AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Prologue: Shadows of the Past
Dario
I'm running through the dark, rain-soaked halls of the Marchetti compound's mansion. The storm outside rages on, its fury mirrored in the chaos within.
Shadows flicker and dance, morphing into sinister shapes that seem to reach for me around every corner. My heart pounds in my chest as I search desperately for a familiar face, someone to tell me it's all just a terrible dream.
"Mom? Dad?" I call out, my voice cracking with fear. But there's no answer, only the howl of the wind and the relentless drumming of rain against the windows.
A sudden crash echoes through the hallways, followed by the distant sound of a woman's scream. Panic surges through me as I recognize the voice—it's my Mom. Something is wrong.
If I can find her, maybe I can help her. But how much help can a boy of twelve really be?
Just as my legs are about to give out beneath me, a deafening thunderclap jolts me awake. I sit up in bed, sweat-drenched and trembling, as I try to catch my breath.
The nightmare was so vivid, so real, that for a moment, I struggle to discern whether I'm still trapped in its clutches. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my body drenched in sweat.
I blink, struggling to distinguish reality from the horrors of my dream. The storm outside is real, its ferocity seeping into the very walls of our home.
I want my mom.
My eyes dart around the room, looking for the nanny, but she must have left after I fell asleep. It's my Dad, The Don Marchetti's orders, so I can learn to be more independent, he says. The darkness presses in on me, its weight almost unbearable.
I long for the comforting presence of anyone, even my Dad's men whom I usually detest, their watchful eyes a reassurance that all is well. But they are nowhere to be seen, leaving me to face the storm alone.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet beneath me. I need to get out of this room. Perhaps, I can go to my Mom and curl up beside her. She lets me do that every time I’m afraid, and then sends me back before Dad exits his room.
We keep it our little secret. It’s easy to get away with it since my Dad and Mom have been sleeping separately for years now.
Away from the warmth of the blankets now, I shiver.
But I soon learn that the storm outside is not the only danger that threatens. I suddenly hear my Mom's voice through the thunder, raised in fear and desperation. Her single, lonesome scream pierces the night, a chilling reminder of the horrors that visited me in my nightmare.
I want to run to her, to protect her from the unknown, but my feet remain rooted to the spot.
I am afraid. What if this is just a lingering fragment of my imagination? I strain my ear, waiting for another sound, but hear nothing.
Barefoot, I tiptoe toward my bedroom door, my heart pounding against my ribcage as I strain to hear more from the hallway. And then it comes again—the unmistakable sound of my Mom's raised voice, quivering with fear.
The urgency in her tone sends shivers down my spine, a magnet drawing me towards her. I must reach her, she needs help.
"Please, no!" she cries out. "You don't have to do this!"
I grip the cold metal doorknob, hesitating for only a moment before flinging the door open just enough for me to peek into the dimly lit hallway. My eyes dart from one end to the other, searching for anything that might help explain my Mom's distress.
But what truly alarms me is the absence of my Dad's men—usually stationed along the hallways.
Where are they? Why aren't they protecting her?
"Mom!" I whisper-yell, torn between the urge to rush to her side and the fear of drawing attention to myself. I step out into the hallway, my breaths getting heavier with what I feel is each forbidden step forward.
"Someone, please help!" my Mom screams, her voice echoing through the mansion.
I can't stand idly by any longer. As I pick up speed, my mind races, trying to come up with a plan—anything that could save her from whatever nightmare has befallen our home. Where is Dad? I pray he is safe.
"Stay calm, Dario," I whisper to myself, trying to recall the countless lessons my Dad taught me about remaining level-headed in the face of adversity. Yet those lessons were meant for a future version of myself, not a scared twelve-year-old boy on a stormy night.
"Please, don't do this! I beg you!" My Mom's fearful voice travels through the hallway again, tearing at my heart.
