Wicked Games (Bishop Mafia Series 1)

Prologue

Copyright © 2019 by Athena Bipasha)

"Papa..."

"Ssh, Pascal." Renzo Triglia whispered to his son as he staggered through the dark alley. He had to get to safety.

Far off, Pascal, still heard the cheerful noise from the circus. He had been laughing as he rode Pegasus on the carousel. And without warning, his father had snatched him and ran. A chill crawled down the boy's back as he clutched his father's jacket. Tears ran down his face. "Papa, I want to go home." He sobbed into his father's shoulder.

"We will, Pascal. Uncle Michel, will come for us soon." Renzo, reached into his pocket. It was empty. Shit! He cursed. He must have dropped his mobile after he had called his younger brother, Michel.

Pascal's eyes widened as he peeked from his father's shoulder. "Papa," he pointed to behind them.

Speeding up, Renzo glanced back in the direction his son had pointed. He felt it first before his body made contact. A loud clang banged against his knees and he found himself falling onto the wet floor. As he tried to stop himself, his arms lost their grip on Pascal. Both father and son fell to the floor on top of the large trash cans. Pascal, began to cry out loudly in that quiet dark alley, where no one else walked now.

An electric jolt of pain shot through Renzo's left leg. The Silvioe leg where the bullet had hit him before he had grabbed Pascal from the Pegasus. "Pascal!" He cried, reaching out to his son and pulling him into a tight embrace. As Renzo held the crying child in his arms, he saw several balloons rising above the ferris wheel. That was what had caught Pascal's attention earlier. Renzo, tried to move. He clenched his teeth as another jolt of pain, like a thousand needles poked into his leg.

Renzo, laid beside the thrash cans, holding his son and gasping for breath. Pascal was unhurt except for a bruised left cheek and left arm. We are alive. Very slowly, he stood up and scanned the darkness for a place to hide. Michel would come soon but how soon? He didn't hear anything. The silence was murderous.
Then he heard the footsteps. His arms around Pascal, tightened.

"Renzo," A voice spoke from the darkness.

Renzo froze.

Only a few feet away, the silhouette of his attacker stood confidently. Over six feet tall, he had broad shoulders. The Italian bloodline that flowed through his veins gifted him with thick, black hair and a strong face. The color of the deep blue ocean filled his quick intelligent eyes.

Renzo heard the click. He knew. "Dean, don't hurt my son. This is between you and me."

"You crossed the line." The faint Italian accent was coated by a chillingly, calm voice.

"Not here. Not in front of my boy." Renzo patted Pascal's back.

The man raised his gun.

Renzo tried to plead. "Dean, please. My son..."

BOOM!

A single bullet ripped into Renzo's stomach. He began to bleed as Pascal's screams erupted. He fell backwards, arms protectively grasped around his son. Renzo's back hit the floor, eyes desperately searching above him.

"Papa!" He heard Pascal yell, as the strength in Renzo's arms began to ebb away.

Pascal fell to the floor beside him. "Papa!" The five-year-old was now crying, shaking his father.

Renzo's eyes began to close as his life flashed before him. His marriage, Pascal's birth, the divorce and the one reason as to why he had been shot – his plot to kill Robertoooo Bishop, the father of the young Don.

As Renzo's eyes flickered hopelessly in the last two minutes of his life, he searched in panic for his son. The bobbing red curly top brought a slight comfort. Pascal was safe. His killer wouldn't hurt the boy. It was Their way of life.

A wailing Pascal patted his Papa's cheek. Renzo's hand shook with the very little strength it had left, longing to touch his son one last time. The little effort caused him a great deal of pain which burned through the arm he tried to raise.

Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes in pure agony. Tears fell on the floor. Renzo opened his eyes and saw the rage filled blue eyes look down at him. There was no mercy in them. Renzo wouldn't plead. He knew he would receive another blow, one that would bring his being to an end. The media would get news of his death but the police wouldn't investigate because They willed it such.

"Burn in hell, Renzo." The deep voice, void of any emotion told him.

Renzo knew that voice. The young Don, who was now King over the entire Bishop Empire had just bid him adieu to hell. Renzo's eyes fluttered to try and keep open, at least for Pascal's sake. His strength was being drained as the blood from his stomach continued to flow from his body. A black fog formed all around him.

The young Don clicked the gun again. He fired another shot into an already slow – breathing Renzo Triglia. The bullet hit the heart, blood spilled onto the young boy's face, who was kneeling by his father. Pascal yelled in fear and begged his father to get up. When his father made no moves, the tearful eyed boy looked at his father's killer. It was a face he would not forget – the arrogance and the fearlessness would be what he would remember long into his life.

The Don stared at the body and then at Pascal. He clicked the safety on his gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans, all the time never taking his eyes off the child.

Pascal, through his falling tears and blood smeared face, glared silently at his father's killer. He cried louder. He wanted his Uncle Michel to come and wake his papa. However, there was no one around to stop this man from killing his papa. In his young mind, he knew, no one would help. Not those who stayed in the apartments at both sides of the alley. They would watch in silence, hidden in the darkness. No one dared to question Them.

Little Pascal's hands balled into fists. Shooting to his feet, he threw himself onto his father's killer, grabbing the ends of his jacket. "Papa! Papa!" He cried but the killer simple looked down at him, with no emotion in his eyes.

Pascal wanted to do something, to hurt this man in a very bad way like what he had done to his papa. He didn't know how. Helplessly, he kicked the stranger's legs. "You hurt papa," he sobbed, looking up at the steel like face. "He will never ride Pegasus with me again." The boy babbled from the shock that was settling into him.

Strong hands grabbed the boy by his shoulders and set him down roughly. Pascal crawled to his papa's body and lay the side of his head on Renzo's side as the silent tears hurried down his cheeks, eyes fixed steadfastly on the killer.

With a final look at the body, the young Don turned his back on the two Triglias and walked to the silently waiting orange Lamborghini. It had all happened so suddenly. Despite all the security, the Triglias had gotten to his family. And there was one other link, the most important one. She would be next. He knew. He had to find a way to get her.

He sat inside the car and took in the quietness of the night. He tapped on his mobile screen and raised it to his ear. His second-in-command, Leo Savino answered at the first ring.

"Leo, its time." He spoke into the phone.