The Factory

***Disclaimer: This chapter contains a sensitive topic and has a brutal scene. Please read with care!"****

The five women that David was conversing with Marco were seated in a small cafe.

In a quiet corner of a small cafe tucked away in a quiet street, five women sat huddled around a single table. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across their weary faces. Their drinks had long since gone cold, untouched and forgotten. What filled the air wasn't conversation—it was fear.

The first woman, with long lashes framing her hollow, red-rimmed eyes, finally broke the silence. Her voice trembled.

"Why is Tony Gambino coming after us again? Wasn't taking our families enough? Hasn't he destroyed our lives already? I didn't even go to the Police after what he did to my parents. I thought if I stayed quiet, he would leave me alone."

Two tears slipped from the corner of her eye and quickly brushed away before anyone could offer sympathy.

"A monster like him doesn't need a reason for destruction," the second woman said, her curly brown hair bouncing as she shook her head in anger. "Since he killed my husband, I have been living like a fugitive—never at peace, always in fear. I kept my head down, too. And now look where that got us."

The third woman, her tanned skin glistening with tension, clenched her fists. "We were wrong to stay silent. I have a little girl. She is the only thing I have left. I work day and night just to keep us afloat, and now I have to be afraid again? For both of us?" Her voice cracked with rage. "If I had the chance, I would kill every last one of the Gambinos myself—just to stop them from terrorising people like us."

She glanced at the other four, then rolled up her sleeve and thrust her arm forward. "I didn't wear that damn watch the person from the chat group sent. Did any of you?"

The others shook their heads silently, one by one revealing their bare wrists.

"I don't care how often the person (Miracle) from the chat group claims they are working against the Gambinos," she added, voice sharp with suspicion. "For all we know, this could be one of Tony's games. A new trick to flush us out."

They had all been contacted by mysterious figures—Amara, Miracle and Dane—claiming to be building resistance against the Gambino family. Watches were delivered to each of them, allegedly a way to stay connected and safe. But none of the women had dared to wear them.

In Gambino's circle, whispers circulated that a woman was behind the recent exposure of his illegal web crime empire. The Gambino family had already identified the first fifty women—each one connected to the lives they had shattered. And if Tony had his way, none of them would live long enough to fight back.

He made a chilling decision to gather all the female survivors of the family he had ruthlessly destroyed. He intended to break them to extract the truth behind the audacity to come after his business.

These women had found each other's numbers from Miracle's secret online chat group and started messaging privately. They decided to meet, but some of the other women in the group were too scared to join them. So, they refused to leave their home, and among them, five women gathered the courage and planned to meet.

The cafe was where five narrow lanes branched out like veins from a heart. It looked unassuming, almost forgotten. But to Marco's men, it was the stage for what they thought would be an easy snatch job.

Two men were stationed in each lane, waiting patiently for their cue. After nearly four hours, the women finally exited the cafe. Each woman walked in a different direction—one down each lane.

David's voice crackled through their Bluetooth earpieces, filled with smug excitement. "They are approaching. Apply the sedatives. We take them now."

"This is too damn easy," one of the men muttered, slipping a syringe into his pocket.

Another smirked. "Time for a party!"

The streets were quiet—ideal for an ambush. Most families in this district had parents working double shifts, kids still at school, and elders either homebound or still sitting inside the cafe. Not a soul in sight.

As the women approached the shadowed alley ways, the men emerged like wolves from the mist. One reached for a woman, clamping a hand over her mouth while another moved to grab her arms.

But before he could lay a finger on her— a crack sound was heard.

A sudden, brutal impact smashed against his skull. His knees buckled. Another man turned just in time to see a blur of movement—then pain exploded in his temple. Within seconds, ten men were down and laid on the ground unconscious. And soon, they were stripped of their clothes.

Their wrists were bound behind them with fuzzy pink handcuffs, mouths gagged with torn cloth, and blindfolds knotted tight. They twirled the very syringe that was meant for them.

"That's karma, dogs." Said one of the women.

The men—Marco's loyal dogs—were dumped like discarded garbage in a narrow alley, stacked one on top of another beside a rusting dumpster, bruised, humiliated, and stripped of every trace of power. It wasn't just five women. Another fifteen of them were present near the cafe. They laid the perfect trap. And the other thirty waited inside the abandoned factory like shadows ready to strike.

The women were no longer victims. They stood tall and defiant, ready to take action against Gimbino.

They took a single man with them, David. He was the leader, the one they observed issuing orders. They had pulled him into a dark truck. He was the only one without a syringe given. They needed him awake. He groaned, and his bruises bloomed across his face, and shame clung to him like sweat. His eyes darted, searching for an escape he couldn't find.

