Chapter 1: The Night of Blood

Rain hit New Verona hard, like it wanted to wash the city away. Dante Russo stood in his big, fancy house—the Russo Mansion. His hands were bloody, dripping red onto the shiny floor. His uncle was dead in the next room, cold and still. People said it was a heart attack, but Dante didn't care. The old man was gone, and now Dante owned the Russo Mafia. He was 28, tall and strong, with dark hair and gray eyes that looked mean. A scar cut across his cheek, ugly and old, from a fight he forgot. His black suit was wet from the rain, sticking to him. Around him, his men stood quiet, watching. They were scared of him, and he liked that.

"It's been eighteen years," Dante said, his voice was loud and he sounded angry. "Eighteen years since bad guys killed my mom and dad. I was just a little kid, ten years old, hiding in a closet. I heard my mom scream. I heard my dad cry. Then the house burned, and they were gone." He squeezed his hands into fists, so tight it hurt. "I promised I'd get the guy who did it. Tonight, I will."

Marco walked up, fast and sneaky. He was thin, with dark eyes and a tricky smile. His gray suit looked nice, but he was dangerous. "Boss, we know who it was," he said. "Lorenzo De Luca. He's the one. A guy who used to work for him told us—saw Lorenzo do it."

Dante's tummy felt tight, like he might be sick. Lorenzo De Luca was a big, mean man who ran part of the city. Dante hated him so much it burned inside. "Where is he?" Dante asked, his voice hard.

"At his big house, ten miles away," Marco said, smiling big. "Lots of guards with guns. You want to go now?"

"Yes, now," Dante said. He grabbed his gun from his pants—a black one that felt heavy and cold. He remembered his mom's hugs, his dad's stories. Then the fire took them. He pushed the sad thoughts away and ran out into the rain, his men following like shadows.

The cars sped fast, slipping on the wet road. Rain banged on the roof, loud and scary. Dante sat in the front, gun on his lap, looking out at the dark city. Buildings flew by, tall and shiny. Marco drove, talking fast about the plan. "Guards at the gate. Maybe dogs. We shoot quick," he said. Dante nodded, ready to fight.

Lorenzo's house was huge, all white and bright, even in the rain. Tall gates stood in front, with men walking around holding guns. Dante's team jumped out, shooting fast—pop, pop, pop. The guards fell down, quiet, blood mixing with the mud. Dante ran to the front door and kicked it hard. It broke open, and he went inside, gun ready.

In a big room with a long table, Lorenzo sat eating dinner. He was fat, with no hair on top, and a shiny gold chain around his neck. He held a glass of red wine, looking calm. Too calm. When he saw Dante, he smiled a little. "Dante Russo," he said, slow and creepy. "You finally came."

"You killed my mom and dad," Dante yelled, pointing the gun at him. "Burned them up!"

Lorenzo laughed, loud and nasty. "Did I? Or did someone trick you?" He sipped his wine, staring at Dante. "You're just a toy in someone's game, little boy."

"Be quiet!" Dante shouted, mad and his body shaky uncontrollably. He wanted to shoot right now.

Then a girl ran in, screaming. She was young, with long dark hair, and her eyes showed she was scared. Her white dress was pretty, but she looked so afraid. "Dad?" she cried, staring at Lorenzo.

"Isabella," Lorenzo said, soft and sad. "Run away."

Dante didn't look at her. He pulled the trigger. Bang! The bullet hit Lorenzo's chest, and blood flew everywhere—on the wall, on the table, on the girl. The wine glass fell and broke, making a big mess. Lorenzo fell back, making a weird noise, then stopped moving. Dead.

The girl—Isabella—screamed so loud it till it hurted Dante's ears. She fell to her knees, crying hard, reaching for her dad. "Dad! No, no, please!" she sobbed. Tears ran down her face. Her hands shaky, covered in blood, trying to touch him. She looked so small, so sad, like a broken doll. Her dad was gone, and she couldn't help him.

Dante stepped closer, his boots making sounds as he approached Her. "Get up," he said, mean and cold.

She looked at him, eyes wet and angry. "What?" she whispered with pain.

He grabbed her arm hard and pulled her up. She yelled and hit him, scratching his hand. "Let me go!" she cried, but he was too strong. "You're mine now," he said. "Your dad took my family. I'll take you."

She cried louder, falling down, but he pulled her up again. She kicked and screamed, so scared and sad, her dress all dirty with blood. Marco ran in, yelling, "Boss, trouble's here!"

Outside, guns started shooting—bang, bang, bang! Lights flashed through the windows, so bright. Cars roared close. Dante turned, pushing Isabella toward the door. Bullets hit the house, breaking stuff, making loud noises. "Who's that?" Dante shouted, mad.

"Don't know!" Marco said, running ahead. "Bad guys!"

Dante pulled Isabella outside, into the rain. She screamed more, tripping in the mud, her hands all wet and cold. He didn't stop—he threw her into his big black car, slamming the door. She banged on the window, crying, "Help me!" but nobody listened. Her face was all tears and blood, so scared it made your heart hurt.

"Drive!" Dante yelled, jumping in. Marco pushed the gas, and the car zoomed off. Bullets hit the car—ping, ping!—making it shake. Isabella curled up small, crying so hard she could barely breathe. Dante looked out the window, mad and confused. Who was shooting? Why? Lorenzo's weird words stuck in his head: You're a toy in someone's game.

The car sped away, rain all around, guns still loud behind them. Isabella's sobs were the saddest sound ever, like she'd lost everything. And she had.