Lizzy is trying to escape her past. Shielding herself from the dangers that may lead to her death one day. She has managed to keep a low profile and be safe for the last five years. But after a stupid video goes viral, she is not so sure anymore. Now, she is terrified all the time. Panics at the sight of men in dark suits and black cars. Even the thought of stepping out of her home fills her with dread. What would she do when a certain dangerous man from her past is done with the game of chase they have been playing? What if now he is desperate for a confrontation? And has a proposal that she might not refuse? How would she answer all the questions she left behind after escaping the world from which no one ever returned alive?
Chapter 1 Prologue
[25 YEARS AGO]
.
.
.
"Spare us, please! We didn't do anything. Quel ragazzo mente! Mente tra i denti. We didn't do anything. Let us go, please, sir, andiamo a casa!"
[That boy lies! He lies through his teeth. Let us go!]
The woman sobbed while the bunch of men standing across the room with her lover bleeding profusely on their feet stared blankly at her. Patiently waiting to hear what they all were gathered there for, and not just another string of lies that she couldn't stop spouting.
A little boy of about 10 years old was forced to see the poignant moment unfolding in front of him, trembling in his little worn-out sneakers and swallowing hard every time his little eyes were drawn to the bleeding man waiting to be helped. Unfortunately, no one in the room appeared to be in a hurry.
Sofia, you're wasting our time!" The man on the couch grumbled. He was the only one in the room with the authority to spit commands around. His legs were crossed, and the tip of his exorbitant shoe thrummed in the air. Patient, yet on the brink of giving up. "Sai cosa vogliamo. E più tempo impieghi, più difficile sarebbe salvare il tuo uomo. "
[You know what we want. And the longer you take, the harder it will be to save your man.]
"But...but...how can I? I didn't...I-"
"Cut off his limbs!" The man on the couch yelled angrily at his men. One of them stood up and pulled a machete from his back, the cruel grin curled on his villainous face only made Sofia swallow harder.
The little boy's eyes widened for the hundredth time that day. He knew the man on the couch wasn't bluffing based on what he'd witnessed since this vile interrogation began.
"NO!" Sofia shouted, shaking her head violently. Attempting to get back on her feet, but her injured leg refused to comply. "Please, please, please. I beg you. You can't do it. The boy is lying. How can you believe him? He's only a kid!" She kept weeping, but the man on the couch became increasingly annoyed and bored.
"Now!" The man on the couch barked out.
The machete flew into the air on his one word. Two of the other men grabbed the barely conscious man on the floor, his arm extended and his wrist pushed to the floor.
When the sharp blade ripped through the man's fingers and blood sprayed out, Sofia screamed horribly.
The little boy winced, tempted to shut his ears and eyes both. But the man on the couch glared, and the boy compelled himself to watch and hear every second of the ongoing torment.
The unconscious man muttered agonizingly, his body writhing in futility.
Sofia buried her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably as she trembled and hitched.
The man on the couch rose to his feet.
With a lazy stride, he carried himself to where Sofia lay.
With the tip of the same shoe, he had been drumming through the air not so long ago, the man lifted the chin of the woman and forced her to look up.
She couldn't do it. Instead, she kept her eyes closed, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"Do you know why your man only lost his fingers, darling Sofia?" the man questioned, his voice dangerously low.
The little boy felt the impulse to step forward, a sense of protectiveness easing through his veins. But he was only a little boy. What chance did he have against all those brawny men? Ashamed, his gaze sank to the floor, his fingers curling into fists.
Sofia sobbed softly, her entire body convulsing pitifully.
"Say something, dear Sofia. Or do you want him to lose four fingers more? Is that-"
"NO!" she choked, yanking her eyes open and slinging her arms around the man's legs, howling for mercy. "Let him live. I..I did it. I did it. I killed Enrico and Rosa. I asked Bert to help me get rid of them. I...was blinded by rage. I got stupid and had no idea what I was doing. I plead guilty, Padrino! I plead guilty. Please. Forgive us, Padrino. Forgive him. We'll forever be in your debt. Forever. You have my word on it."
[Godfather]
"Your word has no worth, Sofia," the guy said calmly, gazing down at her with enough intensity to make Sofia scramble backwards. "Not anymore."
The man turned around, and walked past the bleeding man on the floor. Barely sparing him a glance. Barely flinching at the gut-wrenching stench of blood and the gory sight. His footsteps echoed throughout the old and hollow room.
The man slowed down as he approached the little boy. Instead of reminding him that only guilty men refused to look the man in the eyes, he placed his hand on his head.
The boy flinched. Trembled from head to toe. Spine turned into ice.
Despite the boy's worst fears, the hand gently stroked his hair before sliding down to the back of his head and settling on his nape. Huge, frigid fingers wrapped themselves around the column of his neck.
The boy closed his eyes tightly, his arms drooping by his sides, his entire body motionless as a rock.