The woman with tanned skin leaned into his ear, her voice like a cold blade against flesh. "The leash just snapped, darling. Now it's your turn to run."

All twenty women stared down at him. They looked unapologetic and unafraid.

"You have the tiniest one out of all ten," one of them said with a dry smirk, her gaze flicking down.

David jerked his knees together, pressing his thighs to cover his family jewel under the weight of their stares.

"Let me go," he growled, voice trembling despite his effort to sound strong. "Tying my hands won't stop me."

Another woman rolled her eyes. "That's why we brought this." She zapped him with a taser, and his body seized before slumping against the floorboards with a pathetic thud.

Once they reached the abandoned factory, the other 30 women awaited them. The place reeked of dampness and rusted despair. The scent of decay clawed through the air, clinging to the rotting walls. The tiles, once polished, now lay hidden beneath dirt and time. Pipes above groaned like dying beasts, and broken windows screamed whenever the wind whispered through.

David was tied to a crooked metal chair in the centre of the room. One woman grabbed a bucket of freezing water and threw it on him.

He jolted awake with a gasp, breath hitching, body shaking.

A tall woman with sharp eyes stepped forward. "You are going to bring Marco here."

David blinking his eyes, he scoffed, masking fear with mockery. "Marco doesn't answer to me. You really think they will fall for this circus act?"

She didn't blink. "We will see."

She nodded. Another woman stepped out of the shadows with a taser in her hand to etch fear, stroke by stroke. David looked at her with a puzzle.'These women have grown crazy.' He thought.

The game had changed. And the Gambino family was about to realise that the women they thought were victims… had become an army.

"Even if you kill me," the man spat, defiant despite the bruises blooming on his skin, "Marco won't come out of his hole. He doesn't show up for rats like you."

SLAP! The sound cracked like a whip in the stale air of the abandoned factory.

The tall woman slapped the man. "Speak only what's required," she hissed, her palm still stinging, her expression carved from stone. Her breath trembled with fury—not from his insult but from the memory of what he and men like him had taken from her.

These women had lost everything because of the Gambino family. They were living a hollow life filled with fear and depression.

All around her, the other women stood still—shadows of grief made flesh. Women who had once been daughters, wives, mothers, and sisters. Women who once had warm kitchens, soft lullabies, and Sunday dinners. Until the Gambino family ripped it all apart.

They had lived in silence for too long—haunted by the empty chairs at their tables, by phone calls that never came, by photographs clutched to their chests at night, soaked in tears. No bodies to bury. No closure. Just vanishing acts wrapped in horror.

But when the pain found each other—through one message, then another, and then fifty souls—all broken in the same places—something had shifted. Their grief turned into fire, and that fire brought them here.

The curly-haired woman stepped forward now, her heels clicking sharply against the cracked tiles. The taser in her hand hummed with life, but her voice was calmer than the silence before a storm.

"You are going to help us get Marco here," she said, kneeling just enough to meet his eyes. "And don't even think about speaking crap again." She tilted her head toward his exposed groin. "Unless you want me to turn your family jewels into fried dumplings. Being his hired man, I am sure you know what can make him come out of his rabbit hole."

The man's breath caught. His legs twitched. The remaining pride on his face drained faster than the colour in his cheeks.

"I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want," he gasped, nodding frantically. "Just—please, not that." The reality finally dawned upon him, forcing him to surrender.

The curly-haired woman gave him a long, unblinking look before bringing David's phone and bringing it near his mouth. "Good boy."

She dialled Marco's number and pressed the speaker button. Every woman in the room leaned forward, a tense silence gripping the air like a drawn bowstring.

The call connected on the first ring.

"What the hell took you so long to call?" Marco's voice came through, grating, sharp, and cruel.

David gulped. The taser nestled near his thigh gave him the performance of a lifetime. "Boss, we are at a hotel," he lied smoothly. "Just entertaining ourselves before moving them to the container."

A collective flinch passed through the room like a shockwave. 'That's what these men's intentions were?'

"You idiots, should you not tell me first that the task has been successful?" Marco's anger crackled through the line.

"Boss," David said quickly, "We have a gift for you. You will want to reward us." The line went quiet for a second. "We have got a 12-year-old girl waiting for you."

The moment the words left his mouth, it was like a bomb had gone off.

Every sound in the factory vanished. Even the wind that had been howling through the broken windows seemed to stop and listen. The light itself dimmed as if the world recoiled in disgust.

The women froze. Twenty hearts skipped, and thirty stomachs turned.

Among them were mothers whose daughters had vanished between the ages of eleven and thirteen. Their faces now flashed before their eyes—tiny braids, missing teeth, pink backpacks. The horrifying thought of what Marco and his men might have inflicted on their children threatened to overwhelm them, a nightmare too terrible to even imagine. They never found their remains to inter, either.

