Death's Melody

🥀Chapter 11🥀: Let the Misery begin.

Soren woke up after the third ring of the alarm which was unbelievably closer to his ear. After groaning and turning and two failed attempts to off the alarm, he finally arose from where he laid and cracked his eyes open. It took a while for him to take in the scenery of his surroundings but he was so pissed that it was Jubril holding the alarm clock all the while.

"When you knew you wanted to sleep in, you shouldn't have set an alarm" Jubril said to Soren before sitting on the couch, right beside the bed.

"Fuck! What's the time right now?" Soren asked.

"9:30 am? You're way passed breakfast" Jubril said before rising to his feet.

"While you prepare yourself, I'll be in the restroom doing private business" Jubril said before walking into the bathroom.

Soren planned to sleep for a little while more but all traces of sleep disappeared when heavy bangs came on the door.

He groaned before struggling to his feet. He practically staggered to get the door open. He wanted to know the idiot who dared to interrupt the one sleep he was having in ages. But that idiot turned out to be his father. And his father didn't look like he was happy neither was he showing symptoms of happiness anytime soon.

Anger was written on the old man's face as he wheeled himself inside his son's room.

"Father" was all Soren could say when he saw how angry his father was. All the sleep he had left evaporated into the thin air.

But in response, the man threw some pictures on his bed, looking at it with annoyance as Soren's gaze followed it, walking up to the pictures and examining them one after the other.

They were the pictures of Boma loading the plane with the wooden crates and another picture of He and Boma having a conversation.

He lifted his gaze slowly to meet his father's, knowing fully well what this meant for he was already smelling trouble and he could feel the heavy presence of it.

"All I want to hear is a Yes or a No answer" His father deadpanned. Even though deep down, he hoped that his son didn't do what he was accused of. He hoped that his brother lied about his son. He hoped his son didn't interfere with Italy's power struggle. He hoped that those hopes wouldn't be crushed.

"I'm sorry, father" Was all Soren could say.

"Are you deaf or you don't hear English?!" His father yelled.

It took quite a while for Soren to recover from the sudden yell. But when he did, he replied his father slowly...

"Yes, father. The pictures weren't fabricated. I sent some ammunition to Italy this very morning" Soren confessed, his face to the ground and his fingers locked as he waited for his father to hit him, kick him, slap him or even throw something at him.

He was not sorry about it. For he wouldn't have ventured into such a risk if it wasn't for the reason behind it.

Seeing how his son heartlessly crushed his hopes, Soren's father wheeled himself out just the way he wheeled himself in without any more words from him. He was crestfallen. Disappointed. Not expectant of the disaster that was about to befall on him.

He thought he had trained his son better than this, so what happened? What went wrong?

With his head sagging between his shoulders and in a very low tone, Soren's father, Mr Paul, ordered his men to bring Soren to his room. He had promised to personally deal with his son, if all those accusations laid on the table for his father by his brother, Saul against his son, Soren were true.