Prologue

Drago

Two years earlier.

The Escalade's tinted windows reflected the dim city lights in the distance as they passed by in a blur, the pulse of New York's nightlife a world away. The underworld belonged to me, its criminal arteries feeding my power. The blood of this city ran thick, tainted, and corrupt—just how I liked it. I leaned back against the cool black leather seat, feeling the hum of the engine beneath me as we sped along the winding roads leading to my estate.

My fingers itched with the memory of the day—business handled, debts collected, bodies left broken in the street as a sign of what happens when deals with me are broken. I had done what I always did…Dominated…Ruled. And now I was returning to my sanctuary, the only place that rivaled the darkness of the streets—My home.

The driver didn't speak as he guided the car through the narrow roads leading into the foothills, the city shrinking behind us until we were swallowed by the shadows of the estate. He knew better than to speak unless spoken to. Fear did that. And I liked it. Fear was my currency, my power. It crackled in the air around me, in the way people averted their eyes, the tremble in their voices when they dared to speak my name. I fed off it, consuming it and letting its energy fuel me.

The sprawling mansion soon loomed ahead, the enormous iron gates slowly creaking open to allow us entry.

My estate was a fortress hidden away from the prying eyes of New York. It was more than just a mansion—it was a monument to my power, a reflection of my heritage, and a graveyard for all who crossed me. Towering stone walls protected my home, and every inch of the grounds were guarded by my men, sentinels of my empire. No one entered without my permission. No one left without my consent. Some never left at all.

The house itself was a tribute to my roots—ancient stone from my native Sicily, imported at great cost and arranged meticulously. It was a piece of the old world, a reminder of the bloodline I descended from. A reminder of the demon lurking in my veins, inherited from generations of violence and sin.

My father's voice echoed in my head, as it always did. " You are a Barone. You are the Devil. And the Devil bows to no one."

I liked the weight of those words. I embraced the blood-soaked legacy, the hunger for power, and the sharp, biting joy I found in making others tremble. It was in my nature. My soul had long since been given over to the darkness.

The Escalade rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, the headlights cutting through the mist that clung to the ground like a suffocating fog. My driver, a quiet man named Luca, glanced at me through the rearview mirror, awaiting orders.

"You can go," I said, my voice low, the edge of command sharp.

Luca nodded, his face pale beneath the faint glow of the lights. He knew better than to linger.

"Yes, sir," he muttered before getting out of the car and disappearing into the night, leaving me alone in the stillness.

I stepped out of the vehicle, breathing in the cool night air. The scent of damp earth mixed with the faint hint of sulfur. It reminded me of home. Of Sicily. And of the place where demons like me thrived.

The iron gates closed behind me with a metallic clang, the sound echoing through the silence like the toll of a bell. A warning. No one would disturb me here. No one would dare.

The guards stationed at the perimeter of the mansion stood like statues, their faces hard, their bodies stiff. I could feel their fear as I passed by, the way their eyes lowered to the ground, avoiding mine. They knew what I was capable of. They'd seen it firsthand.

I enjoyed the sight of them trembling. The sight of anyone trembling.

I dismissed them all with a single wave of my hand, my command met with hurried nods as they retreated into the shadows. Alone at last, I pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the mansion, stepping into the darkened foyer.

The air inside was thick, heavy with the scent of leather, stone, and the faintest trace of blood. My steps echoed off the marble floors, the sound bouncing through the grand halls adorned with artifacts from my homeland. Sicilian tapestries, dark wooden furniture, and ancient relics that had belonged to my ancestors. The Barones had ruled Sicily long before I ever came to New York. Our legacy was etched in blood ties, and I had no intention of breaking that tradition.

The chandelier above me cast a dim light, its crystals flickering with a cold, almost ethereal glow. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting and shifting as I moved deeper into the mansion. This place was alive with the energy I had built over the years—the energy of fear, of death lurking just behind the curtain. It was delicious, as always, and I breathed deeply.

However, something was wrong. A foreign scent, unfamiliar to me.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers brushing the edge of the gun holstered under my jacket. My demon stirred beneath the surface, the darkness in me sensing a shift. The beast was always close, but tonight, it prowled restlessly, seeking the source of the invasion.

