Pawn
The flashing red and blue lights painted everything in sickening color—strobing across the walls, bodies, blood. Officers moved in and out of the once pristine mansion, stepping carefully over broken glass, torn furniture, and corpses that hadn't yet been zipped into bags.
Angela sat outside. On the curb. In the cold.
A silver thermal blanket was draped around her shoulders, but it did nothing to stop the way her body shook. Her palms were streaked with blood. Her socks soaked. Her lips blue from more than the night air.
She was crying so hard her breath came out in hiccups.
A woman with kind eyes and latex gloves crouched beside her. “Is there anything you need, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
Angela couldn’t look at her. She choked on her tears, eyes unfocused, and muttered in a cracked whisper, “I just want to be left alone.”
The woman nodded, brushing some hair away from Angela’s damp face. “I’ll be right over there,” she said. “If you need anything… just call, okay?”
Angela didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
The moment the woman stood and left, silence fell again. Except it wasn’t really silence. Not to Angela.
Inside her mind, the screams didn't stop.
The moment Marcus had gone down, bleeding from his mouth. The sound of the machete tearing through Dylan. The flash of Vanessa's throat being slit. Her mother crying out before she dropped like a rag doll. Her father struggling, roaring, fighting until his back was torn open like paper and he was shot in the head.
Angela’s stomach twisted violently. Her lips moved without sound. Her hands pressed against her ears as if she could block out the noise of everything that just went down.
“Hey there,” a voice said softly, a warm baritone.
Angela’s head jerked up.
A man stood beside her. Dark hair, tailored suit, and eyes so pale they were nearly silver-blue. His features were calm. His smile was gentle.
Angela flinched. “Who are you?”
The man knelt beside her, keeping his voice low and kind. “Charles,” he said. “Charles Ackerman.”
She blinked at him.
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a small chuckle, easing onto the curb beside her. “I didn’t expect you to. But I was… a friend of your father’s. I worked closely with him.”
Angela didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know anyone in her father’s inner circle. She had just turned thirteen.
“I want you to know something,” Charles said, his voice now slow, measured. “I’m so sorry. No one deserves to go through what you just went through tonight.”
Her lips quivered. “Why would someone do this?” she whispered. “Why would someone kill them?”
He sighed through his nose, the sound grave. “Because… your parents were strong. Brave. And sometimes… brave people uncover things that bad people want to keep buried.”
Angela’s tears welled again. “Who?”
Charles met her gaze.
“Il Serpente Dorato.”
He let the words linger.
Then, softly, “The Golden Serpents.”
—
Angela sat on the floor. Her back pressed to the far wall of her bedroom. Her knees drawn to her chest. Her arms wrapped tight around herself as she cried.
Silent tears slid down her face.
The same man who sat beside her that night. Who wiped her tears. Who promised justice. Who took her in.
Charles Ackerman.
All this time…
All these years he trained her.
Fed her directives. Sent her into the field. Handled her intel.
Built her into a perfect weapon.
Not for justice.
But for them.
Angela’s hand clutched her own shirt, twisting the fabric against her heart like she could smother the betrayal.
“He used me.”
Used her as a pawn. As a spy. As a means to protect the very men who slaughtered her family.
A raw sob ripped from her chest. Her throat burned. She tried to breathe but the pain in her lungs spread fast. Her entire body broke, folding in on itself, and she burst into tears.
Not silent this time.
She cried.
Wildly. Loudly. Violently.
She cried until the sobs shook her bones.
Until her throat was hoarse.
Until her heart ached with the weight of betrayal.
A knock came at the door and Angela froze.
The handle jiggled.
“Dee?” Adriano's voice called through the door.
Her entire body tensed.
“Diamond… please open the door.”
Her voice came out hoarse, trembling. “Adriano… please…” she whispered. “Just go away.”
Outside, Adriano stood pressed to the doorframe, palms flat on the wood. He lowered his head and sighed.
“I can hear you crying,” he said softly.
He was met with silence.
“I know you hate me right now,” he added. “You have every right to. I was a fucking idiot. I hurt you. I accused you of shit that wasn’t even fair. I treated you like…”
He trailed off.
She still didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, firmer now, like the words were crawling out from someplace deeper. “I’m sorry. I was jealous. And stupid. And insecure. And I let all that mess get into my head instead of listening to the woman I love.”
Silence.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said. “I want to make up for it. I want to fix it. Just… please. Let me in.”
She was quiet for what felt like hours.
Then all of a sudden, the door unlocked with a click.
Adriano’s breath caught.
The handle turned, and slowly, the door creaked open.
She stood there.
Her eyes were red. Her cheeks streaked with tears.
“Diamond,” Adriano said, his face filled with remorse and regret, “I'm so sorry, I—”
“Did you just say you love me?”