Sinscared Series #1
A forbidden love.
A betrayal lurking in the shadows.
And a world built on blood, deception, and vengeance.
In the ruthless world of the Italian mafia, loyalty is power, betrayal is death, and love... is a dangerous game.
Serafi...
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Early twilight painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, creating a paradoxical cover for this dark land.
The cold October breeze signaled the approach of autumn. I had always harbored a soft spot for autumn. I loved its paradoxical nature-it was chill, yet it brought warmth and comfort.
Loved ones drew closer, seeking solace in each other's company.
But for me, autumn meant longing for something more-a yearning for the freedom that always seemed just out of reach.
While I had material wealth, it was the freedom of choice that the less fortunate seemed to possess.
It was the power to shape one's destiny, to make decisions without societal or familial constraints.
But in my world, fate was predetermined. Individual rights held little value.
As the product of a fateful marriage, I was a pawn in a power game played by two influential families.
My life belonged to those who sought to control and manipulate it. I was merely a commodity to be traded, married off, or discarded at will.
Within the Mafia world, there were two paths for girls-the Warriors and the Wives. The Warriors were trained to fight from an early age, wielding knives at eight and guns by fifteen.
The Wives were groomed for grace, poise, and charm, playing with Barbie at eight and learning etiquette at fifteen. But I defied these roles.
I was a mix of both Warriors and Wives, shaped by circumstances beyond my control.
Raised without my parents' guidance, I navigated the Mafia world alone. I had a soft heart that yearned for love and compassion, but my hands were stained with the blood of those who crossed my path.
My first kill was a turning point, a memory so vivid and raw that it remained etched in my mind like a scar. I was 15, just a girl by most standards, but the rage boiling inside me was anything but juvenile.
I remember, the air was heavy with the scent of rain, and the storm clouds had gathered ominously, mirroring the storm brewing within me.
My father had always been a easy going person, a trait that often was a bad advantage for him in our dangerous world.
