Potere | Book II ✓

interlude | no mercy

interlude | no mercy

i decided to write an interlude to pause from the main storyline so most of you can refresh on what's happening.

pls read the ending authors note.

this entire chapter contains very important flashbacks that will inspire events within the story. read carefully.

I also understand people don't like third person, but I'm writing it so stop kidding urselves

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August 2015

Innocence.  The state, quality, or fact of being innocent of a crime or offense.  Michael Davidé Luciano lost his innocence long ago, and tonight, within the confines of his most sacred place, he stares up at the photograph of the man who took it.  Azazel Luciano.

But the demon who stole his throne and murdered his father didn't just take Michael's innocence.

He took his soul.

A young Michael Luciano drags his sobbing mother behind him, his hand tangled in her long hair.  She looks pathetic.  Snot runs down her nose and tears pour out of her eyes.  Sobs slip past her lips as she struggles against her son's grip, fighting to escape as she's dragged along the cold, damp, concrete floor.

She scratches at Michael's arms, doing her best to get him to release her.  She even manages to jam her recently manicured nails into his skin, drawing blood.  Michael grimaces, but the act of trying to hurt him backfires.  He slams her head into the floor, and she releases him, stunned.

Michael looks over his shoulder, catching the eye of the only other one in the basement of the home he grew up in.  Vincenzo De Santis.  His curls are loose and long, drooping so far over his forehead that they disrupt his vision. He gives his head a gentle shake, moving the curls out of his line of sight for the time being.

Michael's fist connects with his mother's cheek.  Once, then twice.  He grabs the pearls around her neck, using the expensive jewelry to draw her closer to him, and hits her again.  They break and pearls scatter across the basement floor.  He hits her again. Her bottom lip splits and begins to bleed.  The left side of her face is caked in her blood, and the blood that seeps through the cuts on Michael's knuckles.

"Michael, please!" She grabs Michael's fist, breathing heavily.  Blood trails out the corner of her lips and down her chin.  If her left eye wasn't already swollen, tears would be falling out of it.  She sobs again.  The only plea out of her mouth is the name of her son, her firstborn.  "Michael."

But the young man who would soon reign over it all—from the state of California to the entire west region of the United States—doesn't respond to her cries. The young man who would not only take the throne of the Luciano empire, but find himself at the top of the criminal hierarchy for the entirety of his reign—and long after—allows his mother's sobs to fall on deaf ears.

"Fuck you."  Michael spits.  "All these years you would sob in my face over dad—over a man you didn't even love.  And to find out you helped Azazel kill him.  You helped him take Dad's throne, and you helped him keep what was rightfully mine from me! You fucking—"

"Michael, please—"

Michael hits her again.

The next name out of her mouth is, "Vincenzo!"  Her cry finally reaches an ear willing to hear.  She raises her forearms over her face, bracing herself for another brutal blow from her son.  It doesn't come.  Her body shakes in fear, from tears, as the boy steps to Michael's side.