Book three of the only series
They gave her one mission. They told her to find the Chicago mob Capo and get revenge. So they sent her away. She had a plan. A mindset. Goals she needed to reach.
Until she met his son.
He was supposed to be the en...
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The silver knife twirled easily between my fingers. I watched as it nearly nicked the skin between my pointer and middle, and I almost wished it had. So I can see someone else's blood other than hers. So I can see our white marble floors filled with blood that was mine instead of blood that was never supposed to be there.
Maybe it would help get her image out of my mind. Maybe the urge to see blood would quiet the voices, the ones that set the urge to kill.
But not just to kill enemies or men that have betrayed us, but the urge to kill my father.
The itch only worsened by the day. Even more so when we sat in this room. When I watched him torture for hours, and then he'd make me mimic what he did. The echoes of the screaming didn't even distract me from my thoughts. They were white noise at that point.
It'd only been three years since I got inducted, but I'd seen and done almost everything any made man has done.
Maybe even worse. My father wanted me to be the best he said, the best at keeping our enemies alive while they bled out for days. He told me I couldn't be soft like my mother. He told me I had duties, that being Capo of the Chicago mob had responsibilities that my mother tried to keep me away from.
He told me that it was better that she was out of our lives.
"Alessio."
I didn't bother looking up. Maybe a year ago his tone would've terrified me, but this wasn't a year ago. I was almost sixteen. Which meant I was as tall as him. It helped looking at him eye to eye. I could tell he didn't like that though. That I was almost stronger than him.
I heard the metal of knives and guns hit the table, "it's your turn now. Get it done before you go to the tattoo shop."
I didn't answer him.
"You know, having a soft spot for women and getting tatted every week looks bad. They'll all be scared of you." He mentioned, his voice getting closer to me. The guy he had strapped the chair to was groaning quietly. You could hear his blood dripping on the floor every few seconds.
I shook my head, "you think women are scared of tattoos?" I stopped twirling the knife around my fingers. Slowly looking up at my father.
He stood in front of me, blood splattered all over his clothes. "The ones that you'll have to marry will be. Your mother didn't like mine. But I didn't give a shit about what that bitch wanted."
I clenched my jaw, the pressure making my teeth feel like they'd shatter, "it's that why you killed her?"
My father laughed, throwing his head back. Showing me the vein that I could slit with the sharp edge of my knife and he'd bleed out within seconds.
"Oh no, son. She was helping people she shouldn't have been."
"And who did she help that cost her life?" I asked.
