Destined

Chapter One

Elena

Is it considered an omen if my story starts with a funeral? Maybe I'm being selfish since it's not my funeral. Or maybe I'm not being humble enough by claiming this was when my story started. The word story feels redundant. Maybe nightmare is a better word.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. My name is Elena Morelli, and I'm twenty-four years old. I work with my family in our bakery, that's been in our family for generations. It was a small shop in the corner by the bus stop, but no one made delicate Italian pastries and desserts like us.

They were all my nonnas recipes passed down by her mother and her mother before that. It felt so tranquil being in the bakery where I wasn't anybody but myself. I wasn't someone's daughter or someone's sister.

I was simply Elena, and simply Elena was happiest when she baked. The bakery was a front for many of my father and brother's dealings, but if I closed my eyes hard enough, it didn't bother me. It didn't bother me that Enzo hated me working, and it didn't bother me that my mother would rather I get married and have a hundred kids.

The only one I trusted with my soul was my nonna and father. My father spent most of his days in bed with an oxygen tank, and I spent my time reading him stories or telling him all the new flavor combos I had thought of and written down.

He couldn't speak much, his voice crackly and raspy, but he'd smile and nod at me. Those were always enough. I'd smile and nod my head back. Enzo was my elder brother, and once our father got sick, he took over the family business.

The illegitimate family business. We were Italian. Proud Italians. We were also the very-well known Morelli's. The Morelli's were known for our expansive and expensive weaponry and heroine. My brother took over the dealings and everything business related since my father couldn't get out of bed.

Enzo was more ambitious than my father and far greedier. He didn't do things the way our father did, instead choosing to do everything more savagely and brutally. He was more murderous than my father and claimed that death and violence were the only way to keep our enemies scared of us and at bay.

We used to have a pact with the Russians, but when my father was forcefully retired, and Enzo took over, the Russians grew cautious of a man who had no morale and cut off ties. I didn't know much about the Costa Nostra world, but I was smart enough to know who our enemies were. Besides the Russians, the Irish were the second Mob that Enzo hated with his entire soul.

The Irish Mob was ruthless and was very well known in all of Nevada. They dealt with drugs, alcohol, and explosives. Their trades were expanding all over the state, and I knew Enzo was hateful of how successful their leader was.

The Callahan Irish Mob was dangerous and threatening; from what I've heard, their boss was a violent savage. No one truly knew what he looked like, and the gossip around Henderson was that you never got to have two chances with him.

It was rumored that he killed his men and wife and wouldn't mind sacrificing his own family for his greed and ambition. There was much talk like this about the Callahan mob leader, but no one truly knew what his deal was.

No one's ever gotten close enough to find out. Our world was terrifying, and Enzo ensured my safety by having his men guard the inside and outside of the bakery. His men were as ruthless and as violent as Enzo, all besides one. Marcelo Gallo.

He was my brother's secondhand man, and I've always had the biggest crush on him. Of course, it wasn't reciprocated since Enzo would probably murder a man for touching me, but I still enjoyed and liked Marcelo from afar. He was a few years older than me and was not only skilled with his gun, but he was intelligent and funny, and kind to me.