Luca Vitiello (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 0.5)

The man tumbled forward and would have taken my brother with him had he not jumped back in the last moment, still looking stunned. He blinked at me, then peered down at the body. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up, lingering on my belly. “You’re bleeding.”

I clutched the wound in my side, shaking from the force of the pain. My hand with the gun shook, but I didn’t drop it. Shots and screams still rang out downstairs. I nodded toward my closet. “Hide in there.”

Matteo frowned.

“Do it,” I said sharply.

“No.”

I staggered toward him, almost passing out from the sharp pain in my body. I gripped Matteo by the cuff of his pajama and pulled him toward the closet. He struggled, but I shoved him inside and turned the lock.

Matteo hammered against the door from inside. “Let me out!”

Trembling with anxiety and pain, I crept downstairs, toward the living room where the sounds were coming from. When I stepped in, I saw Father crouched behind a sofa in a shooting match with two other men. Both had their backs turned to me. Father’s eyes flitted to me, and for a moment, I considered not doing anything. I hated him, hated how he hurt Matteo and me, and even his new wife Nina.

Still, I raised my hand and shot one of the men. Father took care of the other. The man fell to the floor clutching his shoulder. Father kicked the gun away then shot him in both feet. Somewhere in the house I heard more gunshots, then heavy steps. One stumbled inside, bleeding from a wound in his head.

Father frowned. “Did you kill everyone?”

One nodded. “Yes. They got Two.”

“They shouldn’t have come as far as they did,” Father muttered. Without warning, he aimed his gun at One and pulled the trigger. I cried out in surprise as the man fell to the floor beside me. I’d known him all my life.

My legs gave away, my wound throbbing. Father regarded me as he lifted his phone and spoke into it. “Send for the Doc, and come over with Durant. No one else until I know who the rats are.”

Father stalked toward me and pulled me roughly to my feet. Holding me upright, he shoved my hand away from my bleeding wound. He prodded at it, and my vision turned black as I jerked in agony. Father shook me. “Get a grip on yourself. Don’t die on me.”

My eyes peeled open. Father shook his head then released me, and I sank back down to the ground. I braced myself on my hands, wheezing.

Father moved out of the room, leaving me alone with the attacker who was moaning as he tried to crawl away. When Father returned, he carried rope. He tied up the man then pulled out his knife and touched it to the man’s forearm. He screamed when Father began to cut his skin off his flesh. It’s like peeling an apple. That’s what Father always said but an apple didn’t screech and beg.

Cradling my bleeding stomach, I watched even as bile crawled up my throat. Father kept glancing my way. I knew he’d punish me if I looked away. The screams rang in my ears, and I shivered. My arms gave way and my cheek collided with the hard floor. The static in my ears soon drowned out the screaming, and then all was black.The Underbosses and Captains waited in the living room of our mansion. Father stood in the middle and beckoned me forward. Every eye in the room followed me as I headed toward him. I held my head high, trying to appear taller. I was tall for my age, but the men around me still towered over me. They looked at me like I was something they had never seen before.

I stopped right in front of my father. “The youngest initiate the Famiglia has ever seen,” he announced, his voice booming in the room. “Eleven years and already so much stronger and crueler than any father could wish for.”

Pride swelled in my chest. Father had never sounded proud of me, never shown the slightest hint that I or Matteo were more than a burden. I straightened my shoulders, trying to appear like a man in my black suit and wingtip shoes.

“Our enemies will whisper your name in fear, my son. My blood. My heir.”

He withdrew a knife and I held out my hand, knowing what was to come. I didn’t flinch when Father cut my palm. He’d cut me many times before to make me strong for this day. Every time I’d flinched, he’d cut me again and dripped lemon juice or salt into my wound until I hid the pain.

“Born in Blood, Sworn in Blood. I enter alive and I leave dead,” I said firmly.

“You are a Made Man of the Famiglia, Luca. You will kill and maim in my name. You will break and burn.”