Volume 1: Mistaken Identity

The smell was rancid with the thick aroma of death and a hint of lingering gun powder in the air. When he was a child, this wasn't the life Roman D'Amico sought out for himself. The future heir of the D'Amico family syndicate, and the most eligible bachelor in the lake shore area, he once wanted to be a firefighter or an astronaut. He hadn't dreamed of heading the most ruthless mob organization in the city of Chicago that branched off from the D'Amico crime family in Italy. Yet, here he was, ascending on a rundown trap house with his men, looking for the one thing that made his chest tighten and his heart feel like it was ripping in two.

To his left, his second in command, Anton Rosetti, waved his people into position. He trusted Anton with his life and where one was, so was the other; two peas in a dangerous pod. It was late on a foggy Wednesday night and the cops would be here soon. They had to act fast, or they'd be pinned for the crimes that had taken place here. When the call came in, he knew this would be bad.

Lucky for them, the west side Chicago neighborhood they were in didn't give a second thought to gunshots when they rang out in the darkness. So, they had plenty of time to inspect the area to find what they were looking for before the red and blue lights came flashing. They'd be in and out in no time, or at least they hoped. This could be a trap and Roman knew it.

Lifting his gun, Roman felt his blood run cold. He knew what was in this house, even though it pained him to think about it. The call that came earlier was a warning and they need to act fast before the cops raided the place. He'd seen this scene many times before. Inside that ran-down crack house with the broken shutters was going to be a nightmare, and he didn't know if his heart could take it.

"Let me go in first, boss. You don't need to see this."

"No." Roman shook his head. "I need to do this. My brother's in there and he needs me."

Nodding with an understanding sigh, Anton felt nothing but sadness for his best friend. This was going to be difficult, and he didn't know what they were about to walk in on.

"Clear!" They heard a voice ring out from one of his men on the inside.

Walking up to the house, in the worst part of the ghetto, Roman's hands trembled as he lowered his gun. For the first time in years, he was shaking. His stomach was in knots and the feeling of bile rising in his throat wasn't normal for this ruthless mafia kingpin, but this differed from any typical job. This was personal.

As he walked through the door, the tall dark-haired Italian had to cover his mouth and nose from the stench that loomed in the trap house. A crime leader in his early thirties he had seen a lot of vial things in his life, but this was cruel beyond anything he'd ever witnessed. A mix of death with an acid-like aroma lingering from the kitchen made him choke out a cough. Covering his mouth with his suit sleeve to avoid the fumes, he did his best not to breathe in the vile stench.

Sure, he'd done some pretty fucked up things in his life, but drugs were never his thing, and he could smell the burning odor of whatever the drug of choice was in this place from a block away. The whole selling drugs to kids on the street thing was never his gig. He left that to the gang bangers and low-life criminals. Meth dealers were the lowest form of scum to him, and he hated what it was doing to his streets; worse what it did to his family for so many years.

Walking around a musty old mattress on the floor of the front living room, he cringed at the sight of a drugged-out prostitute who was cradling her arm from the needle hit she had earlier; not even noticing the bloody dead man laying on the floor next to her.

"Fucking junkies. Get her out of here," he yelled to one of his people. "Get all the ones that are alive out of the house before a meth lab explodes. I can smell it in the air. The cops will be here soon, and we need to get out of here too before we catch the wrap for this shit. This is set up and I can feel it."

Anton, who had made his way to the kitchen, came back into the doorway, clearly shaken. "Roman, I found him."

"Beau?" Roman rushed to the room as his friend tried to stop him, gripping his arms firmly.

"Roman… no! You don't need to see him this way."

"I have to! I need to see if it's him!"

Yanking his arm away, Roman run to where a group of dead men slumped over a 1980s green and rusty vintage metal kitchen table. The entire place was a nightmare. Blood and brain matter spread across the table made him shake his head in disgust as he tried to calm his breathing. This was messy and made to look amateur on purpose.

And then he saw it…

The most gruesome of the attacks laid before him. His brother leaning backward over a chair with one hand resting on his bible. Most likely, he was there ministering to a group of strung-out junkies like he always did. Roman had warned him how dangerous this was, but Beau wanted to save everyone from the life he once led, and clean up the projects one drug addict at a time.

There was a clear difference in the killings, but it wasn't registering in Roman's head at that moment. Beau's throat was slit while the other people there had gunshot wounds. This was personal and the message was clear. This one sent word to him that someone was out for blood, and he and anyone in his family could be next.

Stepping closer, Roman slowly approach as tears welled up in his eyes. The thought pierced his mind for only a second that slit across his brother's throat was a marker from the hitman he had been seeking out for months. They called him "The Razor" for the brutality the murderous hitman took out on his victims. Every slash across his brother's body was noted in Roman's mind, marked for retaliation when he found the man who had done this. An eye for an eye; it was the D'Amico family way.

Reaching for his younger brother, Roman pulled him to his chest, forgoing the pristine tailored black suit that he prided himself on. He tried to breathe, speak, anything; but nothing came out. When his brother's lifeless body collapsed into his arms, the shrill scream that escaped his breath was like nothing his team had ever heard before.

He knew one thing only… someone had to pay.