Chapter 1 Bloodshed

• "𝑻𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚-𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒅, 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕—𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒑. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.”
• ***
• The wind whipped against her face, her jaw clenched, fist balled in aggression as she approached the nearly lifeless figure. Fear etched across his face, as if struggling for survival.
• "Marcus..." she smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes conveying more than words ever could.
• "Seven million! Cassandra, I'll give you seven million dollars!" His voice cracked, pleading for mercy.
• "Do better, you fool!" Cassandra rolled her eyes, pulling his hair back causing him to scream in agony.
• "Fine, ten... What the hell do you want?!" He cried out, desperation evident in his voice. Unexpectedly, she chuckled.
• “What do I want? I don't know…maybe your head!" With that, she dug her long, sharp nails into his skin, then into his eyes, plucking them out and laughing as blood rained down on her face.
• "Why are you so nasty, Cassie?" A tall figure in a black jacket and pants said, puffing out smoke.
• "Shut up, Andrew!" she snapped, kicking the dead man's eyes toward him.
• “You're thirty minutes late for your date with Mr. Brown,” Andrew muttered under his breath, and she nodded, leaving the dark hallway.
• Leaving the garage, Cassandra hopped into her black, sleek Lamborghini and drove off speedily.
• Adjusting the mirror, she applied makeup to her face and then a red crimson lipstick.
• “He better be worth the shot!” she hissed, stepping on the brake and taking another turn.
• After a forty-minute drive, she pulled over and let loose her hair, allowing the rainbow-colored dyed hair out. It wasn't that long, but it was eye-catching.
• When she stepped into the fancy restaurant, she spotted the average man seated in a chair with a cup of wine in his right hand, looking at himself in the window to his left.
• “Hi, I'm Cassandra!” she introduced, seating herself opposite him.
• “Oh, I'm G-money!” he said with a smile that Cassandra only reacted to with a raised eyebrow.
• “G-money? Huh. Well, I'm actually sorry for wasting your time.”
• “I don't usually wait for girls, but you're the exception!” he laughed, touching his beard.
• “Oh,” she exhaled deeply.
• “So, mama, here are the rules for this relationship…”
• “What's your sign?” Cassandra questioned, cutting him off.
• “Well, I'm a Gemini,” he chuckled, and she facepalmed.
• “Now I get the ridiculous attitude!” she snapped, and the man scoffed loudly.
• “Hey, don't come here with your daddy issues. Who do you think you are questioning me about my sign? Do you think any man in his right senses would want to date a murderer? What the heck is wrong with you!” he laughed, and Cassandra felt a sting at his words.
• “I'm not a murderer,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
• “Go tell the world. A woman like you should be happy. Men like me would actually sit and talk with you! I'm just here for the money, so don't act smart, shorty!”
• “What... what do you mean?” Cassandra stammered, clutching her bag tightly.
• “What do I mean?” he repeated, a smirk playing on his lips. “I mean that your brother paid me to take you out on this date. It was supposed to be a secret, but I can't stand your attitude.” He drained the last drop of wine from his glass and stood up, leaving her there.
• Cassandra sat in stunned silence, her mind racing. She hadn’t expected much from this date, but the revelation still stung. Her brothers had always found ways to undermine her, both emotionally and physically. What baffled her was that even after twelve years, she was still fighting for a place in the D’Angelo family.
• The D’Angelo family, an empire, had been Italy’s most powerful for centuries until a rival mafia moved in, threatening their dominance. Despite the family’s grandeur, it was a nest of vipers, especially for Cassandra.
• “Ma’am!” The waiter’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “Card or cash?”
• “Card,” she replied, handing over her card. After settling the bill, she trudged out of the restaurant, her steps heavy with determination. This time, she would confront her brothers. They could ridicule and bully her all they wanted, but involving outsiders was crossing a line.
• “Where the hell is Delrico?” Cassandra’s voice rang through the sitting room as she burst in, her breath heavy and eyes blazing with fury.
• “Here I am, sister! How was the date?” Delrico asked mockingly, his hands in his pockets. “Oh wait, did you screw it up just like you do with the family business?”
• “What!”
• “Why are you even talking to her?” Matthew, the eldest D’Angelo, sneered. “She’s a waste of time.” Without warning, he slapped her hard across the cheek. “What are you going to do? After everything, you still went ahead and killed Andrew, didn’t you?” He grabbed her by the hair, slamming her head
• “Did you think Father would ever accept you after that?” Delrico shouted, his voice thunderous.
• Cassandra smirked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, Delrico, I didn’t realize you were the expert on Father’s acceptance. I guess all those years of being his little errand boy really paid off. Tell me, does he give you a gold star for every time you manage to kick someone when they’re down? Must be quite the collection by now.”
• Delrico's face twisted in anger at Cassandra's words. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Just because you're desperate for attention doesn't mean you're worth anything to this family."
• He lunged at her, delivering two sharp slaps to her face. Cassandra, her eyes blazing, raised her hand to retaliate, but before she could strike, their father stormed into the room.
• “What is going on here?” Don Federico bellowed, his presence immediately halting the confrontation.
• "Father!" Delrico began, but his words faltered when he glanced at Cassandra. "Do you realize that this fool tracked down Marcus, and killed him?"
• Cassandra narrowed her eyes. If she wasn't mistaken, this entire ordeal had been an ongoing effort to kill the man, and now that it was done, it was a major issue.
