AllFreeNovel
Share Us
PROLOGUE
DANTE
It is a rite of passage for every Santoro man to be initiated by blood. At fourteen, my time to be welcomed into the ranks of my father’s men has finally come. My ticket to adulthood—an execution I’m to perform in the name of vengeance for crimes committed against the family.
Standing opposite my mark’s house, my foot tapping impatiently and my palms growing sweaty, I count down the minutes, eager to spill enemy blood and taste the sweet, heady rush of power.
There is beauty in retribution. And Alessandro Carusso deserves every single thing that’s coming his way.
“Dante?” Luigi, one of my father’s trusted men, drops his cigarette to the ground, putting it out with the tip of his scuffed shoe. A billow of smoke surrounds us like a fog, mixing with the ever-present mist Blackwood is known for as he exhales his last puff.
Although by the coast, it’s not exactly a holiday destination one would choose when seeking a place for a beach holiday. Dark pine woods that stretch out in all directions surround Blackwood, shrouding it in an eerie sense of isolation.With narrow streets winding down a steep slope, all pathways lead to the ocean. A sunset warming the horizon with a cast of oranges and yellows would be a beautiful sight, weren’t it for the high rugged cliffs on either side, and a thick rolling fog present most of the year, ensuring that the only beachy thing about Blackwood is the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore mixing with the creaks and groans of the old buildings, weathered by rain and salt in the air.
What youdoget, though, is the best and purest drugs in Northern America, and the head of the Italian mafia who decided to make a home here.
“Let’s go.” I crack my knuckles, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “He should be asleep by now.”
We usually wouldn’t come in the night. Slaves to the Santoro code, we face our enemies head-on, giving them time to come to terms with their imminent death.
But this asshole doesn’t deserve a warning, not Alessandro Carusso. He lost that privilege when he murdered his wife and child. And yet, even killing innocents wasn’t enough to seal his fate. That would have cost him an arm. Maybe a bullet to the kneecap. Just a little reminder he’s not in charge.
If it were up to me, he’d be tortured for his crimes. I would have relished the opportunity to subject him to unending agony for weeks, maybe even months, drawing out his sentence until death was a mercy. And as much as I’d like to take the matter into my own hands, tonight, I’m following my father’s orders.
Go in, take out Carusso and his men, and get out.
At least he’s going to pay for what he has done. Even if what sealed his fate was going after the man his wife had an affair with, Nico Nicolosi’s son. And, despite his bad breath and questionable choices in women, Nico Nicolosi is Papa’sdear old friend and a powerful enough capo residing in Blackriver for the death of his son to warrant retribution.
It wasn’t going to be my job. It’s not something a Santoro would usually get involved with at all, but since Carusso technically lives on our territory, I volunteered to come with Luigi and serve his sentence while Nicolosi’s men got busy with ending the rest of the Carusso family line.
Even consumed by a need for revenge and a madness born of betrayal, Alessandro must have known it was going to end like this. Was his only goal to satisfy his own twisted sense of justice? He must have realised his actions—not driven by reason, but by a dark rage that knew no bounds—would bring on his demise. And all those around him would pay the price for his quest for vengeance.
With a grin, I scale the seven-foot fence, my heart pounding with excitement as I move stealthily through the undergrowth surrounding his house, carefully avoiding the spots that would trigger floodlights and give away my position.
Luigi and I move in silence, like predators stalking our prey. I watch as Luigi takes care of the guard stationed by the west wing, a quick, silent kill, and I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement as I creep up behind the unsuspecting guard leaning against a tree, absorbed in something on his phone. The knife slides through his throat with ease, and I watch with pleasure as the light fades from his eyes, his body collapsing to the ground with a gurgling sound as the annoying Angry Birds music continues to play from the phone clutched in his hand. I should feel something. Remorse, maybe? But he stood by a man who murdered his own wife and young daughter. He deserves his fate. The only thing I feel is the gratitude that it’s dark enough for me to pretend the dark liquid seeping out of him is not blood. I kick the phone out of his hand and crush it under the heelof my boot before searching his body, trying not to gag at the smell of copper surrounding me. Choosing a knife as a weapon was a necessity. A calculated decision, one I had to make in order to be the person everyone thinks I already am. When my fingers wrap around a set of metal keys, I can’t help but let out a low chuckle. This is too easy. Without a second glance, I continue my path around the house, dodging the manicured rose bushes and keeping my senses alert for any other guards, but the grounds are quiet. It’s almost as if Carusso knows we’re coming for him but doesn’t care. Before I know it, I’m at the back of the house, slipping the keys into the lock and opening the set of glass doors with a satisfying click. The hunt is on.
Luigi steps behind me, panting. “Three on my side. You?”
“Just one,” I reply, quietly inching the door open.
“There should be five more inside,” he whispers.
I nod, then slide in through the cracked door and sneak behind a sofa.
“Let’s split,” I mouth to Luigi when he joins me.
He shakes his head.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Despite my age, I already hate when people underestimate me. “We split, or I’ll knock you out and do it all myself,” I seethe in a low, menacing tone, driving the message home.
With a shake of his head, he finally agrees, knowing better than to argue with me.
Hushed voices drift into the room from somewhere on the ground floor as Luigi motions for me to go upstairs to the bedrooms while he takes care of the men here.
When he sees my annoyance, he whispers, “Focus on Carusso. That’s your target. No distractions,Saint.” I never liked Luigi, but he’s got a point.
With a reluctant nod, I hold back the sneer that’s tryingto get loose at his use of the nickname—the wounds still too raw to bear its constant reminder of a tragic loss.
“Dante—” He stops me as I make my way from behind the sofa. “Don’t forget. No witnesses. No one leaves here alive tonight. Got it?”
