Chapter 1 : Vittorio Del Carlo

POV: Vittorio Del Carlo

"Boss, please. I promise you, it was a mistake."

I stare down at Gallo. He kneels on the rough, gritty concrete of the abandoned alleyway, looking pathetic under the flickering amber light of a broken streetlamp. My right-hand man. The bastard lost my highly valuable shipment, and his desperate groveling sickens me. The damp night air reeks of garbage and impending death.

My fists collide with his jaw. The crack of bone echoes off the brick walls, and bright red blood splatters across the shadows, staining the dirty floor. He sways, almost tipping over from the brutal impact, but I grab his lapels, twisting the expensive fabric into my fist to keep him upright.

"Hey, eyes on me," I growl, dropping my face level with his ear. "Where is it?"

Gallo trembles. His hands shake behind his back. Sweat beads on his forehead, mixing with the blood dripping from his nose. "Boss, please. I'm sorry, let me fix this."

"Where is my fucking shipment?!" I roar.

I drive my fist straight into his chest. The savage, bone-rattling blow knocks the wind right out of him. He falls backward, landing hard on the damp ground. He pants, whimpering through the sharp pain, but he still tries to shift the blame to save his own skin.

"Gino was supposed to overlook the shipment. I don't know where it is. I swear."

A dark, cold laugh tears from my throat. "Gino? I gave that shipment specifically to you." He knows my deep-seated hatred for excuses. I despise incompetence above all else.

"Get on your fucking knees, now!"

He scrambles, slipping on his own blood, struggling for a few long moments before finally dragging himself upright. I yank him forward by the collar, bringing his bruised face inches from mine. "You're fucking worthless to me and to this gang."

Pure horror washes over his bruised features. The pathetic look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what comes next.

"Boss, please."

I draw my gun from my waistband. I raise the weapon and level the cold steel barrel directly at his forehead.

His eyes bulge as he stares down the dark muzzle. "Boss, please don't do this."

I look dead into his wide, terrified eyes. I feel nothing but cold resolve. I pull the trigger.

The deafening blast shatters the quiet night, echoing loudly against the tight brick walls. The bullet rips straight through his skull. A gruesome spray of dark crimson blood and gray matter splashes against the masonry behind him. His hollow gaze fixes on nothing as his lifeless corpse collapses heavy onto the cold pavement.

In the quiet, grim aftermath of the ringing gunshot, a high-pitched scream slices through the freezing night air.

"Cazzo!" I curse under my breath.

I whip my head toward the street entrance. A fleeting silhouette sprints away, disappearing down the dark sidewalk.

I turn to the two guards standing against the shadows, their hands resting near their holsters. "Clean this up," I order, gesturing to Gallo's bleeding corpse. "I'll take care of whoever this is."

I break into a furious sprint into the dark, aggressively chasing the runner. The first rule of the mafia is simple and unforgiving: never leave a witness behind. I am already dealing with enough shit tonight because of Gallo. No one else walks away.

POV: Elena Vázquez

"Bia, for the hundredth time, I'll be fine," I say, flashing a reassuring smile at my best friend and coworker, Bianca.

We just finished our exhausting shift at the diner. Bianca stands by the counter, wiping it down with a rag, her forehead creased with deep concern. "It's a Friday night, El. A beautiful young woman shouldn't be walking home alone. I get off shift in an hour. Just wait, and I'll drive you."

I grab my thick coat, slipping it over my aching shoulders. "So an ugly woman should?" I joke, trying to deflect her persistent worry.

Bianca tosses the damp rag at me. "You know that's not what I meant."

I laugh, tossing the cloth back. "I'm used to the walk by now. I'll be fine, love. Don't worry about me."

She sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. I step close and wrap my arms around her for a tight, quick hug to ease her mind. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight. Now you be careful out there," Bia warns, pointing a stern finger at me.

"Of course." I wave, push through the heavy glass doors of the diner, and step outside.

The freezing night air hits me like a physical punch. I shiver, pulling my coat tighter around my body, and quicken my pace. My feet ache from standing all day, and I just want to reach my warm apartment to escape this biting winter chill.

Despite the cold, the main streets buzz with bright lights and energy. Groups of people walk past, heading toward neon-lit clubs and crowded late-night bars. The chatter and laughter make me feel secure. The presence of so many people forms a protective blanket over the city.

That false sense of security vanishes the moment I turn the dark, quiet corner toward my apartment building.

The wind howls through the narrow street, rattling empty cans across the cracked pavement. Then, a harsh, thick voice with a heavy Italian accent carries sharply through the freezing draft.

"Get on your fucking knees, now!"

I freeze in my tracks. At first, I think the howling wind is playing tricks on my tired mind. The rustling shadows usually sound creepy, but tonight, they carry an undeniable edge of raw danger.

"You're fucking worthless to me and to this gang."

The voice rings out again. My ears are not deceiving me. The sound comes from the murky, abandoned alleyway just up ahead.

Warning sirens scream in my head. Every survival instinct I possess tells me to turn around, walk away quietly, and run back to the busy street. But a foolish, intoxicating wave of curiosity anchors my feet. Instead of retreating, I creep forward, drawn into the dark shadows framing the alley entrance.

I press my back against the cold brick wall and hold my breath. Hidden in the gloom, a grown man sobs with heavy, desperate heaves.

"Boss, please."

Just as the reality of the terrifying situation settles into my bones, a deafening, explosive gunshot erupts. The sound shatters the night, echoing brutally off the concrete.

A piercing scream rips from my throat before I can stop it. The shock sends me stumbling backward, my boots tangling together. I trip and crash hard onto the rough pavement.

My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. I look up in paralyzing terror toward the alley.

Standing over a freshly bloodied corpse is a tall, intimidating man. Smoke curls from the barrel of the gun resting in his hand. Two other menacing figures step out from the deeper shadows behind him.

My scream definitely alerted them. The man with the gun slowly turns his head. We lock eyes. Even from this distance, his cold, dead stare pins me to the ground. My stomach drops to the floor.

Pure adrenaline floods my veins. Without a single second of hesitation, I scramble up from the rough pavement and run for my life.

I sprint blindly back the way I came, rounding corners and darting down unfamiliar winding streets. I need to get as far away from my apartment as possible. The freezing wind whips my hair across my face, stinging my cheeks, but I do not dare slow down. I push my legs until my muscles burn and my lungs feel ready to cave in. Every shadow looks like a man with a gun. Every gust of wind sounds like footsteps chasing me.

After what feels like an eternity of endless, reckless running, I take the risk of glancing over my shoulder. The winding road behind me is empty and cloaked in darkness. No footsteps. No shouting. No tall killer.

I slow my pace, my boots dragging heavily against the asphalt. My legs shake uncontrollably. I come to a trembling halt near a dim, flickering streetlamp, pressing a shaky hand hard against my racing, pounding chest. I try to force oxygen back into my burning lungs.

"Thank God," I breathe out, leaning forward as profound relief washes over my exhausted body. I actually made it. I got away.

"Thank God?"

The deep, chilling voice echoes right behind my ear. It is a voice that definitely does not belong to me.

Before I can even process the sudden sound, a large, heavily tattooed hand wraps tight around my upper arm. His grip is possessive, unyielding, and terrifyingly strong.

I let out a horrified shriek.