• "Don't get it twisted, Dad. She broke the law. She wasn't supposed to interfere with my job, and she even went so far as to kill three of my guards!" Matthew shouted, causing Cassandra to gasp loudly.
• "No... no, no, I didn't do anything like that, Father," she stammered. But before she could say another word, a sharp slap landed on her left ear, the ringing reverberating through her head.
• "It's Don Federico to you, bastard. And for stepping over your elder brother’s authority, you're grounded!" Don Federico declared, storming off with his guards in tow.
• "Now guess who's going to live under that dirty roof? You!" Delrico sneered, striking the back of her head as he passed.
• ***
• “Ahhh!” The tied man in the wooden chair screamed, his voice echoing off the dank, concrete walls of the dimly lit basement. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and blood. A masked woman stood before him, a cruel smile hidden beneath her mask as she slowly dragged a sharp knife across his skin.
• “Take it easy, Fiona! He’s a daddy’s boy!” A man lounging against the doorframe chuckled, sipping his whiskey. The dim, flickering light cast long shadows, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
• “That’s what turns me on the most!” Fiona replied, her voice muffled but menacing through the mask. She moved with deliberate precision, her eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she sliced off the man’s left ear.
• “Ahh! Fuck! Fuck you!” The man cursed, his voice ragged. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling on the cold, hard floor beneath him, each drop punctuating his pain. His screams mingled with the mocking laughter of his tormentors, a symphony of suffering in the grim basement.
• “Boss is here!” One of the guards announced, stepping in. And in the next five seconds, the almost seven foot man appeared.
• His aura was commanding and influential, his every step measured and deliberate. The room seemed to shrink under his gaze, and conversations halted as he approached. His presence was an imposing force, a silent declaration of authority. His eyes were cold and unyielding, reflecting a mind that missed nothing and a soul that showed no mercy. The air around him seemed to chill, as if even the environment recognized his power and ruthlessness.
• This was Nikolai Volkovo.
• His brown eyes locked onto the tormented man, a cruel smile curling his lips. He took a moment to savor the fear emanating from his captive before speaking, his voice dripping with mockery.
• “You know what amazes me most about you? It's how you inherited stupidity as if it were a family heirloom,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. He exhaled deeply, a cold satisfaction evident in his demeanor, and began to pull on his black leather gloves.
• As he hummed a haunting tune, his movements were methodical, almost ritualistic. Each finger slid into place with precision, the soft creak of the leather punctuating the silence. Once the gloves were secure, he displayed a lopsided smile, a single dimple appearing on his otherwise stern face.
• “I didn't know… I swear to God… I didn't know it was your goods! No one warned me and…” The captive's voice wavered, desperate and panicked. He paused to catch his breath, his chest heaving as he looked up to meet the cold, merciless eyes of his captor.
• “I have children! Please, my daughter is just two…” His voice broke, tears streaming down his face as he began to cry, his pleas for mercy echoing in the oppressive silence of the room. His captor's expression remained unchanged, the predatory glint in his eyes unwavering as he watched the man's futile struggle for clemency.
• "And so do I," the Nikolai said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I have families to feed, and you, you destroyed my goods worth millions of dollars!" He shook his head in mock disappointment before delivering a sharp slap to the man’s tear-streaked face.
• The man winced, trembling. "You have a wife, huh?" Nikolai continued, his tone now laced with a cruel curiosity. He strode over to a long, wooden table cluttered with an array of weapons, each more menacing than the last. Gleaming daggers of various shapes and sizes reflected the dim light.
• "Yes... please forgive me!" the man pleaded, his voice cracking. His face was a mask of desperation and pain.
• "I heard tomorrow marks her special day, doesn't it? It seems like the perfect opportunity for you to head home to her, wouldn't you say, Little Fiona?" He glanced over at Fiona, who merely shrugged in response.
• "Yes, it's her birthday tomorrow, and I... I made her promises!" The man's voice cracked as he spoke, blood trickling down from his nose, mouth, and even his ear. He looked utterly defeated, every semblance of hope drained from him.
• "Well, isn't that touching?"
• As Fiona turned her back, she grasped the axe firmly, its weight a chilling reminder of the impending horror about to unfold. The man's desperate screams reverberated through the room, a cacophony of agony and fear, as he thrashed against the inevitable fate awaiting him.
• In a swift, merciless motion, Fiona swung the axe, the sharp blade cleaving through flesh and bone with horrifying precision. The sickening sound of impact echoed as the man's head detached from his body, tumbling to the ground in a grotesque display of finality.
• "Wow. That was an impressively accurate strike!" A man leaning against the door applauded, his amusement tinged with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
• "Prepare a gift for his wife and have it delivered at sunrise tomorrow," Nikolai instructed, his voice carrying an air of authority as he glanced towards Fiona before exiting the basement.
• As he made his way out, his loyal assistant stood waiting, anticipation evident in his eyes.
• "Boss!" The assistant called out as Nikolai drew near.
• "Hm."
• "Marcus is dead, unfortunately not by our men but by..." The assistant hesitated, swallowing nervously before continuing.
• "Speak, or I'll consider including a tongue with the gift I'm sending out," Nikolai's voice remained calm yet laced with an unmistakable hint of menace.
• "The D’Angelo family got to him first," the assistant confessed, his words hanging heavily in the air. Instantly, Nikolai's demeanor shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned slowly, his gaze darkening
• with anger.
• "D'Angelo, you say?" His eyebrows arched incredulously, fury simmering just beneath the surface as he processed this unexpected development.