My entire body spasmed as I heard screams.I had sneaked down, all the way to the underground dungeons without the Kryetar’s knowledge—the boss of our clan. And secondly, my father.

The whole mansion was in disarray. Chaos.

Ushtarët—my father’s men—raced back and forth under pressure, while he barked commands and threats.

I hid behind a giant porcelain vase that did well to shield my small figure. My shaky little hands clutched its body for support.

Father looked angry. Frustrated.

I slowly tipped my head out from where I stood hidden. Father was shouting commands.

“Lock down all exits, shut down all the gates! Find me the culprit and bring him to me dead or alive.”

I shuddered. Father had always been aggressive… even with me and Mother.

“Yes, Boss.” The Ushtar echoed affirmatively, his head almost touching his waist as he bowed.

He was afraid too. I could see it in his eyes, read it in his posture, feel it in his words.

I had always known fear since the day I was born into the Vrioni Clan.

A ruthless Mafia organization feared by all of Albania.

I silently dashed back behind the vase. My heart kicked fiercely against my sternum.

But I didn't make a sound—I never did.

And that's what Father liked about me.

No, like was too weak a word… obsessed.

He told me he saw himself in me.

Somehow, that sentence unsettled me.

The footsteps of the Ushtar hurriedly faded as he passed me by.

The urgency in his strides was contagious. I twisted over my shoulder, looking at him as he broke into a full-blown sprint out of Father’s underground study.

I rubbed my sweaty palms against the smooth body of the vase.

Suddenly, I felt a drop in temperature, the thick air becoming stiff.

I blinked. A looming shadow bathed me, and slowly, like my neck had a defect, I turned.

Hands stretched forward, my father stood. He had never carried me for as long as I could remember. With fear lodged in my throat, I stepped out, stretching my own arms towards him.

He gently grabbed me under my armpits, lifting me up to his side.

An attempt of a smile touched his lips—but to me, it looked scary.

“What are you doing down here, boy?”

It wasn't meant to come out, but I shivered. Keeping mute.

My father—no, the Kryetar—raised one scarred brow at me, urging a response.

He was being patient—a virtue he certainly lacked.

“Does Mommy know you're here?” His voice carried a sinister weight.

My eyes widened. A natural urge to protect my mother filled my chest. And I shook my head sideways, erratically.

He nodded once, a glint in those golden eyes we unfortunately shared.

Before I knew it, he adjusted me and we were moving.

He walked with me in his arms, taking a familiar route I knew too well.

The path to the dungeons.

And when we got there, I didn’t tremble, neither did I hide my face from the gory sight.

His wicked eyes fixated on me. He smiled.

A proud, sinister smile I didn’t know I’d crave when I turned older.

“All this,” he gestured with his eyes to the thick metal bars scattered around the enclosure, “will be yours, one day, when you succeed me.”

My own eyes filtered through the space. Minimal light poured in from the tiny window at the opposite side—apart from that, the entire place was dark.

People—prisoners, bloodied, bruised, beaten… half dead.

It reeked of blood and guts.

“You like control, yes?” I could see the madness in his eyes.

I looked away, giving one more glance to my surroundings.

Perhaps, control wasn’t that bad. At least then, I could protect the people I cared about.

“And the prisoners?” For the first time, my small voice pierced through the quiet.

He spun his gaze at me, the glint in it growing more feral.

The grin he gave me this time made my skin pebble.

“You want prisoners, my boy?” A devilish sound rumbled in his throat.

Shocked, I looked at him. He laughed.

For the first time, I had earned his laughter through something I had said.

I nodded. My chest still felt fuzzy and warm, though I did not show it—that would incur his anger.

“If you want prisoners, you have to get your own.” His face morphed into something else altogether, and once more I was terrified.

“That’s how you know a true man of substance.”

And twenty years later, those words have been my drive.

The earsplitting scream of the man before me broke me out of my reverie.

My men held him down. A few feet away from where he knelt, his appendages lay lifeless.

Russian trash in my fortress!

The fucker should have known he wouldn’t leave here complete.

He wouldn’t leave here at all.

Leaning forward where I sat, I probed my elbows on my spread knees. “Who sent you?” I growled at him.

He didn’t respond.

Guess he needed the remaining fingers on his left hand to join the party.

His ragged breathing was becoming shorter by the minute. He’d received the best beatings of his life before I got here—he was lucky.

“Did anyone ever tell you that I do not fancy repeating myself?” It wasn’t a question.

He looked at me and then averted his eyes in fright.

I knew what he saw…

The madness I had inherited.

I didn’t want to waste my time here; I had other places to be.

Flicking my hand twice at one of my men behind me, I motioned, leaving my palm open.

He knew exactly what I wanted.

I heard his booted feet take two strides near, and then he placed the gun in my hand.

My strong fingers closed around the handle.

Power coursed through my veins as I felt the weight of it in my hands.

Here came the fun part.

“Ple-ase… p-please.”

My men released their hold on him, and his body hit the ground hard.

The sound of a bone breaking followed immediately.

Turns out he was barely holding on already.

I was doing him a fucking favor.

I angled the gun at him. My head tilted to the side—ever so slowly. A grin split my lips and I broke into a fit of laughter.

My men stood silent—motionless. Their bodies as taut as strings. They were terrified; they always had been.

“Please sp-are me, ple-se.”

Valon, one of my men—closest, standing behind me—bent at the waist, lowering himself to me. “Sir, word has been sent. The plane is ready.”

I barely reacted.

My attention was all on the living corpse in front of me.

If I didn’t kill him, he was going to die from bleeding out.

I knew he’d be sad dying by loss of blood.

I was doing him a favor.

With this, I muttered to him, my voice hard as steel. “Say your last prayers.”

I felt my resolve harden, my eyes dangerously cold. I knew they didn’t belong to me right now—they were my father’s.

I didn’t allow him to register my words. I pulled the trigger.

Twice.

One. Through his skull.

Two. Straight at his heart.

Everywhere went silent.

“The world will miss you,” I broke it.

And then I got to my feet, running my gloved fingers through my dark locks that spilled right above my eyes.

My smile returned.

“I have a princess to catch.”