The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 17

The corridors of the Mackin estate were quiet—the kind of quiet that held secrets. Bruno Mackin lay in his bed, his body a mere shadow of its former self.

The once powerful patriarch of the Mackin family now struggled with every breath, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a man long past his prime. But Bruno’s mind was still sharp, sharper than anyone realized.

The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows over the sparse furniture. Mackin stood at the foot of his uncle’s bed, his hands in his pockets, his face an unreadable mask.

"You’ve come to see me," Bruno croaked, his voice weak but laced with bitterness.

Mackin didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, watching the man who had once ruled the family with an iron fist, now reduced to a fragile shell. "I came for answers."

Bruno’s eyes flickered with something—fear, perhaps—but he quickly masked it with a sneer. "What makes you think I owe you anything?"

Mackin’s gaze never wavered. "Because I know what you did. You were involved in my parents’ deaths. And I want to know why."

The room seemed to grow colder, the air heavy with tension. Bruno’s sneer faded, replaced by a shadow of regret. He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, trying to summon the strength to sit up.

"You think you’re entitled to the truth?" Bruno rasped. "You think you can just walk in here, demand answers, and walk away with your righteous indignation intact?"

Mackin stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you were involved, Bruno. I found the documents. I’ve seen the evidence. All I want now is for you to admit it."

Bruno laughed, though it was more of a wheeze. "You don’t know the half of it, boy."

"Then tell me." Mackin’s voice was ice, his patience thinning.

Bruno’s eyes darted around the room, as if seeking escape. But there was nowhere to go. "Your father... he was a fool. He was too good for this family. Too soft. He wanted to do things the right way, by the book." Bruno paused, his breath laboured. "He didn’t understand what it takes to keep this family at the top."

Mackin’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his composure. "And my mother?"

Bruno’s eyes met Mackin’s, and for the first time, Mackin saw true fear in them. "She knew too much. She was going to expose everything."

"Expose what?" Mackin pressed.

Bruno coughed violently, his frail body shaking with the effort. "The deals. The secrets. Everything we’d built."

Mackin’s fists clenched at his sides. "So you had them killed. To protect your empire."

Bruno didn’t deny it. He simply closed his eyes, as if surrendering to the truth. "It had to be done."

Mackin took a step back, his mind reeling. He had always suspected, but hearing the confession from Bruno’s lips made it real. His parents had been murdered, and Bruno had been the mastermind.

"You destroyed everything," Mackin whispered, his voice filled with a quiet fury. "All for what? Control? Power?"

Bruno opened his eyes, his gaze piercing. "You don’t understand, Mackin. Power is everything in this world. Without it, you’re nothing."

Mackin’s jaw tightened as he turned to leave. Bruno’s words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the cost of ambition.

"I understand perfectly," Mackin said over his shoulder. "And I won’t make the same mistake you did."

As Mackin stepped out of Bruno's room, the suffocating air of the estate seemed heavier than before. The revelation of his parents’ murder left him numb. He had known for years that something was amiss, but hearing it confirmed from Bruno's mouth turned the suspicions into something far darker. The truth wasn’t liberating—it was suffocating, an anchor tied to his ankles that threatened to drag him deeper into the abyss.

Mackin paused at the top of the grand staircase, gripping the polished bannister tightly. He looked down at the opulent hall below, its cold, sterile luxury a reminder of everything his family had sacrificed to maintain their dominance.

The cost of power. Bruno’s voice echoed that last chilling sentence in his mind: Without power, you’re nothing.

But that was Bruno's world—a world of control through manipulation, fear, and blood. Mackin had always thought he was different, that his wealth and influence could be a tool for good. But standing here, in the heart of the legacy his family had built on secrets and death, he wasn't sure anymore.

A sound from below drew his attention. It was Drake, pacing the hall with his phone pressed to his ear. His cousin’s face was twisted in frustration as he barked orders at someone on the other end. Mackin could only imagine the chaos Drake was trying to manage.

The Mackin name had been slowly unravelling ever since his return, and it seemed Drake was doing everything in his power to hold onto the scraps of control.

