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Prologue
Alessio
Eight years ago
Aged 16
I’m on the floor, blood pouring from my lip and eye.
Fucker caught me good.
Never again. No more after today.
“You’ll learn,” my father sneers at me. “You’ll learn to have some fucking respect.”
I don’t answer him. He’s a monster. My own personal monster. He lives to hurt me, and feasts on my pain.
I learned by the age of six not to cry, if I did he would laugh in my face and call me a pussy; tell me I’m weak, useless, and would never amount to anything. If I shouted out in pain, he’d tell me I wasn’t worthy of the Bianchi name.
I’ve been Matteo Bianchi’s personal punching bag since I could walk. Maybe even before that.
“One day, Alessio, you’ll understand what it’s like to have three useless children. All of you are disappointments. I work my ass off to ensure this family, our name, is feared, and then I havethree bastard children who are useless and will bring down the Bianchi name. I will not stand for it,” he snarls. His foot collides with my ribs, and pain erupts, stealing my breath .
Fucking bastard.
The older I’ve got, the less abuse I have suffered at his hands. I was beaten, starved. Anything the fucker could conjure up to cause me pain, he would.
Nothing was as bad as watching him rape and beat women. Something he saw as a sport, a past time he and his fucking asshole friends could join in on.
The worst one happened mere weeks ago. I was tied to a chair in the basement, and I watched as my father, his consigliere, and an underboss took turns raping the girl I was dating. That girl had her throat slit and was dumped on the outskirts of the city. Her family have no idea what happened to her, and they’ve yet to find her body.
My father laughed as she begged for him to stop and pleaded with me to help her. Bile crept up my throat. It was like acid burning a hole inside of me. I was powerless, unable to do anything but watch. I paid the penance for dating her—a woman outside of the famiglia—a woman who wasn’t assigned to me. I kept my eyes on her as she cried, begged, and pleaded, until the knife slit across her throat and the life left her eyes. I didn’t once turn my gaze. I couldn’t.
If I could kill the cunt, I would. I’d do it gladly and would take whatever punishment comes with it.
“If for one second you think you’ll be anything but a soldier in my ranks, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Everyone says being the son of Matteo is a privilege, how they’d love it if their father was the capo of the famiglia. I always have to pretend he’s God’s gift to our family, when in fact, the man’s the fucking Devil reincarnate. I gave up trying to pleaseeveryone a long time ago, but it sure as fuck feels good not to have to walk on eggshells around anyone but Matteo.
His foot connects with my side once again. It has enough force behind it that I end up on my side. I grit my teeth and push to my feet. I’m just as tall as the asshole now, and the fucker only hits me when we’re alone. I see the fear seep into his eyes whenever I’m around. Hell, it’s the same look he gets when both of my brothers are around too.
Dante and Romero have no idea about the abuse I’ve suffered at the hands of my father, and that’s the way it needs to be kept. If they did, I know my brothers would end his miserable life, and that’s a huge fucking no-no in our world. You take out the Capo, you’ve just handed yourself a death sentence.
But one day, Matteo will get his just desserts, and I for one will be standing there smiling when the bastard does.
“You’re a fucking bastard, Alessio,” he growls, his eyes wild as he stares at me. “You have a fucking job to do, and you had better start doing it right. I don’t care what you have to do; fuck that cunt’s granddaughter if you must. Just get me the goddamn information I need.”
I grit my teeth. Fucking ass. He’s in bed with the Russians, a fucking huge mistake if you ask me. The man believes he’s invincible. He’s running drugs, women, and guns. All of which will get his ass killed if anyone in the famiglia found out. But the man doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and that’s why my ass is now on the line, as I’m having to get close to the Russians.
Matteo is getting paranoid. He believes someone’s stealing drugs from him. The asshole doesn’t know if he can trust the Russians—even though he’s working with them—or if it’s the Latinos who are taking the product and making waves.
“Fuck that,” I hiss, annoyed as hell that he’s putting this shit on me.
He gets in my face—a huge fucking mistake—and glares at me. “You’ll do as I fucking say. If not, Alessio, you’ll be taken care of.”
I laugh. “Keep threatening me, old man, you’ll not like what happens when I start to open my mouth.”
His nostrils flare as he pulls his hand back.