Tears brimmed in their eyes, and hands trembled, yet they held themselves firm, fueled by the fire of revenge. There was a tense silence for a few seconds that felt like ages as they anxiously awaited Marco's response.

Soon, their hard work paid off.

"Which hotel?" he asked, succumbing to the lust. Finally, Marco took the bait.

"It's the regular place, Hotel Sinn," the man replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I'll be there in half an hour. Make sure she is ready when I arrive, and give her the stuff," Marco instructed before disconnecting the call.

'The stuff?' the women wondered, their minds racing. 'Was he talking about drugs?'

Each of them felt as though a fresh wound had been torn open in their hearts, a gaping chasm of despair and loss that refused to heal.

This wasn't just revenge anymore. It was justice written in scars, stitched in pain, and now… forged in fire. And the Gambino name would burn.

Seven women left the abandoned factory and climbed into the van. Their mission was clear: retrieve Marco at any cost. And the remaining women, still consumed by a righteous fury, turned their attention back to the captured man, David.

Each woman took her turn, slapping him twice across the cheeks. The remaining women stood in a semicircle. Their eyes fixed on the bruised, trembling man tied to a metal chair, naked and vulnerable. His head hung low, blood trickling down his cheek, already disfigured from the slaps and humiliation.

His wrists were bound behind him with pink furry cuffs. A cruel irony that mocked the terror he once inflicted on others. The curly-haired woman stepped forward, her boots clicking against the grime-slick floor. In her hand, the teaser sparked again.

Without a word, she pressed it to his groin. A scream ripped from his throat—raw, inhuman, and agonising. It lasted five long, merciless minutes. When it was over, he slumped, twitching and heaving, his pride stripped, his body sagging like a broken puppet.

"P-please stop. I-I am sorry."

But the women weren't done. They weren't just reclaiming their power—they were rewriting the story. The curly-haired woman stepped forward next, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet her gaze.

"You think this is pain?" she asked coldly, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "Did you ever wonder how much pain those young girls felt before you all......?"

The man's lips quivered, but no words came out. One by one, each woman stepped forward, delivering two slaps across his face. They didn't rush. Each strike carried the weight of every sleepless night, every silent scream, every daughter, sister, son, father, mother, brother, and husband stolen from them.

The roads were nearly empty when Marco sped out of his hideout, his pulse racing with anticipation. He didn't know it yet—but this wasn't going to be the kind of party he imagined.

At the same time, Gabriella's phone buzzed with a message from their father: "Come to the shipping container site. Urgent."

She dropped her half-eaten chicken wrap, grabbed her car keys, and rushed out—completely unaware she was driving straight into a trap.

Back in the shadows, Miracle watched everything unfold. Surveillance taps intercepted messages of the fifty women and recently set up cameras in the factory—all were under her control. When fifty women downloaded the app, she immediately controlled their phones, not to take advantage of them but to help them. Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.

She, Amara, and Dane had anticipated many outcomes. But what the fifty women pulled off on their own exceeded all expectations.

Amara whispered, watching the feed. "They are warriors."

It only helped them in their plan. Those women, too, deserve to get justice in their own way.

Miracle's network was in full swing. Meanwhile, Dane and Amara blended their integrated schemes to create a harmonious and unified plan.

In a dramatic turn, Mark was ambushed in the parking lot of Hotel Sinn and yanked out of the car. Beaten. Disarmed. The taste of blood filled his mouth before he even knew what was happening.

When he opened his eyes next, he was naked, suspended by thick ropes from the rusted ceiling beams of an old, rotting factory. The route from the factory to Hotel Sinn experienced a sudden blackout—an issue with the CCTV cameras. Thanks to Miracle.

Elsewhere, as Gabriella continued her drive, an unexpected event occurred. Her vehicle was forcibly stopped as Dane and Amara, in disguise, executed their plan ruthlessly. Before she could react, Gabriella was violently pulled out of her car.

As they arrived at the factory with Gabriella blindfolded, all eyes were on Dane, Amara, and a woman whose mouth was covered with a strip of duct tape and whose eyes were hidden by a blindfold.

"Who are you people?" inquired the tall woman in a commanding tone.

"Do you remember the gift, the watch?" Amara, who was concealed behind makeup, said as she gazed at the tall woman. "You forgot about the key person," she glanced at Daniela. "She is the one who determines who the next target is," Amara stated as she pushed Daniela onto the filthy ground.

Daniella was muffling her desperate cries for help as the shadowy corners of the abandoned factory absorbed them.

Marco dangled helplessly, his once-cocky demeanour shattered into a panic. Gabriella lay bound on the ground, her teeth chattering against the duct tape as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Don't worry," Marco rasped through bloodied lips, trying to sound brave. "Our father will come for us… and when he does—"

Laughter echoed through the factory and interrupted, swallowing his remaining words. Cruel. Mocking. Hollow.