I moved down the hall, my footsteps slower now, more deliberate. The mansion felt colder, the walls pressing in around me as I made my way toward my children's rooms. Something inside me tightened, the tension winding through my muscles like a coiled snake.

I stopped in front of Liliana's door, pushing it open gently. My daughter's small figure was curled up in her bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a halo around her dark curls. I watched her sleep for a moment, the tightness in my chest easing, if only slightly. She was safe. She was mine. And no one would ever take her from me. Not while I lived.

I closed the door softly, continuing down the hall to Marco's room. My son, still so young, was also asleep in his crib. His tiny fists were clenched, his breaths steady and slow. I stared at him for a long moment, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on my shoulders. Marco was the heir to my empire, my bloodline. He would inherit everything I had built—everything I had killed for.

But first, I had to ensure his future was secure. That meant eliminating threats, no matter how small.

Silence followed me as I made my way to the master bedroom, a sense of dread creeping into the edges of my consciousness. The house felt wrong, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. And I knew, deep down, that the wrongness was centered in that room…My room.

I stopped outside the door, my fingers tightening around the metal handle. I heard the sounds before I opened it. Soft moans, muffled gasps, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together. The sound turned my stomach, not with rage, but with a cold, calculating clarity.

I had known. I had always known.

My wife, Domenica, was a whore. Our marriage was a transaction, an arrangement of power. I didn't love her. I couldn't. Not with the demon blood that ran through my veins, with the darkness that ruled me. She was useful—at least, she had been. But now, she had become a liability. And in my world, liabilities were dealt with in only one way.

I pulled the gun from its holster, screwing the silencer into place with a steady hand. The cold metal felt like an extension of myself, the weight of it comforting. My demon stirred again, its hunger for violence clawing at my insides.

Without hesitation, I pushed the door open.

The scene inside was exactly what I expected. Domenica was sprawled across the bed, her nude body tangled with another man's, their naked forms gleaming in the dim light. They didn't notice me at first, too caught up in their treacherous lust to realize the Devil had walked into the room.

I stood in the doorway, watching them, the tension in my chest replaced by a cold, detached amusement. There was no anger. No hurt. Only the sharp, biting thrill of knowing what was to happen next.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I let out a low, menacing laugh.

Domenica's head snapped toward me, her eyes widening in horror as she realized who was standing in the doorway. She scrambled to cover herself, her face pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

"Drago…" she started, her voice trembling with panic. "It's not…"

I cut her off with another laugh, this one louder, darker. "Not what it looks like?" I stepped into the room, my voice dripping with cold amusement. "So you didn't just happen to fall on his dick by accident? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like what it is."

The man beside her—pathetic, small—scrambled from the bed, his hands clutching the sheets in a futile attempt to cover himself. He stammered, his voice cracking with fear. "I…I didn't know! I didn't know she was your wife!"

I leveled the gun at him, my eyes gleaming with the dark energy that surged through me. "You knew," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You just didn't fully understand who you were dealing with."

The man's eyes widened, terror etched into every line of his face as he backed away, his legs shaking so violently I half-expected him to collapse before I even pulled the trigger. He was just another fool—a weak, human fool who thought he could touch something that belonged to me without paying the price. I pitied him really.

I could feel the demon inside me grow, its hunger for violence surging through my veins. My body tensed, and for a brief moment, I let the change wash over me. My frame grew larger, muscles tightening, and the edges of my vision flickered with a deep, molten red. My skin felt too tight, my demonic blood pulsing with the need to punish, to kill.

"Please," the man whimpered, his voice cracking with the weight of his desperation. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as he clasped them together in a pathetic plea. "I'm begging you…please, don't kill me!"

I tilted my head, watching him for a moment, savoring the fear in his eyes, the way his entire body trembled beneath my gaze. The smell of it filled the room—sweat, panic, and the faintest tinge of urine. He was terrified. And that thrilled me more than anything.

"You like being in the Devil's life so much?" I asked, my voice a low, sinister growl. "Then you can spend eternity in his realm."

