Chapter 1 PROLOGUE
ALESSIA VALENTI
The first thing I remembered was the sound. Not the gunshot, but the door.
It crashed inward with a deafening boom, wood splintering across our tiny living room. Papa had spent weeks patching that old door with scraps and rusted nails, swearing it would hold a little longer.
It didn’t.
I was only four.
The impact sent me stumbling backward until my shoulders hit the wall. My heartbeat thundered louder than the echoes still rattling through the apartment.
Three strangers stepped inside.
The man in the middle didn’t need to raise his voice. Fear seemed to arrive with him. He wore a tailored black suit beneath a long, dark coat, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers as smoke curled toward the stained ceiling. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his brow, sharpening an already cruel face.
Two armed men flanked him. Beside them stood a teenage boy, no older than fourteen, his emerald eyes identical to the scarred man’s. He carried no weapon, and his expensive clothes looked painfully out of place.
He kept glancing around the room as if wishing he could disappear.
“Where’s Matteo?” the scarred man asked quietly. The calm in his voice frightened me more than shouting ever could. “The coward who thinks he can steal from me.”
Mama pulled me behind the narrow pantry door before I could make a sound. One trembling hand clamped over my mouth; the other held me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Mama…” I whispered against her palm. “Are we hiding?”
Her blue eyes filled with tears. “Yes, sweetheart.”
“Are the bad men here?”
She forced a smile. “They’ll leave soon.”
Papa stepped into the living room with slow, careful movements.
“I was going to call you,” he said, voice barely shaking. “I’ll pay every dollar I owe.”
The scarred man took a slow drag. Smoke drifted between them.
“Really? My men say you’ve been gone for nearly a month.”
“My phone broke.”
“And?”
“I couldn’t afford another one.”
Silence stretched.
Then—crack.
The slap echoed. Papa dropped to one knee, blood at the corner of his mouth. The scarred man crouched until they were eye level.
“Do you know how many graves built my empire?”
Papa lowered his gaze. “No…”
Another slap. “Answer properly.”
“I… don’t.”
“You remember we grew up together?” Papa pleaded. “We were friends.”
A slow smile. “Exactly. And friends don’t disappear with my money.”
“I just need more… time.”
“You’ve had time.”
“I swear—”
The metallic click of a pistol cut him off. The gun looked enormous in the man’s hand.
The shot rang out.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
When I opened them, Papa wasn’t moving.
My chest ached so fiercely I thought my heart had shattered.
“Mama…” My voice came out tiny. “Why isn’t Papa getting up?”
She didn’t answer. Her body shook with silent sobs. That was enough.
One of the armed men scanned the room. “What about the wife?”
The scarred man flicked ash onto the floor. “Bring her.” He glanced at the boy. “Watch carefully, Damian. This is business.”
Mama knelt in front of me, brushing curls from my face with trembling fingers.
“No matter what happens… stay hidden.” She kissed my forehead, then gently loosened my grip on her sleeve. Even terrified, she walked out with her head high.
The scarred man’s gaze swept over her. “Matteo always did have a weakness for beautiful American women.”
He stepped closer. “I’ll make this easy. You can leave here alive…” Another step. “Or you can leave beside your husband.”
One of his men shoved her. The scarred man lifted a hand and stopped him. He tilted her chin upward with deliberate slowness. “My house. My bed. Or your grave.”
Mama held his gaze, unwavering. She didn’t beg. She didn’t cry. She simply stood her ground.
The silence irritated him. “I asked you a question.”
His fingers tightened on her jaw. “I won’t repeat myself.”
Mama pulled free. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I will never warm your bed.”
For the first time, the scarred man’s expression hardened. The gun rose.
Another shot shattered the silence.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. I wanted to scream. Only silent tears came.
Across the room, the teenage boy looked at me. Our eyes met. He looked horrified. Almost guilty. But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply watched.
“Everything clear?” the scarred man asked. “No witnesses?”
His men nodded. “Nothing alive.”
“Excellent.”
He holstered the pistol and adjusted his cuffs as if he’d finished another meeting. Resting a hand on his son’s shoulder, he said, “Remember this night.”
The boy looked back one last time. He was the only one who had seen me hiding. His green eyes lingered on mine until he disappeared through the door.
The front door slammed shut.
Silence swallowed the apartment.
I crawled out on shaking knees. Blood was everywhere. My parents weren’t coming back.
I stared at the broken doorway where the monster had disappeared. Even at four years old, I made a promise.
One day I would learn his name.
One day I would become strong enough to stand where Papa couldn’t.
And when that day came, the man who destroyed my family would beg for the mercy he never showed us.
