PROLOGUE
Two years ago
il dono della morte. “The gift of death.”
A neatly wrapped gift was delivered to the Santoro building, and somehow it managed to slip past safety checks, going through compromised hands it made its way to the top—the office of Don Aldo Santoro.
Left on his desk, and inside the wrapping hid the precious c4 with the timer now counting down. The delivery boy sent a text, and a figure far from the warehouse got it, setting his watch to match the timer.
Twenty minutes.
That's how long it would take before the Don arrived at the warehouse. He was almost there already. The delivery boy checked his watch again, and made his way out of the warehouse, feeling the pound in his chest.
Just as he stepped out of the building, a Volkswagen—Don Aldo's favorite ride—arrived at the warehouse. The boy slipped away unseen.
The car door was opened and Don Aldo stepped down, buttoning his perfect black suit. “Don. A package was left for you at the office,” one of his men informed with a humble bow of his head.
He furrowed his brow, “A package?” It felt strange, “Did you check it?” Don Aldo immediately asked, arching a brow.
“Of course. It passed the safety check. It's from your wife.”
Nothing more was said as the Don slipped by him with his Consigliere beside him, making their way to the office.
Ten minutes.
The night was thick with absolute darkness, but in the shadows lurked his enigmatic presence well blended in the dark with a cigarette stick stuck between his lips.
“It has been delivered,” one of his men, Jasper, the delivery boy, reported coming behind him.
The man acknowledged his report with a nod not taking his sight off the view before him. He was a man of few words but a force that shouldn't be reckoned with. He sucked his cigar, and breathed out smoke, watching the night sky with ease.
It was such a beautiful and peaceful night, and it was a shame it would have to shatter the stillness soon.
He was a few yards away from his target, standing on a rooftop that revealed a perfect view of the tall building that now housed the great Don Aldo Santoro.
The man marveled at the building. The structure was quite beautiful, and knowing that this would be the last time he would ever see it made it appear even more notoriously beautiful.
He glanced at his watch, and then the building. Five more minutes. Any moment from now the fireworks would go off, and he would revel in the finesse of yet another accomplishment. He smirked, tapping the cigar before returning it between his lips.
How he wished he could have the chance to witness the light go out of Don Aldo’s eyes when he received the gift. It was such a shame because he would have loved to see it, to wipe that smug look off the old man's face but his imagination would have to suffice.
He glanced at his watch again, there were three minutes left. Two minutes, and then he saw it, or rather saw them. At first, he noticed their shadows on the ground before they came into view, three youngsters running into the warehouse as kids in the areas sometimes do out of curiosity.
They wanted to know what the warehouse was for as it was protected by a fence and guards who never let anyone in but they always tried their luck. But tonight was different, the building wasn't just a warehouse, it was a death trap.
Fanculo! Fuck!
As they passed through the entrance of the warehouse, the guards tried to stop them but tonight they failed, and just before the kids broke in, their reflection flashed on the window. He saw them. He saw their faces, and he knew then, that he would never forget it for the rest of his life.
He would never forget them, especially the familiar face of the young girl among them. He had seen her before—
No. No. No. No.
He stepped back about to make a run for the warehouse even though his brilliant mind knew it was no good. It was too late, but still. He wanted to try, he had to.
Don Aldo had arrived at his office just in time. The second he picked up the package and began to unwrap it, he saw it but it was too late already.
The second the figure on the rooftop turned, the time was up. The deafening roar of the explosion tore through the building, echoing through the air with a force that shook the earth, and sent the mysterious figure stumbling backward.
But not because of impact. No. He was too far away, and too firm on the ground to fall. The push was something else. Something that had shaken him from the inside in ways nothing ever had.
His blue eyes widened with shock as he glared at the chaos he had caused, and instead of the accomplishment he had imagined tonight what he felt was the total opposite—agony.
He remembered their faces, and they taunted him.
What had he done?