Before he could utter another word, I pulled the trigger. The gunshot was muffled by the silencer, a soft, muted pop that barely disturbed the air. But the effect was immediate. The man's head jerked back as the bullet pierced his skull, and his body collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The blood splattered across the pristine silk sheets, a dark crimson stain spreading across the white fabric. I breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of death. It was a smell I knew all too well. A smell that reminded me of who I was—what I was. Blood and death were my companions, my legacy, passed down through generations of Barones. And now, this man had become a part of that legacy, another corpse in a long line of the damned behind me.

Domenica's scream pierced the air, her voice shrill with horror. She scrambled off the bed, falling to her knees beside the man's body, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch his bloodied face.

"Drago, please!" she sobbed, her voice broken. "It was a mistake…I didn't mean it! Please, I'll do anything…just don't kill me! I love you!"

I watched her with cold, detached eyes, the demon inside me still surging, still hungry. Her words were meaningless, just empty pleas from a woman who had always been a liability. Domenica had never understood what it meant to be in my world. She was a spoiled princess, a slut who had never respected the rules. And in my world, betrayal had only one outcome.

I took a slow, deliberate step toward her, kneeling down beside her. My hand reached out, cupping her face as I had done so many times before, the motion almost tender. Her skin was warm beneath my touch, soft, and for a fleeting moment, I remembered the woman I had once married. The woman who had, for a time, served her purpose in my life.

"You really were beautiful," I murmured, my voice soft, almost wistful.

Her sobs intensified, her entire body shaking as she clung to me, her nails digging into my arms. "Drago, please…think about the children! Liliana, Marco…they need their mother! They'll miss me!"

I stared down at her, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with terror. Her sobs echoed in the room, but they meant nothing to me. She meant nothing to me anymore. There was no saving her. No mercy. She had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed, and the price for that was death.

I leaned in closer, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, "You know the price of your sin, Domenica."

Her body went rigid beneath me, her breath hitching as the cold realization of her fate sank in. She knew, deep down, that there was no escaping this. No amount of begging or pleading would change the outcome. She had chosen this. And now, she would die for it.

I pressed the barrel of the gun to her forehead, feeling her tense under the weight of the cold steel. For a moment, the room was utterly still, the only sound the rapid, shallow breaths escaping her lips.

"Drago, no…"

I pulled the trigger.

The shot was quiet, a whisper of death that echoed in the cold, dark room. Her body jerked violently before slumping to the floor, her eyes still open, wide and glassy with the shock of what had just happened. Blood pooled beneath her, mingling with the man's, their bodies now bound together in death as they had been in life.

I stood up slowly, sliding the gun back into its holster, the smell of blood thick in the air. It clung to me, soaking into my skin, but it didn't bother me. It never had. It was a part of who I was, a part of the demon I had always been.

The room was quiet now, the only sound the faint drip of blood hitting the floor. I stared down at Domenica's lifeless form, my eyes cold, my heart as empty as the void that now surrounded me.

This was the fate she had earned and I had no sympathy.

I walked out of the room, leaving the bodies behind, the darkness of the mansion swallowing me as I moved down the grand hallway. The silence returned, thicker now, heavier, but comforting. This was a silence I welcomed, a silence that allowed me to focus on what was important. Business. My legacy.

Love? Love was a weakness I had never been able to afford. Domenica had just proven that. My demon blood didn't allow for such human things. I was born of fire and darkness, and I ruled the same way. I'd never known anything else.

At the base of the stairs, I called for one of my men. He appeared quickly, his face carefully blank as he waited for my orders.

"Clean it up," I said simply with a wave of my hand towards the carnage that lay upstairs.

He nodded and hurried up the staircase without another word. He knew what that meant. He knew what kind of cleanup was required. My men always did.

I opened the French doors at the back of my estate and stepped out onto the terrace. The cool night air washed over me, refreshing, grounding.

I was Drago Barone. The Devil of New York. King of the Sicilian Mafia. And I ruled with blood and fire.

No one would ever forget that.

And no one would dare challenge me again. And if they did, Death would find them.