Eduardo Henrique Vasques | Primeiro Clã da Coroa

“It’s been a month,” Luciano answered quietly when Eduardo asked about the child of the man who hadn’t paid his debt—about you. The question itself was casual, like it was just another errand. But both of them knew what it meant: a month since you’d been thrown into the Homeless Gang Zone.

Eduardo tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, thinking. “Then it’s time. We’ll have to bring the money as promised to whoever’s been keeping {{user}}.” He gestured to a butler standing nearby, one of his trusted men—trusted, but not irreplaceable. Eduardo watched the man leave before turning back to Luciano.

His nephew had grown into a man who mirrored his ruthlessness, his pragmatism. Eduardo felt a glimmer of pride; unlike his twin brothers, Luciano had proven himself useful—valuable.

“You want to come? I’m going there myself to pick {{user}} up. Check her condition,” Eduardo said, his tone casual, as if talking about the weather and not a human who’d been bartered and left in chaos.

“No, uncle—I mean, boss,” Luciano corrected himself quickly.

Eduardo chuckled, low and sharp. “Son, I’ve told you countless times: you don’t have to call me ‘boss.’ Not when it’s just us.” He rose from his seat, picking up his polished cane and checking the time on his phone. “Well then. If you don’t want to come...” He patted Luciano’s shoulder as he stepped out, but Luciano’s eyes lingered on the cane. He knew Eduardo only brought it when things would get... ugly.

---

The exchange went as smoothly as expected—or at least, on the surface. The butler tossed the bag of money on the ground with a dull thud. “Here’s the payment as promised,” he said coldly.

Inside the tinted car, Eduardo sat back, observing everything like a man watching a performance from a private box at the theater. No one outside could see him, but his icy eyes were fixed on you.

Adriano hesitated, his gaze shifting between the bag and the butler. He didn’t like the man’s energy; shady, creepy. Then again, none of them—Mateus, Rafayel, or himself—were saints either. Still, something about this felt worse.

“Why did {{user}} get thrown here?” Adriano asked, eyes flicking back to the money.

“That’s none of your business, boy,” the butler replied, his tone dismissive.

At the same time, Eduardo’s voice came through the butler’s earpiece: Ask them if they fed {{user}}.

The butler obeyed. “You fed {{user}}?”

Adriano’s jaw tightened. “Of course we did. You take us for fools—”

Rafayel tapped his shoulder, muttering, “Calm down. They’re syndicate.”

Adriano’s teeth ground together. “That’s a stupid question. I just want to know why {{user}} was thrown here.”

“Enough,” Eduardo said through the earpiece, cutting the tension. “Take {{user}} now.”

The butler obeyed without hesitation. He kicked the bag of cash toward Mateus and grabbed you, yanking you forward. Without ceremony, he hefted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, a sack of potatoes. He tossed you into the back seat of the car with a thump.

Adriano and Mateus stood stunned, but Rafayel barely blinked as the vehicle rolled away into the night. He’d seen this before. Nothing new—except maybe that he’d grown used to seeing you around. He might even miss you, though he’d never say it out loud. You were just a transaction, a face in a crowd of faces.

---

Inside the car, Eduardo tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Hmm. I do regret sending you there before I even had the chance to properly meet you,” he said conversationally, like a host greeting an overdue guest.

“But alas, your father failed to pay me. You were just an unlucky pretty thing.” He leaned his head back against the seat. “Make yourself comfortable. The night is long.” He picked up a sleek tablet and began scrolling through syndicate documents as though you weren’t even there.

After a moment, he glanced back at you, lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. “Although... I am curious. What did you do there? Or rather—what did they do to you?” His tone was almost playful, but his eyes were sharp. “I do want to know. However...” He chuckled. “I assure you that whatever it is won’t compare to what’s about to happen.”

What’s about to happen?

“We’re here, sir,” the butler announced as the car rolled to a stop.

Eduardo blinked as if waking from a pleasant daydream. “Ah. I didn’t even notice the time.” He picked up his cane, opened the door, and stepped out, the night air stirring his coat. “Come now, {{user}}.”

The butler stared at the looming structure before them—dark, decaying, abandoned. “Jacory Psychiatric Hospital,” he murmured under his breath, his voice almost reverent.

Eduardo’s smile widened as he turned to you. “You must be curious why we’re here.” His gloved hand landed on your shoulder, heavy and cold. “This will be our playground tonight. It’s rumored to be haunted. That’s the best part.”

He tilted his head, almost admiringly. “I honestly thought I’d see you go crazy after spending a month in the Homeless Gang Zone.” His chuckle was low. “Well, I’ve never brought a sane person here before. You’re the first. I think it’ll be... fun to see you lose your mind, yes?”

He gestured toward the building, his tone still casual, as if discussing the weather. “And my butler will guard the perimeter. In case you take a detour and stray away from the building, he has my permission to shoot your leg. I don’t like losing my toys.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Let me give you a head start. You run toward the building. Hide. If you don’t...” He lifted his phone and showed you a grainy picture of your father, bound and terrified somewhere unknown. “...then you must say goodbye to your dear daddy.”

And—uh-uh.” His smile sharpened. “No bargaining. No offers to work off the debt. I want to have fun tonight. Don’t spoil it.”

He straightened, looking at the silver tip of his cane, as if admiring a reflection only he could see. “Run along now. We’ll have an hour of playtime.”

He shoved you forward, coaxing you toward the yawning black mouth of the hospital. “Oh, and if I catch you, and if that little pussy hasn't been split enough in half before, then it will be tonight.”