"Are you happy now?" The man questioned slowly and carefully, his hard gaze narrowing as he lifted the boy's face.
A little hiss escaped his firmly clinched teeth as the boy struggled to breathe.
"Your sister confessed her sins. Are you satisfied now?"
The little boy nodded quietly.
The man scoffed. "She slaughtered your family with no remorse, and you're satisfied with just a few tears from that woman?" He didn't sound happy. "I only met your father once. He saved my life back then. I'm merely repaying him by helping you. And if I'm willing to go to any length to avenge his death, to make the perpetrators pay, what's holding you back? Why are you so easily pleased? You were at my door for two days and three nights. For this? For making your sister confess and cry? Is that all? Where is your dignity? Are you really the child your father was proud to raise?"
The boy swallowed, tears welling up in his eyes. Bloodied corpses and dead eyes flashed before his sight. His fingers tightened even further. So much so that the nails pierced the skin. Blood trickled down his small knuckles.
The man removed his hand from the boy's neck and shook his head.
Glancing over his shoulder, he finally cast a weary glance at the unconscious and profusely bleeding man. He snorted and turned around. "Well, I'm not."
Sofia blanched.
Wide-eyed, the boy gasped.
"Just chop off his head!"
The machete fell on the victim's neck. Blood squirted from the spot where the head separated from the shoulders. Soaking the shirt of the man holding the blade. And the floor.
Sofia sagged to the floor, sobbing even more. Louder. "Bert! No, Bert! No. I'm sorry...baby."
The boy remained stiff, horrified at what he had just seen.
"All right, let's go!" The man spoke in a booming voice. His minions eagerly followed him out.
However, while everyone marched towards the door, all eyes paused for a second and watched with raised brows when slowly the little boy made his way over to his crying sister and stood in front of her.
Sofia felt his presence and raised her head, knowing who he was. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her cheeks were flushed and pallid.
"Brother!" she cried.
"You're crying for Bert," the boy mumbled. The heartbreak in his eyes made Sofia grieve even more intensely. "Did you cry for papa?" he asked. "For mamma? For...for three-year-old, Emma?"
Sofia wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve. She looked him in the eyes. While she spoke, her lower lip trembled. "If Gods gives me another chance, brother..." she whimpered. "I'd do things differently," she said, lowering her gaze to her lap and shaking her head. "All those mistakes I made...I wouldn't...I wouldn't."
"Sofia..." a tear trickled down the boy's face.
"I should have done better. "I should have..." She lifted her head and cupped his face in her palms, her gaze anxiously searching for his. "I should have...I should have murdered those morons myself," she growled, her cruel fingers digging into his face. "I should have stabbed them. I SHOULD HAVE DONE IT MYSELF. I should have killed you with them."
The boy winced, struggling to break free from her chokehold.
Sofia only turned darker. Not only with rage, but hysteria. Something else had shifted deep within her eyes. Something deranged glowed.
"Sofia!" The boy wept, as if trying to wake her up from the nightmare she had become.
"Bert would still be alive if I hadn't spared you. He was the love of my life. And because of you...you shit...he's dead. DEAD!"
The boy recoiled, forcing himself away from her.
"No problem, though. No problem. I would avenge him," she grinned maniacally. "I would kill you and avenge his death. Yeah, baby brother, I'll make you suffer. Just watch. I'll cut you limb by limb. I'm going to dig these eyeballs out and-"
Sofia's mouth dropped open.
Her grip on the boy loosened before she let him go.
Her chin dipped. Another gasp escaped her lips.
The machete had slashed through her chest. Blood poured forth like a fountain.
The boy fell backward and landed on his butt. He didn't stop crawling backwards until his back slammed against the wall. After what he had done, his hands were trembling and his little shoulders heaved.
Sofia looked at the boy, stunned. "You..." she squinted, losing more and more blood. Her vision grew hazy.
"Die!" the boy muttered from across the room, his small body trembling with pure rage. Flushed cheeks. Tears streaming down his own little face. "Mamma, papa...Emma...they all died because of you."
Sofia sputtered blood from her mouth.
"DIE, YOU BITCH! DIE!" He couldn't stop shouting. Screaming. Crying.
"Vector..." Sofia gasped, her eyes falling shut ever so slowly, before she collapsed to the floor, her head crashing first.
As little Vector cried his heart out, the man standing at the entrance watched the entire spectacle with unwavering patience.
The corner of his mouth twisted up in a smirk.
"You know what to do with the bodies, Michael," the man spoke once the show was over.
The boy kept crying, his arms folded around his legs, his face between his knees.
"Yes, boss!" Michael nodded. "What about the boy?"
"Train him," the boss said, his gaze carefully studying the little boy in the room's corner. "From this day onward, he should have only one purpose. To protect my son, Mir, fiercely. And, if necessary, even die for him."
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