Ryan POV
A Few Weeks Earlier
Weeks had passed since I had encountered the lady from that night. Something in me couldn't just get her out of my mind. I pulled into my usual spot near the mansion and killed the engine, but I didn't get out right away. My hands stayed on the steering wheel, fingers flexing slowly, jaw tight.
Because my mind wasn't there.
It was still back on that road a few hours ago.
Still stuck on her.
The street had been nearly empty that night just the flicker of a dying streetlamp and the distant hum of traffic too far away to matter. I remembered it all too clearly; the way they surrounded her, circling like animals. The sound of her struggling. The fear she tried to hide but couldn't.
And their leader;Martini. Just another low-life parasite who thought preying on the defenseless made him powerful. He knew who I was. They all did, that's why he ran
I could still sense the fear she tried to hide behind that sharp, defiant stare. The way she fought back, even when she was outnumbered. I could still feel the heat of her body against mine. She'd looked at me like I was another threat, ready to bite if I stepped too close.
Our faces had been inches apart. It was close enough that I felt the warmth of her breath against my lips.
Only if either of us had moved just a little-
I exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down my face.
Yeah.
I liked that part.
I pushed the car door open and stepped out, the cold night air snapping me back into the present. My footsteps echoed as I moved towards the entrance. The heavy front doors opened before I reached them..
I had been summoned to the mansion. I hoped it wasn't for some bullshit
An "important meeting," the message had said.
It was a meeting with my father. Damien Dmitri; The Mafia Lord
The guards stood on either side, dressed in black suits, earpieces in, faces firm. They didn't wave. Their gaze shifted towards me.
They just watched.
"Welcome Boss" one of them finally spoke out
"The Big Boss has been expecting you'
"Has he," I muttered.
The second guard stepped aside and pulled the door wider. "He's in his office, sir."
I gave a short nod and walked past them without another word.
The air inside was warmer and smelled like expensive perfume
Soon a familiar voice cut through my thoughts
"Sir Ryan!"
I looked up to see Mrs. Patricia, one of the oldest maids in the house, hurrying toward me with a bright smile that didn't quite reach her tired eyes.
"I see you still haven't retired," I said.
She laughed softly. "And miss all the drama in this house? "I don't think so, Sir "
"Your mother is in the gallery." Her expression softened. "She had tea earlier but didn't drink much."
"I'll see her after."
"She'll be happy," she said quietly. "She always is when you come."
Nothing about this place had changed. And that was the problem.
The mansion was a place of power and bloodshed. Its massive building stood with tall columns, endless windows, and walls that had seen more blood than most battlefields. The gardens were still perfectly trimmed, the fountains still running, water flowing clear and innocent, as if it didn't know the kind of deals made inside
And the air, the mansion always smelled the same. The scent of expensive cigarettes mingled with the rich aroma of whiskey filled the air. It was a symbol of the world we lived in.
But I grew up here. Ran through these halls as a kid who still believed monsters lived under beds instead of sitting at the head of the dinner table.
Back then, the mansion felt big in an exciting way.
Now it just felt heavy and haunted.
My mother used to stand on the balcony overlooking the gardens, sunlight in her hair, her voice soft as silk as she told Ronald and me stories about our legacy.
"You are Dmitris," she would say, resting a hand on each of our shoulders.
"Strong. and unbreakable...The world out there is cruel but you will be stronger than it."
She always held Ronald a little tighter when she said it.
He was younger by four years.
Her favorite.
The heir everyone expected, until the night twisted metal and shattered glass stole him from us on a rain-soaked highway, ambushed by enemies who never showed their faces. A "car accident," the papers said. But we all knew the real story behind his death. He was a victim of the world he was born into
Ronald's car had been run off the road on a dark stretch of highway. No witnesses. No survivors.No bodies worth burying.
We buried an empty coffin. My mother's nails dug into my arm so hard they broke skin, but she didn't even notice. She didn't cry. She just stared at the coffin as if she looked hard enough, her son might appear inside it
After that, my mother stopped going out to the balcony. She stopped singing. Her smile dimmed
She didn't die, but she faded piece by piece until she was just a ghost wandering the mansion halls in silk robes and silence.
And as for me;I learned a few things
The mafia doesn't let you leave ;not really. You can move out. Get your own place. Build your own crew. Carve your own name into the underworld.
But blood like ours? It's a leash.
And you don't feel it until it tightens
I left years ago. I built my own territory. My own men. My own operations. I stopped thinking of the mansion as home.
The dark and lawless world outside those gates?
That became home. I used to think crossing these gates meant not leaving the normal world behind.
That wasn't true. At least, not for me.
I was born in the Mafia World
Born for blood
