PROLOGUE

The rain.

The sound of it clattering on the terracotta roofs like hooves.

The flashes of lightning like a camera shuttering the events taking place below.

The black car as dark as the night itself with it's headlights on, casting a glow on the man knelt in the gravel, clutching the hem of another man's pants.

The dark-haired woman who also knelt in her drenched nightgown that clung to her soma. Her hands clasped in a plea and her sobs quieted by the gun held to her skull.

The looming figure of a man in a dark suit, a bowler hat and the ebony gold-tipped cane he tapped on the gravel, stood– as he spoke to the man knelt in front of him. Two men like statues flanked the sides of the bowler-hat man. One held a red umbrella shielding the man from the rain and the other– carried a gleaming obsidian pistol with intricate gold markings on a plush red rain-soaking pillow.

A boy barely eight, stood by the fountain straddled by the giant hands of the dark suited men on his sides holding him in place. He was made to watch even as the rain blurred his vision. His gaze kept flickering from the sobbing woman to the pleading man. His eyes held pleas he couldn't voice out. His heart said prayers to God, Virgin Maria, Jesus Christ… anyone up there. Anyone who could save the pleading man and the sobbing woman.

Admist the rain and loud boom-booms of thunder, he could barely make out the words that passed between the bowler-hat man and the man knelt at his feet. But his senses heightened when the bowler-hat man exchanged his cane for the pistol. The boy's heart raced, his once silent prayers rushed out of his lips. Again, he made to approach the man but the firm hands on his shoulders allowed him barely a step.

The sobbing woman seemed to have gone hysterical. As if saying, "Damn my life", she wailed even as the man holding the gun to her head pinched it harder. Even as he landed a resounding slap to her cheeks… she still wailed.

The pleading man was saying,

"My Baron, all I ask is one week and I will reimburse the loss… per favore… I pro–" he meant to say more but the roaring voice of the Baron cut him off,

"Time! Did you just say time? Tempo… is something I can't offer you. Quit being pathetic, Andreas– it doesn't suit you and surely I don't need to remind you that Dio perdona, la mafia no–(God forgives, the mafia doesn't.)"

"Please, my lord, surely you can make an exception for your servant. Just take me, do whatever you want with me- manual labor, strip me of my rank, make me a serf, let me toil in the farms… anything at all but please leave them out of this." Andreas pleaded.

Please. Please. Please. His quivering voice echoed the word.

"Dre, mio amore. What are you doing? You - you… you can't seriously be thinking of leaving us, we are a family and…" The sobbing woman was saying.

Turning to the Baron, she added,

"... la famiglia è tutto." (Family is everything).

That speech awarded her yet another deafening slap that made her slump on the wet-cold harsh gravel.

"Noooo!" Andreas screamed while trying in failed attempt to reach the woman's side.

At the same time, the boy yelled between sobs,

"Mamma!!!" and sagged to his knees. Not even wincing as his flesh was scraped by the gravel and pain shot through his knee caps.

Andreas looked at the boy, his face a mask of pity and regret. Again, he pulled the Baron's pants by the hem, his face bent as he said in a voice bearing no strength,

"Pleeease, my lord Baron just take me and leave them be, they don't deserve this. I'm begging you, please. Please."

Ribs cracked as the Baron's boots connected with the man's midriff. And in spite of the pain, Andreas merely groaned and continued in his plea.

Then the gun clicked and the baron held it to the Andreas' forehead while saying in that hoarse voice of his,

"Time to end this, this has gone farther than I would've wanted and as the English say 'the rare commodity waits for no man'. Rosa, my darling sposa would be on the bed touching herself now in my absence and my dearest Isa, would be waiting for daddy by the door."

Time slowed.

The rain fell.

As if on cue, white-blinding lightning gashed the dark sky making the scar that ran down the Baron's right eye, stark and horripilating.

A bellowing thunder followed.

With his face fixed on the boy, the baron added,

"I wish I can promise you that I would leave them alone but we both know that would be a lie and what's a baron without his words. Therefore, let me tell you, I will take them in and do my best to ensure they stay alive, that's all I can do… la morte è l'unico vero uguale tra noi." (Death is the only true equalizer among us).

'La morte è l'unico vero uguale tra noi.' Those were the last words he said. The words that echoed in the boy's ears as his father held his gaze, a smile on his face as he mouthed,

"Take care of Mamma and I love you."

Then, a shot rang through the night. A trigger was fired. The gun– discharged. It's sound beating any thunder ever heard. Bullet punctured bone and Andreas fell, a smile still on his lips and his face still locked on the boy's.

A guttural soundless scream escaped the boy's throat as he made to rush to his side. Everything faded away. The rain. The baron. The hands pinning him in place. The gun. The car. His mother who had been awoken by the sound of the bullet that killed her husband… everything. Until it was just the boy and his father's eyes on him still agape.

He was still crying and trying to make his way out of the hands that pinned him down when a blow landed on his hand and he jerked awake.

No, like a swimmer with the mortal, gripping fear of drowning in the depths, he surfaced. Cold sweat ran down the length of his skin as he sat up. His Armani watch told him it was just 3am.

Andreas Sanchez Jnr. have been having this same nightmare recurrently, especially after the ugly incident took place but never have it ever been this vivid and detailed.

More of second nature, his eyes darted across the dim room, looking for anything suspicious… any breach at all.

The room is bathed in soft natural moonlight filtering through billowing curtains, casting a warm glow on the terracotta-tiled floor below. The walls are painted in a soft, neutral shade, providing a serene backdrop for the space.

A rustic wooden table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs with worn but comfortable cushions. On the table, a vase of decaying wildflowers adds a pop of color and fragrance to the room, infusing it with the scent of the Italian countryside.

Against one wall, a sturdy wooden sideboard displays a collection of handmade ceramics and artisanal pottery, each piece telling a story of craftsmanship and tradition. A simple but elegant mirror hangs above the sideboard, reflecting the room's natural beauty and adding a sense of depth to the space.

In one corner, a cozy reading nook beckons with a plush armchair draped in a soft throw blanket, accompanied by a small wooden bookshelf filled with well-loved volumes of Italian literature and poetry.

Above, exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, adding a touch of rustic charm to the room and highlighting its architectural character.

This room of his, embodies the country's ethos of la dolce vita – the sweet life – where beauty is found in the simplicity of everyday moments and the appreciation of life's small pleasures.

It's located in the building behind the Baron's Manor. And like him several other workers, like the capos, the consigleres, soldiers, enforcers, farmers, serfs– all had a place in the building. Top ranking soldiers and made-men like him had a room to themselves while those on the bottom chain, shared.

When he was certain everything lay as it should including the stainless steel Beretta 92 gleaming in the moonlight, that lay by his right side drawer. He did the segno della croce - sign of the cross and kissed the crucifix that hung from the silver chain around his neck. It was the only belonging he had from his father - Don Andreas Sanchez, the Baron's Underboss until he snuffed out his light.

The pistol, he had bought from Romeo "The rat". Everyone knows about his dealings with the cops, hopefully the extra Andreas paid would be enough to keep his mouth shut.

Standing up, he stretched. His naked form in full display. His tats inked and snaked around his muscled arms and hairy chest in black swirling lines. His back lined with the faded yet visible scars of the whip cuts he had collected while growing up.

It's been 12 years since the Baron, Baron Antonio "The Tempest" Falcone brought him and his mother home with him. 12 years, he had suffered under his cruelty but no more.

Today, he turns 21, the age he hopes to settle the score. To equalize. To avenge his papa. To reach the end of his road to vendetta.