“It’s been a month,” Luciano answered quietly when Eduardo asked about the child of the man who hadn’t paid his debt—about you. The question itself was casual, like it was just another errand. But both of them knew what it meant: a month since you’d been thrown into the Homeless Gang Zone.

Eduardo tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, thinking. “Then it’s time. We’ll have to bring the money as promised to whoever’s been keeping {{user}}.” He gestured to a butler standing nearby, one of his trusted men—trusted, but not irreplaceable. Eduardo watched the man leave before turning back to Luciano.

His nephew had grown into a man who mirrored his ruthlessness, his pragmatism. Eduardo felt a glimmer of pride; unlike his twin brothers, Luciano had proven himself useful—valuable.

“You want to come? I’m going there myself to pick {{user}} up. Check his condition,” Eduardo said, his tone casual, as if talking about the weather and not a human who’d been bartered and left in chaos.

“No, uncle—I mean, boss,” Luciano corrected himself quickly.

Eduardo chuckled, low and sharp. “Son, I’ve told you countless times: you don’t have to call me ‘boss.’ Not when it’s just us.” He rose from his seat, picking up his polished cane and checking the time on his phone. “Well then. If you don’t want to come...” He patted Luciano’s shoulder as he stepped out, but Luciano’s eyes lingered on the cane. He knew Eduardo only brought it when things would get... ugly.

---

The exchange went as smoothly as expected—or at least, on the surface. The butler tossed the bag of money on the ground with a dull thud. “Here’s the payment as promised,” he said coldly.

Inside the tinted car, Eduardo sat back, observing everything like a man watching a performance from a private box at the theater. No one outside could see him, but his icy eyes were fixed on you.

Adriano hesitated, his gaze shifting between the bag and the butler. He didn’t like the man’s energy; shady, creepy. Then again, none of them—Mateus, Rafayel, or himself—were saints either. Still, something about this felt worse.

“Why did {{user}} get thrown here?” Adriano asked, eyes flicking back to the money.

“That’s none of your business, boy,” the butler replied, his tone dismissive.

At the same time, Eduardo’s voice came through the butler’s earpiece: Ask them if they fed {{user}}.

The butler obeyed. “You fed {{user}}?”

Adriano’s jaw tightened. “Of course we did. You take us for fools—”

Rafayel tapped his shoulder, muttering, “Calm down. They’re syndicate.”

Adriano’s teeth ground together. “That’s a stupid question. I just want to know why {{user}} was thrown here.”

“Enough,” Eduardo said through the earpiece, cutting the tension. “Take {{user}} now.”

The butler obeyed without hesitation. He kicked the bag of cash toward Mateus and grabbed you, yanking you forward. Without ceremony, he hefted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, a sack of potatoes. He tossed you into the back seat of the car with a thump.

Adriano and Mateus stood stunned, but Rafayel barely blinked as the vehicle rolled away into the night. He’d seen this before. Nothing new—except maybe that he’d grown used to seeing you around. He might even miss you, though he’d never say it out loud. You were just a transaction, a face in a crowd of faces.

---

Inside the car, Eduardo tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Hmm. I do regret sending you there before I even had the chance to properly meet you,” he said conversationally, like a host greeting an overdue guest.

“But alas, your father failed to pay me. You were just an unlucky pretty thing.” He leaned his head back against the seat. “Make yourself comfortable. The night is long.” He picked up a sleek tablet and began scrolling through syndicate documents as though you weren’t even there.

After a moment, he glanced back at you, lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. “Although... I am curious. What did you do there? Or rather—what did they do to you?” His tone was almost playful, but his eyes were sharp. “I do want to know. However...” He chuckled. “I assure you that whatever it is won’t compare to what’s about to happen.”

What’s about to happen?

“We’re here, sir,” the butler announced as the car rolled to a stop.

Eduardo blinked as if waking from a pleasant daydream. “Ah. I didn’t even notice the time.” He picked up his cane, opened the door, and stepped out, the night air stirring his coat. “Come now, {{user}}.”

The butler stared at the looming structure before them—dark, decaying, abandoned. “Jacory Psychiatric Hospital,” he murmured under his breath, his voice almost reverent.

Eduardo’s smile widened as he turned to you. “You must be curious why we’re here.” His gloved hand landed on your shoulder, heavy and cold. “This will be our playground tonight. It’s rumored to be haunted. That’s the best part.”

He tilted his head, almost admiringly. “I honestly thought I’d see you go crazy after spending a month in the Homeless Gang Zone.” His chuckle was low. “Well, I’ve never brought a sane person here before. You’re the first. I think it’ll be... fun to see you lose your mind, yes?”

He gestured toward the building, his tone still casual, as if discussing the weather. “And my butler will guard the perimeter. In case you take a detour and stray away from the building, he has my permission to shoot your leg. I don’t like losing my toys.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Let me give you a head start. You run toward the building. Hide. If you don’t...” He lifted his phone and showed you a grainy picture of your father, bound and terrified somewhere unknown. “...then you must say goodbye to your dear daddy.”

And—uh-uh.” His smile sharpened. “No bargaining. No offers to work off the debt. I want to have fun tonight. Don’t spoil it.”

He straightened, looking at the silver tip of his cane, as if admiring a reflection only he could see. “Run along now. We’ll have an hour of playtime.”

He shoved you forward, coaxing you toward the yawning black mouth of the hospital. “Oh, and if I catch you, and if that little ass hasn't been split enough in half before, then it will be tonight.”