Chapter 6 Assigned to a Mafia That Commits Every Imaginable Evil

The new file clearly stated that the prisoner was a core member of a notorious mafia family. Extremely dangerous. Murder and drug trafficking—he'd done every evil thing imaginable.

Clara's blood ran cold.

She knew that if she had to serve this man, she wouldn't last long.

Her eyes filled with terror. She looked up at the two guards, pleading. "No. I request a redraw."

The guards pulled out their batons and struck her hand hard.

Clara groaned and pulled back. Her eyes reddened with tears.

"The draw is final," the guard snapped. "Come with us. Wait for your patient in the room."

Only then did Clara notice two guards standing beside Alice.

They were going to be separated—each taken to a prisoner's private room.

"Clara!" Alice shouted, quickly passing her a note. "Remember my address. Don't forget."

Clara gritted her teeth and reached out despite the guards' interference.

They exchanged notes with each other's addresses in mid-air, then were pulled apart the next second.

Clara was pushed forward.

She followed the guards through the prison and finally arrived at Prison Block A. The building was wrapped in black wire, surrounded by tall walls—heavily guarded.

Her heart grew more anxious with every step.

All the areas they'd passed before had no wire and far fewer guards.

"Go upstairs, Ms. Thomas. Your prisoner is in the innermost room."

Clara walked into the cage that would trap her for three months.

The air smelled faintly of blood.

Through doors on both sides, she heard roaring, cursing, and arguing.

Soon they reached the room at the end of the corridor.

Clara looked back. This door was different from the others, with two extra guards stationed outside.

She was pushed toward it.

The two guards behind her chatted casually. "This is the nurse assigned to that prisoner."

The guard at the door looked at Clara with pity. "Poor lady. May God bless you."

The heavy iron door slowly opened—solid, thick, clearly bulletproof and blastproof. No one could break through by force.

Clara tensed up, her hands clenched, using the pain to keep herself alert.

The guard at the door explained the task. "Ms. Thomas, this afternoon you need to give your patient a full physical exam."

Clara managed a weak smile. "Okay. I'll follow the rules."

She scanned every corner of the room. Surprisingly, it was empty—no one there.

"He's still being transferred," the guard said. "Won't arrive until this afternoon. You can rest and wait."

"Okay." Clara relaxed slightly.

She finally dared to look around properly.

It was a two-bedroom, one-living-room layout, fully equipped with daily necessities and medical equipment.

The living room window faced the sea outside the prison.

The bed had fresh bedding that still carried the clean scent of sunshine and soap.

Clara quickly rinsed off, then collapsed onto the bed. Her whole body relaxed.

Days of exhaustion erupted. The warm, sunny smell soothed her nerves.

She soon succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep.

She didn't know how long she'd been out when she slowly opened her eyes. The guards outside were talking in low voices.

"Do you know who the prisoner in this room is?"

"I heard he was transferred from Prison Eight. He killed his personal doctor there and broke a guard's arm."

"He's not just an ordinary mafia member. He's the only son of a mafia boss—Lucas Vanderbilt."

"I don't know how many days this Ms. Thomas will last."

"Against that demon, death might be a relief. Such a shame. She's pretty."

The two guards chatted on, unaware that Clara was already awake.

Her face went pale. She pulled the blanket over her face, her heart pounding with panic.

Lucas.

She silently memorized the name.

She imagined what he looked like—stubble on his face, muscles bulging, tattoos everywhere, fierce as a demon.

She couldn't stop trembling.

She thought she'd escaped her uncle's domestic violence hell. Instead, she'd jumped into another cage—more terrifying.

Just then, a guard's voice came from outside. "Ms. Thomas, get to the exam room. The prisoner is arriving soon."

Clara swallowed her fear and answered.

She quickly changed into her uniform and followed the guard onto a shuttle bus. The vehicle bounced along, but she didn't look at the scenery.

Her mind was full of that terrifying, burly prisoner. One punch from him could probably kill her.

She made up her mind—no matter what, she had to find a chance to escape.

The military truck finally stopped in front of a white examination building.

Before Clara could get out, she heard guards shouting urgently. "Sir, the new prisoner attacked a guard as soon as he got out of the vehicle. He's now fighting with other prisoners."

The two escorting guards' faces changed. They quickly pointed to a nearby room. "Go wait inside."

Then they rushed off.

Clara jumped out of the vehicle and hid in the examination room.

She didn't bother checking the medical equipment. She went straight to the window and looked toward the chaotic crowd in the distance.

A group of prisoners surrounded a tall man—four or five of them total.

She couldn't see the man in the center clearly from the front, but he stood tall and straight with a fierce presence. Though surrounded, every prisoner around him looked wary, none daring to approach.

The next second, the man in the center struck. He easily subdued two prisoners.

Clara watched him break one man's arm with his bare hands, then kick another so hard the man flew through the air and crashed to the ground.

The bloody brutality made Clara clap a hand over her mouth and back away.

Then came the guard's sharp shout from outside. "Lucas! Stop!"

So he was Lucas.