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My eyes continue to bounce between them while contemplating if I should try to slip away. Rossi places his heavy hand on my shoulder as if reading my thoughts.
“Then give him to me as a symbol of friendship.” Mancini’s wicked smile chills me, and I silently plead not to be given to him. For certain, it would mean death.
“I don’t want your friendship. We are done here.” My savior grips my shoulders, but I refuse to show pain. I don’t think it’s his intention, but rather he doesn’t realize his strength.
“This is the beginning of the war.” Mancini points his finger at Rossi, who doesn’t seem shaken. He refuses to dignify the threat with a response, so I stand up taller, trying to mimic his stance.
Chapter 2
Luca Age 21
Myhearthumsitsconstant beat that acts as a calming lullaby. My face stays stoic with my signature slight grin, not wanting anyone to be able to read me. Even with no one around, I keep up the appearance, because someone is always watching. The sky has eyes and ears everywhere. There is a reason why they call me Luca “Smiley” Rossi. I’ve heard people say that catching my smile while being looked in the eyes is a sign of death. I’ve never thought much about it. Never had a reason to bluff, I suppose. When your father is one of the most important mob bosses around, you have bigger things to deal with.
I push the man in front of me, causing him to trip on his feet. My hand hooks into his collar before he falls, hauling him upright. His shirt’s fabric rips, and he coughs from the weak hold it has around his neck.
Killing in broad daylight on a main street is how I prefer to take people out. I like the fear it instills in people. There’s no need for secretive cleanup, because it sends the message loud and clear. Killing up close makes it less of a sport and it’s too savage for my enjoyment. But it will be something I’m going to have to get used to. After all, I’m Nicoli Rossi’s only son and the oldest of his children. But that doesn’t make my four sisters weak. All of us kids were brought up similarly. Even the mafia needs an heir and a spare. My four sisters are the spares, in case something ever happens to me.
The abandoned oil refinery looms in front of me. It’s busted-out windows with plywood coverings give the illusion it’s vacant. What you don’t see is the metal reinforcement inside that makes it bulletproof, nor the extra details, which prevents screams from being heard on the outside.
The massive building blends in with all the other out of date structures in the area. The area reminds me of a graveyard, each building another tombstone. Even the air has this rotting smell to it that never leaves, no matter the season. The area gives off this eerie vibe thatif you stay too long, you will be trapped in this ominous loop from which, there is no escape.
If caught, a war will be brought down with its full wrath. These two families have been fighting since I came into the picture, which also happened to be the day Nicoli Rossi brought me home as one of his children. There was no discussion. He read me the rules and told me that if I disobeyed him, he would bury me himself. Afterward, he walked me into his home and introduced me to the rest of the family. Unlike everyone else, he gave me respect, and in turn, he gained my respect.
The man in front of me harassed my sister. He catcalled her like a common whore, calling her names and tried to touch her when she clearly wanted nothing to do with him. He’s one of Mancini’s men. Anyone under his control is deemed my enemy and our family’s, but his actions led to this.
I have zero-tolerance for arrogant shits who think they can bother my sisters. Killing him in the building that Mancini uses for his killings will send a message.
One day, I’ll be taking over. I’m the heir who gets to continue my family’s legacy. I need the men to respect me and to believe I have no fear. Respect is the most important thing to me. I have killed for it. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for it.
I’ve come with no backup, which is stupid as hell. But the chance of being caught on my own is lower than if I had others with me. I have to take my chances. The thought of being seen does nothing to get my heart pumping, unlike the adrenaline right before a shot. I’m the perfect marksmen. My father learned early on that I wouldn’t become a family doctor or lawyer, or a politician. I much preferred to practice my aim and learn how to disassemble and reassemble his guns.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a cover job. My father still wants politics to be an option. All I need to do is keep my nose clean and stay out of jail. It’s really out of my hands, so I keep on going as I please until the day comes I no longer have a choice.
The man in front of me doesn’t try to beg for his life. He walks with his head up, with pride. The Mancini family is as powerful as mine. We both hold the largest territories, with the most loyal members. Even this guy won’t snitch.
Coming to the main doors, I push his shoulders to turn him to me. “Kneel,” I command.
He refuses, just as I expected. His kneeling wouldn’t have changed his fate. But it gives me an understanding of how loyal he is.
Bringing my handgun out, I take a step back. I don’t want his blood splattered on me.
“Last chance to kneel before your true king,” I say, trying to mess with him. I don’t enjoy torturing; it bores me.
He tilts his head higher.
Taking another step back, I hold up my gun. It’s steady in my hand, even with the blood rushing through my body. It takes one shot, and he falls to the ground. Placing my gun behind my back, I wait to hear any sounds that are not mine. The sound of traffic is in the distance, but not any louder or different from any other day.
Stepping away, I turn and notice a girl walking down the street. Her feet have stopped and her head is tilted toward the evening sky. Not a single bird has made a sound since the bullet left the chamber of my gun as if scared to move.
I watch as she starts walking again at an awkward pace. I consider if I should kill her from here. I could do it easily. She glances over her shoulder, her face clean of makeup, making her appear young. There is no doubt she’s much younger than me. She seems to be about the age of my youngest sister, who just became a teen.
Her dark hair is raven-like, in a simple ponytail. Her eyes are wide, shining with innocence. She’s wearing a skirt and a sweater that’s one size too large for her petite frame. Her glasses are three times the size of her already wide eyes.
I’m intrigued by why a girl like her would be walking alone around this side of town. Staying in the shadows, I follow her, much like a wolf. Staying in the dark edges, I almost laugh, watching her react with awareness that she’s being followed but still not trusting her gut.
Chapter 3
Aly Age 16
