Chapter 1

Southern Sweden — 18 years ago

"You know exactly why I'm here," the Don said, his gun steady and aimed at the man before him. "You shouldn't have betrayed me. You were one of my best. I trusted you. And all of this... for greed."

Arnold swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

"I know I have no right to argue. Or to defend myself. I accept my punishment." His voice broke. "I know the penalty is death. I only beg for mercy for my family. They didn't know anything. The blame is mine alone."

The crying came after — uncontrollable, humiliating.

"If you really cared about your family, you would've thought about them first," he replied coldly.

He took a few steps forward and stopped in front of the woman. She pressed the child against her chest, as if the gesture alone could protect her.

"On second thought... dying would be too easy for you," he murmured.

He crouched slightly and traced his fingers across the child's face in an almost gentle touch.

"No... my daughter, no," the woman begged, her voice shattered by desperation.

"When your daughter turns eighteen, she'll marry my son," he said coldly. "Keep the girl pure. If you don't, she'll pay for your mistake too."

The man sobbed on the floor, unable to respond.

"As for your son, he'll serve the organization with absolute loyalty. He'll only marry if I allow it... or if my son, as the future leader, decides to grant him that."

He took a few slow, calculated steps.

"Do a better job with them than you did with me. Keep them in line. Otherwise, you'll live to watch the consequences. That will be your punishment: seeing everything, unable to do a thing about it."

He paused briefly — just long enough for the words to settle like a sentence.

"I'll prepare the marriage contract. I'll return to have it signed. And don't forget: your children's fate was sealed by you."

Without looking back, the Don turned and walked to the door. Before leaving, he stopped and gave a short order to one of his armed men.

"Watch them. If they try to run, let me know."

The door closed.

Left behind were a father on his knees, a mother in silent despair, and a boy standing rigid, his eyes far too large for his young face — marked forever by what he'd just witnessed.

Present day.

The sound of ragged breathing broke the silence of the dark room.

Another nightmare.

Not really a nightmare, though — an old memory, persistent, that had been haunting him again over the past few weeks.

Augusto turned on the bedside lamp. The dim light illuminated the room but couldn't reach the tightness in his chest. The darkness stayed right there.

He got up and went to the bathroom. He washed his face, braced his hands on the sink, and stared at his own reflection in the mirror. Thirty years old. Still trapped in that same moment.

He thought about his sister. About how he could get her out of that trap.

At thirteen, Augusto had learned that some images never fade. He'd never forgotten the eyes of the mafia Don's son resting on him that night. A gaze far too intent for someone so young. A gaze that didn't forget.

Today, that boy was no longer known as the boss's son. He was the leader of the organization.

He'd taken command at twenty-two, when his father fell ill. Since then, his name had become synonymous with cruelty and coldness. They said he had no mercy. That he spared only women deemed innocent and children. To enemies and allies alike, he was the same: the monster.

Augusto closed his eyes.

The reason for the nightmares was simple and relentless. His sister, Alice, would turn eighteen in one week.

And he didn't know if he could save her from the sentence awaiting them: marrying the monster.

Over those years, their father had allowed his daughter a certain freedom. He knew that after the marriage to the mafia leader, she'd be stripped of nearly everything. He'd let her go out, have fun, make small choices of her own. In return, he'd begged for only one thing: that she remain pure.

Augusto got up early and went for a run, as he did almost every day. The rhythm of his steps on the pavement helped organize his thoughts. He needed a way out. Any way out that could protect his sister.

While running, he decided to call Mark. Maybe together they could find a solution.

Mark was more than his best friend. He was family. Like Augusto, he was part of the mafia underworld. They'd known each other since elementary school. They'd trained together in the organization, shared falls, victories... and even their first time, in an improvised arrangement Mark had set up for the two of them.

The phone rang only once.

"Hello. I need to meet with you," Augusto said, getting straight to the point. "We need to talk about that matter again."

On the other end of the line, there was no surprise. Mark already knew the weight of that concern.

"Sure. I'm home. Come over," Mark replied. "I'll be waiting."

The call ended, and Mark's expression changed instantly. Hearing that Augusto wanted to talk about his sister again, he took a deep breath. He poured a generous measure of liquor and downed it in one gulp. He needed courage for what he was about to do.

They'd planned to meet at Mark's apartment, but first Augusto went back home. He was sweaty from the run and needed a shower. The moment he walked in, he sensed something was wrong.

There was an unusual commotion.

Alice was crying. Their father and mother were nearby, trying to console her, speaking softly, as if words could wound more than they could help.

"What's going on here?" he asked, making everyone turn.

Alice lifted her tear-streaked face and ran to him, hugging him tightly, as if she were afraid to let go.

"Augusto... they want me to marry that monster. To marry Pietro," Alice said, clinging to him, beside herself.

The embrace was too tight to be just fear. It was desperation.

Augusto raised his gaze to their parents, searching for answers. They only looked away, defeated.

"Easy," he murmured, kissing the top of his sister's head. "Let's sit down. You need to calm down."

He guided her back to the sofa, trying to contain his own tightness in his chest. That was when he noticed the large box on the armchair. The ribbon still intact. Inside, a wedding dress.

Augusto sat Alice down and picked up the note resting on the lid. He read it.

"I hope you like the dress I chose for my future wife. I can't wait to see her walking into the church wearing it.

P.S.: There's also a suit for your brother. I believe it will look very good on him. The bride's brother needs to look impeccable too."

The air seemed to grow heavier.

Below the larger box, there was a smaller one. Augusto didn't need to open it to know.

It was the suit.

"Arrogant bastard," Augusto muttered, low enough for no one to hear.

"I don't want to marry him," Alice said, her voice breaking. "I'd rather die than spend my life beside that man."

Her words pulled him back from his own thoughts. Augusto set the note on the box and moved closer. He held his sister's face between his hands, feeling her warm tears streaming through his fingers.

"Our father didn't have a choice," he said, steady despite the knot in his chest. "But I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of this. Even if the price is too high."

She took a deep breath. The crying gradually subsided. Her brows furrowed, and the look she raised to him was no longer just fear. It was suspicion.

"Wait..." she said, pulling back slightly. "You knew about this too? You knew about this whole scheme... and you didn't tell me?"

Augusto saw the anger in Alice's eyes before the shove even came. She pushed away hard and ran toward the stairs, going up to her room without looking back.

He stood there, motionless.

Nothing about this situation was easy for their family. But he knew that for her, it was even worse. Being forced to marry someone she didn't love... someone she feared.

The idea settled in his chest like a slow, almost suffocating pressure.

Augusto

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