Prologue
Crystal Sinful All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2024 by C Sinful Writer.
Trigger Warning: This content is intended for mature audiences only. It may contain material that could be offensive to some readers, including graphic language, dangerous and sexual situations, murder, abuse, and extreme violence.
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Prologue
Crimson blood pools around me as I stare at the lifeless body of the bastard who tried to steal my drugs and money. I had to slit his throat; there was no other way. Alberto grunts as he lifts him, tossing the corpse into a tub of acid. The stench of melting flesh fills the air, a grotesque reminder of the choice I made.
“This fucking stinks,” Alberto mutters, his shirt pulled over his nose, but I barely register it.
I’m numb to this shit. You have to be in this life; feelings will eat you alive. I watch the acid bubble and hiss, flesh disintegrating, and I remind myself of the rule: never cross me. An eye for an eye, always.
Once he’s gone, down the drain with the remnants of his existence, we’ll call the cleanup crew. I wipe my hands, feeling a mix of adrenaline and dread. The night swallows us as we leave the cabin, with no soul around and no streetlights to guide us. Alberto drives off into the darkness, the engine growling beneath the weight of our actions.
We always play music after a kill to calm my racing heart and clear my head. But tonight, the melody feels discordant. My thoughts drift to Veda, my mistress. I’ve known her longer than most people in my life; she’s dark enough to handle my demons. But I know she craves more than I can give. I have to end it—what we have is just a good fuck, a chemistry that ignites but can’t sustain.
As the road stretches into the void ahead, I wrestle with the urge to reach for something more profound, even as I know better. Love is a liability, and vulnerabilities can be deadly in my world. The night is still young, and there’s more chaos to navigate before I can confront the truth of what I feel. For now, I bury it deep and focus on the road, the pounding bass drowning out the conflict within.
This life isn’t for the weak. I became the Don, the one who ruled generations of Benintos. At sixteen, I was no longer innocent; I craved power, and my family stood beside me. I was born cold-hearted, thriving on the thrill of killing. Regrets? Only one—getting Oliva pregnant, leading to a loveless marriage.
“Take me to Veda’s,” I tell Alberto.
We drive in silence, with music playing in the background.
I step into the house I bought for her, the shower running. I strip and slide in, grabbing Veda. “Sir,” she gasps, dropping to her knees.
“Get up.” I want her one last time. I wash away my sins, bending her over, slamming into her, her moans filling the room.
I let myself enjoy this moment with her. It feels so good and right.
“Cum for me,” I command. She obeys, taking me with her, and I pull out, releasing my load on her.
“We have to stop this.” I think the words are cruel to end things like this. Do I care? No.
“I thought you loved me!” she cries.
“I don’t love you. I’m married. You were just a mistress.” I say harshly.
Her tears hit hard, and she struck my cheek. I pull my gun, my anger boiling.
“Do it again, and I’ll kill you.” I retort.
The tension thickens; I need her gone.
“I’m heading back home,” I say, shaking my head.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleads.
“Why are you still talking? I’ll kill you.” I growl.
I walk away, knowing the darkness within me is only growing.
Alberto pulls up, and I slam the door behind me.
“What happened?” He looks at me, shaking his head.
“Bitch was in love, hit me, and I wanted to put a bullet in her head. She said that she is moving, and that’s for the best. I was getting attached. That had to end,” I spat out, anger boiling.
He nods, understanding the rage as we head to the club. I need a drink, but I can’t shake off the feeling of disrespected trust. She knew my feelings from the start, and I didn’t care if I gave her hope. I bought her a house and showered her with things; she never complained while I maxed out my card. She loved the thrill of my world and the money that came with it, but when it got real, she wanted out. Just like Oliva—always wanting to leave but never actually doing it. She claims it’s love, but I know she’s scared to be alone and cut off from the cash, afraid she won’t see our son.
Then my phone buzzes. Oliva: *Elio wants you; he won’t stop crying for you.*
“Change of plans. I need to get home to Elio. He wants me,” I tell Alberto, who turns the car around without a word.
The future with Oliva is a mess. Veda can have that house; I was an asshole to her. Right now, all that matters is my son. He’s the only thing that keeps me grounded in this chaos.