Even Gabriella flinched at the sound.

Amara walked up slowly, tightening Gabriella's blindfold. "You don't get to see your monsters anymore. But you will hear what justice sounds like."

She did not want Gabriella to see any of the women's faces or how many were present. Gabriella must live. While the others remained silent, only the tall women, Dane and Amara, spoke.

Meanwhile, Dane, also in the mask, gripped a baseball bat. He aimed with precision, his eyes locked onto Marco. "You enjoyed breaking young girls' souls. Now feel it."

Marco trembled in fear. "No, you are making a mistake. My dad won't leave you." Marco's eyes widened. "Wait—wait, don't—"

The bat swung far from Marco, and then, at a thundering speed, it hit Marco's abdomen, sending Marco jolting out of his dazed stupor. The blow was so forceful that it splattered blood from Marco's mouth and caused him to convulse violently, gasping for breath.

"No—no, please—stop! I'll pay you—whatever you want—"

The man who brutally took innocence away from the naive children could not take even a single blow? Did he ever think about how painful it would have been for those innocent children?

"Bring my daughter and wife back," Dane demanded as he walked, circling him, holding a baseball bat. "Bring every soul you discarded like fish bones. Then, and only then, will I spare your life."

Marco's eyes darted, and the realisation of his dire situation took his last breath away. "I... I'm sorry, okay? I'll pay a lot of money—just let me go! Keep my sister here if you want. Please let me leave!" He pleaded, his voice quaking with fear. At that moment, his sister's safety outweighed his own. The connection they had formed since childhood now lay in ruins.

Meanwhile, Gabriella sat in darkness, her blindfold a shroud of helplessness. The cacophony of violence echoed around her. Marco's frantic entreaties pierced through the noise like a thunderbolt, jolting her heart with a dread she could hardly bear.

One by one, each woman took their chance to strike Marco; their anger and desperation had transformed into a baseball bat with the brutal hit.

Marco's body suffered the onslaught of pain. It left him gasping for breath. No words were able to come out of his mouth. His body could not take any more blows, and slowly, he went silent.

Amara approached trembling Gabriella, who had wet her pants in fear.

Amara whispered in her ears, "Do you want the same fate, or are you ready to confess?" She removed the duct tape from Gabriella's mouth, allowing her to speak.

"I'll talk!" Gabriella cried. "I-I'll say everything. Just don't kill me!"

Gabriella was led to another room, blindfolded and bound. Everything was draped in black. In the center, a chair. A spotlight and a camera.

Amara removed the blindfold and untied her hands.

"Action!" Amara declared. The camera was on, and a live stream was broadcast on YouTube.

Gabriella, shaking from head to toe, confessed to everything.

The women trafficking.

The murders.

The bribes.

The organisation involved.

Every name.

While she wept, Miracle hacked every media outlet, spreading the feed across the internet like wildfire. Within minutes, it was viral. And before long, Interpol would be watching too.

The very next moment, Miracle infiltrated Daniella's computer, swiftly copying all the crucial documents. With a determined click, she pressed a button labelled "Initiate."

In an instant, the hideout erupted in a deafening explosion, fire and debris shooting into the air.

Hours later, the Police discovered the bloody bodies of Marco and David, with a distraught Gabriella sitting on the floor in a different area. Gabriella was bound and blindfolded. None of the CCTV cameras captured the group arriving or departing. The factory was engulfed in flames, erasing all evidence of the individual's presence. Additionally, those fifty women had left the country on a ship with their loved ones. This was all orchestrated by Dane, Amara, and Miracle to ensure their safety.

"This is my third gift to you, Tony Gambino. Enjoy!" Amara murmured while watching the news.

The war was far from over; the Gambino family had been struck where it hurt the most, and they were not about to let it slide.

Sitting in his office, Tony was burning in rage after learning about his children's unfortunate fate. His empire was in grave danger, and the enemy he faced this time was too powerful, empowered by their motives.

"Find out how this happened. Additionally, arrange a press conference. It's time to distance myself from my undeserving children who failed to safeguard themselves or the business. I hope my other children will take this as a learning opportunity."He issues a command.

Tony made a crucial move. He contacted his trusted hacker team from Russia, known as 'Team Ruthless.' He also resolved to contact his eighth son. He needed his help.

The time has come. This was the moment Miracle had been training for: to gift the Ruthless Team fruits for their actions toward her.

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In Valtham, Sven found himself on the floor, awakening to sunlight pouring in through the window. He immediately dialled Liora's number out of fear. While Donovan escorted Liora to her room at the campus residence.