𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵 | Benvenuto

"Giurare Fedeltà" (Pledge Allegiance)

- Alessandro

The past - 17 years old.

He found me.

Three years ago, I ran as far as I could, escaping from my own sadistic father—the man responsible for my mother's death. I thought I'd run so far away that he'd never manage to track me down. But I underestimated him.

He did.

The punishment for my freedom attempt? Fifty lashes, added on top of the usual dose. Fifty goddamn whips that burned and bled. But who's keeping track?

I was.

I counted every single one, seething with a hate so pure it tasted like iron on my fucking tongue. I despised my father, the bastard I once tried to put a bullet through. If only I'd aimed better. He didn't deserve to breathe, not after everything he'd done—to my mother, to Andrea, to me. Andrea, my childhood friend, the only person I'd ever truly trusted. He'd suffered right alongside me, and I couldn't let that continue.

If my father thought I was done plotting my escape, he was more deluded than I'd given him credit for. I'd try again. And this time, I wouldn't leave alone. My brother was coming with me, whether I had to drag him or carry him. I wasn't about to abandon him to our father's sadistic games. This hellhole wouldn't hold me forever. It'd take more than whips and threats to keep me chained here.

The old black sedan's engine rumbled as I turned the key, my grip tightening on the wheel. There was no going back. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught sight of Luca, my little brother, curled up and fast asleep in the back seat, his chest rising and falling, as if we weren't running for our lives.

Andrea sat in the passenger seat next to me, that familiar, unbreakable grin on his face. He'd always been a rock, stubborn as hell and ready to walk through fire if it meant standing by my side. His eyes flicked over to me, sharp and alert, scanning the dark perimeter of the estate. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I muttered, although my heart felt like it might beat right out of my chest. I nodded at Enzo, stationed by the gates, one of my father's men but also the only one who'd ever treated me with a shred of kindness. He'd always stayed loyal to my mother's memory, and had agreed to help us tonight.

Enzo pulled the gates open and waved us forward. "Go! Quickly!"

I hit the gas, and the car jolted forward. We left the mansion behind, and for a second, hope flared inside me. We'd done it—we'd made it out.

But hope is so fucking cruel, and it died fast. Just as we reached the edge of the property, headlights blazed in front of us. I slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a stop. Panic gripped me as three black SUVs pulled up, men piling out, guns drawn.

"No," I muttered, dread turning my blood to ice. I twisted around, reaching for Luca, who'd just woken up, his big, scared eyes looking at me. "Luca, stay down."

The car doors were wrenched open, and before I could react, hands grabbed me, yanking me out and throwing me to the ground. "No!" I shouted, struggling as I saw them pulling Luca out too. He kicked and screamed, terror all over his small face.

"Luca!" I tried to move toward him, but a boot slammed into my ribs, knocking the air out of me. I collapsed to the ground, coughing, a sharp pain blooming in my side. Another kick landed, and I curled up, protecting myself as best as I could.

"Bastards, get off him!" Andrea yelled, and before I knew it, he broke free and threw himself over me, shielding me with his own body. "Don't—you can't hurt him!"

The men weren't listening. They rained blows down on Andrea, fists and boots crashing into him, but Andrea didn't move, shielding me so stubbornly. I could feel Andrea's weight pressing against me, could hear his labored breaths fading with each punch.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I screamed, but it was no use. The world blurred with all the pain I was feeling, and all I could do was watch as Luca was dragged, screaming, back toward the mansion. I tried to move, to fight, but Andrea's weight pinned me down, his body slumping, taking every brutal blow until he went still.

"Andrea," I whispered, but Andrea didn't answer. His head slumped, and he went limp, unconscious yet still receiving the vicious beating. My father's men didn't stop.

My father stepped out of one of the SUVs, strolling toward me with this deliberate calm. The Don had watched the entire scene, eyes cold and fixed on the violence like he was watching his favorite show. He looked thrilled. That smirk on his face made me sick.

"Pick him up," my father ordered. In a flash, his men hauled me up, even as my legs felt like concrete and every breath stabbed at my ribs. I fought against their grip, craning my neck to catch sight of Andrea.

He was face-down on the ground, blood pooling from the back of his head onto the asphalt, motionless. He barely seemed to be breathing—it was bad. Really bad.

I swallowed my pride, desperate to check on Andrea. "Please," I pleaded. "Please, let me help him. He's dying, for God's sake. Just let me check if he's breathing."

My father chuckled, a sound that made me want to rage. "Look at you, begging," he sneered, stepping closer, clearly enjoying this. "You know what you have to do."

My jaw clenched, but I couldn't hide the desperation in my voice. "Please," I repeated. I hated my father more than anything, but I'd do anything for Andrea right now. Anything.

The Don sighed, sounding so fake-sympathetic it was revolting. "Pledge your loyalty, and your friend lives. Refuse, and he dies here, just like the fool who helped you—Enzo."

My heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. Enzo was dead. The man who had risked everything for us had paid the ultimate price, and it was all for nothing. I fucking failed. My throat tightened with fury and frustration, but I forced myself to look at my father. I had no choice.

Every fiber of my being screamed against it, but I couldn't let Andrea die. My shoulders slumped, and I nodded, swallowing my pride and rage. The men holding me released their grip, shoving me forward. I stumbled but managed to stay on my feet, facing the man who had ruined everything I cared about.

My father extended his hand, the family's signet ring glinting on his finger. The symbol of the Rossi crime family, of power, of everything I fucking despised. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and I made a silent vow, one I burned into my soul: "One day, I'll take that ring from you, Diego Rossi. One day, I'll have the power to kill you in the most brutal way imaginable."

I leaned forward, my lips brushing over the ring, pledging my allegiance to the Don. The taste was bitter as hell, but I swallowed my rage, forcing myself to keep my head down.

"Good boy," my father said, patting my cheek with that smug smile.

The Don waved his hand, and finally, one of the men bent down to check on Andrea.

Andrea was rushed to the hospital, and he spent five agonizing days in a coma. I'd already lost my mother to my father's cruelty; now I'd nearly lost Andrea too. And all I could do was wait, hate, and keep making those silent promises I'd one day keep.