muscles tensed and ready to flee again if needed, though she hoped her luck would finally be turning. The men got back in as well, and the convoy continued down the lonely road under the emerging stars, Hanna wondering what new dangers or deliverances the night might hold.

Back at school.

Inside the lodge, Johnson and his friends sat together chatting and laughing. Johnson was recounting his wild night out at the clubs in De Rossi. "You should have seen Diane on the dance floor!" he said with a grin. "The way her body moved, I thought I was gonna lose my mind."

The others responded with smiles, gasps of surprise, and playful teasing. They hung on Johnson's every word as he embellished the story further, describing his fantasies about what could have happened between him and the beautiful Diane.

While Johnson held court, regaling his adoring audience, Matt sat alone in a shadowy corner of the lodge. He listened to the laughter and merriment drifting over from Johnson's group, but found no joy in their revelry. Since returning from his ordeal, Matt had kept to himself, struggling in lonely silence with sobriety and inner turmoil.

No one besides Hanna even knew he was back. As the celebrations and stories continued without him, Matt sank deeper into dark thoughts. Flashes of his time in jail played unbidden in his mind—the jeers of other inmates, the cold emptiness of the cell. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, as if trying to hold himself together.

At that moment, all Matt wanted was a drink to drown out the memories and noises. But he had promised Hanna he would stay sober. And so he remained in the shadows, watching Johnson hold court while he battled his private demons alone, wondering if he would ever truly feel like part of their world again.