ly

ting me, he stepped back, his c

up from the table and poured scalding coffee directly over my head, the burning liquid pasting my hair to my scalp. A

hey hurled insults, spitting the words "delusional whore" like poisoned darts. They loudly claime

pain. I felt transported back to my childhood, surrounded by the jeering bullies in the f

cious smirk twisting her lips. She turned the volume all the way u

ge with zero empathy; their faces wer

e associates aimed a sharp kick at my thigh, sending a f

er underworld network, claiming it would ensure I was permanen

line. I tried to lunge forward and snatch the phone back, desperate to silence the agonizin

heir phones, the stuttering camera flashes blinding me as they recorded my h

hard through the tight circle of women and fled toward the exit of the VIP roo

y hair and slammed me against the wall, continuing to beat me with a vicious,

ng in the doorway. He didn't blink when the first streak of red hit

pair, the heavy double doors at

terrifying, suffocating presence parting

tor, their shrill voices telling the older man to mind his own

er, shoving the women aside with a desperate urgency. He b

ruised and bleeding face. And in that fractured second, I saw the hear

a weak, bl

spered, "Dad

, turned the color of ashes. He had just beaten the Don's

idea what wa