Mackin's fingers twitched at the sight of him, the rage bubbling beneath his surface. Drake had played his part in the betrayal—perhaps not directly in his parents' deaths, but certainly in orchestrating Mackin’s downfall years ago. And now, here he was, desperately clinging to the remnants of a crumbling empire.

Mackin’s vision blurred with a red haze, his body tensing with the desire for action, for confrontation. He could hear Bruno’s words again, like a dark chant in the back of his mind: *Power is everything. Without it, you’re nothing.*

No. Mackin wouldn’t play by their rules. He had spent years rebuilding himself, not to be another pawn in their bloody game, but to rise above it.

With a final glance at Drake, Mackin descended the staircase, his mind made up. But as he neared the bottom step, a voice called out from behind him.

“Leaving so soon, cousin?”

Drake’s words were sharp, biting. Mackin slowed, but he didn’t turn immediately. His heart pounded with the weight of the confrontation that was sure to follow. He exhaled slowly before pivoting to face Drake.

“What do you want, Drake?” Mackin’s voice was cold, devoid of emotion.

Drake slipped his phone into his pocket and approached, his steps slow, and measured. “I saw you coming from Bruno’s room.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Having a nice little chat with the old man, were we?”

Mackin remained silent, his gaze steady as Drake circled him like a predator. He could feel the tension rising, a dark cloud looming over the room.

“You think you can come back here,” Drake continued, his voice lowering into something more menacing, “and take everything that belongs to me?”

Mackin’s eyes narrowed. “Belongs to you?”

Drake laughed bitterly. “You’ve been gone for years, Mackin. You don’t know what it’s taken to keep this family afloat. The deals I’ve had to make, the alliances I’ve had to maintain. You think you can just walk back in and claim it all?”

Mackin’s fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not here to claim anything that doesn’t already belong to me. I’m here for what was stolen.”

Drake’s expression hardened, his voice dripping with venom. “Stolen? You were never fit to lead this family. That’s why they threw you out.”

Mackin stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “They threw me out because of you, Drake. Because you feared what I could become. You conspired with Bruno to strip me of everything, and you watched as they destroyed me.”

Drake’s eyes flashed with anger. “You were weak, Mackin! You never had the stomach for this. You didn’t deserve it then, and you don’t deserve it now.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the tension a tangible force in the air. Then, Mackin spoke, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with lethal intent. “I’m not the same man you cast aside, Drake. I’ve risen higher than you’ll ever reach. And now, I’m taking back everything you thought was yours.”

Drake’s face twisted in fury. “You think you’re so much better than me?” He spat. “You’re nothing but a glorified street rat who got lucky!”

Mackin’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, he grabbed Drake by the collar, slamming him against the nearest wall. Drake’s eyes widened in shock, but Mackin’s grip tightened, his voice low and deadly. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I fought for every inch of what I have now. And I’ll fight for every inch of what you owe me.”

Drake struggled in Mackin’s grip, but his cousin’s strength was overpowering. “Let go of me!” Drake hissed, his hands clawing at Mackin’s arms.

Mackin’s face was inches from Drake’s, his words a cold, whispered threat. “You’re going to pay for what you did, Drake. You, Bruno, and anyone else who had a hand in my parents’ deaths. I’ll tear down everything you’ve built, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left.”

Drake’s eyes flickered with fear for the first time, but he quickly masked it with a sneer. “You think you’re so righteous? You think you can take the moral high ground after everything you’ve done?”

Mackin released him abruptly, taking a step back. “I’m not here to be righteous,” he said coldly. “I’m here for justice.”

Drake stumbled, adjusting his collar as he glared at Mackin with a mix of hatred and fear. “Justice,” he scoffed. “There’s no such thing in this family.”

Mackin’s eyes never left Drake’s. “Maybe not in the past. But things are going to change.”

Without another word, Mackin turned and walked away, leaving Drake standing alone in the hall, his chest heaving with barely suppressed rage. As Mackin disappeared from view, Drake’s hands clenched into fists. He couldn’t let Mackin win. Not now. Not ever.