Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Palermo Meeting
Palermo, Italy. The city shone under atreacherous sun, and its narrow streets kept secrets that no tourist would eversee. The real power was not in the politicians or the police: it was in fourfamilies that ruled every corner of crime. The Grecos, the Vitales, theCarusos, and the feared Ferraro brothers.
The Ferraros had struck a deal withthe government: stop drug trafficking and smuggling, hand over 50% of theirfortune, and serve eight years in prison. After serving their sentence, theywould be allowed to walk free and create legitimate businesses with the otherhalf of their money.
But the Ferraros wanted more: for theother families to follow their example, handing over 50% of their fortune andsending their patriarchs to prison for eight years.
Salvatore Greco, a 65-year-oldpatriarch, took a deep breath. He had built his legacy through decades oftrafficking, smuggling, and illegal gambling. His son Alessandro, 24 years old,was beginning to move into the family business, hungry for power and with bloodin his eyes.
—Son —said Salvatore with a deepvoice—, today you will do what we must do. Refuse the Ferraros’ proposal, butwatch how the others react. Make it seem like you’re just starting out, thatyou cannot commit your investments. Every word counts.
Alessandro nodded. He knew that everygesture could mean life or death.
The meeting took place in an abandonedpalace. Long tables, chandeliers covered in dust, and men with hard gazes whodidn’t blink in front of the Ferraros.
—We have made our proposal —said theolder Ferraro brother, his voice cold as marble—. Each family hands over halfits fortune, and its patriarchs will serve eight years in prison. It is theonly thing that will guarantee peace in Palermo.
Silence fell like a slab. Vitale andCaruso hesitated, but seemed to lean toward it. Salvatore frowned. Alessandrospoke up:
—We cannot… we cannot hand over whathas cost us our whole lives. I am only beginning to invest in legitimatebusinesses, and the trafficking we managed for years… It is not possible.
The discussion intensified. Fistsslammed against tables, hands clenched, eyes burning with fire. Salvatore stoodup, pounding the wood with force.
—We will not accept! —he shouted—. Letthe other families decide, but not us.
The Greco family withdrew. Outside,Palermo continued its normal rhythm, oblivious to the coming storm. Inside eachman, the certainty that the war was only just beginning.
Chapter 2: The Palermo Massacre
The sea breeze caressed the terrace ofthe Greco beach house in Mondello. The family dined facing the sea: laughter,glasses of wine, and trivial conversations. For a moment, life seemed normal.
Then, a roar of engines shattered thecalm. Dark silhouettes descended from motorcycles, weapons in hand. It was theFerraro army.
—Alessandro, run! —shouted his father,as bullets began to rain down.
The massacre began. Bullets piercedwindows and walls. His mother fell without a scream, his sister barely had timeto embrace him before a shot brought her down. Blood mixed with sand, and thesmell of gunpowder filled the air.
Not only in Mondello. In differentcorners of Palermo, the Ferraros left no trace.
In an elegant restaurant, the hitmen gunned down the clients and owners, leaving the place turned into a pool of death. In a suburban home, a shootout wiped out the family of a Greco ally who was trying to escape. In a downtown bar, men fell one after another while bottles exploded in the crossfire.
The city burned in chaos. The roar ofmotorcycles and gunfire mixed with screams of terror. Every corner of Palermoseemed infected by the Ferraros’ violence.
Alessandro, his heart racing athousand beats per minute, leapt onto his motorcycle parked on the Mondellohouse terrace. Shots whistled around him, shattering wood and knocking downlampposts. Every maneuver, every turn, was an act of pure survival.
As he escaped through narrow alleys,the smell of gunpowder and blood filled his lungs. Palermo’s lights reflectedthe destruction: shattered windows, burning cars, bodies lying on the streets.No one survived. No one was left alive.
When he finally disappeared into thelabyrinth of the city, covered in dust, blood, and rage, Alessandro knew onething for certain: the Ferraros had destroyed everything he loved, and he wouldbecome their worst nightmare.
With adrenaline still coursing throughhis veins, he revved the motorcycle and set course for Rome. The distance wouldbe long, but vengeance could not wait. As the rain began to fall, his promisesolidified: blood for blood, every Ferraro would pay for what they had done.
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