BLOODLINE CHRONICLE: A MAFIA FATHER'S JOURNEY

CHAPTER 07: A VERY DANGEROUS DECISION

The evening air hung heavy, thick with the tension Hakimi couldn’t shake. After dinner, he made sure Khadija, Amira, and Akashi were tucked in for the night, each of them sleeping soundly, unaware of the storm brewing within him. His heart ached at the thought of what he was about to do.

The clock struck 10:00 PM.

A sigh escaped Hakimi as he reached for his black jacket and pants tucked away in the back of his wardrobe. His hands trembled as he tied his hair into a tight bun, then slipped on a black hat, concealing his identity. He checked the house one last time, moving silently through the halls before slipping out into the night.

The streets were eerily quiet as Hakimi approached Riqqo's bar. Dimly lit, it stood like a shadow in the dark, the air thick with unease. He entered through the back entrance, where Riqqo awaited, casually swirling a drink in his hand.

"Well, well, my favorite baby brother," Riqqo smirked. "Didn't think you'd actually show up."

Hakimi’s voice was low, a growl barely contained. "Once I make a deal, I keep it. I expect the same from you."

Riqqo chuckled, unfazed. "Relax, Hakimi. I promised your son a job, didn’t I? He'll get the best position I can offer. But first..." Riqqo waved him along, leading him down a narrow, dimly lit hallway.

Hakimi’s jaw tightened, his body tense as they stopped in front of an old metal door. Riqqo pressed a hidden button, and to Hakimi’s surprise, the wall shifted, revealing a sleek elevator.

"Surprised?" Riqqo grinned. "This ain't no ordinary bar."

The elevator descended, its hum filling the space between them. When the doors opened, Hakimi's breath caught. The basement was an armory—rows of weapons lined the walls, from handguns to heavy artillery. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the cold metallic air.

Riqqo casually strolled to a small table at the back, where weapons lay scattered. He picked up a small gun, turning it over in his hands before tossing it to Hakimi.

"What’s this for?" Hakimi asked, his voice steady but a storm raged inside.

Riqqo laughed coldly. "You didn’t think I was sending you to a kids' birthday party, did you?" He grabbed the gun back, quickly loading it with bullets before handing it to Hakimi again. "Tonight, you're going on a mission. Things get messy."

Hakimi's grip tightened on the cold metal, his stomach churning. "You said this job was about collecting money. No violence."

Riqqo’s grin faded into a look of annoyance. "Citizens can get stubborn, Hakimi. Sometimes, we have to... convince them." The final words sent chills down his spine.

Hakimi’s mind screamed for him to turn around, to walk away from this life. But the promise of money for his children’s future kept him rooted, his conscience buried under the weight of responsibility.

Riqqo slapped Hakimi's shoulder. "Don’t worry, you're not alone. I’m sending my toughest guys with you. No one will touch you."

At the front of the bar, a tall, tough-looking man stood by a black van, his expression hard as stone.

"This is Zafir," Riqqo introduced. "He’ll take care of you. Not a scratch, I swear."

Hakimi glanced at Zafir, who nodded curtly but said nothing, his face as unreadable as stone.

"You're not coming?" Hakimi asked, his voice sharper than intended.

Riqqo laughed. "I’m the boss, remember? Coaches don’t play." He spread his arms wide. "I don’t get my hands dirty anymore. Now, get moving."

The van ride was filled with silence. Hakimi stared out the window, thoughts spinning as Zafir drove them toward a rundown neighborhood. The air inside the van was thick with tension, Zafir’s eyes focused, cold as he drove.

They arrived at a dilapidated building, a group of anxious citizens waiting outside, clutching bags of money. Hakimi stayed in the van, watching as Zafir and his men approached.

"You’ve got our stuff?" Zafir’s voice was cold, demanding.

"Here." A bald man handed over a worn-out bag.

Zafir's eyes scanned the contents. "This isn’t complete. It’s less than the fifty thousand loan we gave you."

The man trembled. "We need more time."

Zafir sneered. "How much is left?"

"Twenty-five thousand."

Zafir's eyes narrowed. "That much?" He cocked an eyebrow.

The man fell to his knees, begging. "Please, don’t hurt my family. I’ll pay as soon as it rains. The earth’s too hard to cultivate right now." He grabbed at Zafir’s feet.

Zafir’s expression soured. "Do you know what my boss would do to me if I let this slide? Make it a round number now!"

One of the men tried to resist, arguing about high taxes. Without hesitation, one of Zafir’s men brandished an axe, stabbing the man in the arm, silencing him. "You should learn to shut up sometimes." Blood spilled onto the cracked pavement.

Hakimi's stomach twisted, his breath shallow. He turned away, unable to watch any longer.

Zafir stepped back. "I’ll be back in a few days. You better have my full amount ready." He nodded at the men before turning away.

---

When Hakimi and Zafir returned to the bar, Hakimi’s fury burned inside him. Before the van even stopped, he jumped out, his mind racing with anger and disgust. He stormed into Riqqo’s office, slamming the door open with a force that made Riqqo look up in surprise.

"What the hell was that?" Hakimi demanded, voice low but full of dangerous heat. "I thought this was just about collecting money. No one said anything about stabbing people!"

Riqqo didn’t flinch. "I told you what kind of work I do, Hakimi. You knew what you were getting into."

Hakimi clenched his fists, his heart pounding with fury. "I didn’t sign up to hurt people."

Riqqo’s gaze hardened. "Then maybe this isn’t the job for you." His voice grew colder. "But you knew those people owed me five months of taxes. You think they deserve to be treated like kings just because they haven’t paid a dime? I give them clean water, fix their roads. I’m not the government, Hakimi. I’m their king." His voice was laced with authority.

Hakimi’s resolve wavered, the weight of Riqqo’s words pressing down on him. He felt trapped—torn between his need to provide for his family and the growing violence of this life.

Riqqo’s assistant entered, carrying a briefcase full of cash. Riqqo counted the bills with deliberate precision before handing a thick stack over to Hakimi.

Hakimi hesitated. The money was tempting—so much money. But the guilt that twisted in his chest threatened to choke him.

Riqqo smirked. "Take it, or leave it. But if you don’t want to work for me, find another way to feed your family."

Hakimi’s hands trembled. He couldn’t take the money, but he couldn’t walk away either. His mind spun with guilt and frustration as he left the office, heading home to face the consequences of his decisions.

---

The next morning, Hakimi sat on the edge of his bed, exhaustion weighing him down. He hadn’t slept, the guilt gnawing at him, and his choices left him hollow.

Akashi knocked and entered, noticing his father’s stillness. "Dad, breakfast is ready. Are you coming?"

Hakimi didn’t lift his gaze. "You all eat. I’ll join you later."

Akashi hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. "Okay... I’ll save you a plate."

As Akashi left, Hakimi stayed still, staring at his hands. They still felt cold, the weight of the gun he’d been handed hanging heavily on him. How much longer could he keep up this façade? How much longer could he hide the truth from his children?

One thing was certain—the road ahead would only grow darker.