I stand before my father, Stefano Marocchi, a man who seeks nothing but power, wondering why I’ve been called into his office today. Though my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow, I have yet to be initiated into the family fold; it could be my time. I stand tall, my hands clasped behind my back and my chin tipped high as his narrowed eyes assess me.
“As my son, it’s in your blood to be the man our family needs you to be, but you have more heart than you should. Before taking your rightful place at my side, I need to know one thing…” He pauses dramatically, and I have to nip the tip of my tongue between my teeth to keep from sighing in exasperation. My father has mocked me for caring about shit since I was young enough to remember. Personally, I think it makes you stronger, giving you something to fight for, something justified. Something beyond money and power.
“Alessandro Camarco is on his way back to the city, and after all these years, we finally have the upper hand.”
My body tenses. I’m now feeling a lot more interested in why I’ve been summoned. My father stands, moves from behind his desk, and walks across the room to stand before me.
At seventeen, I’m taller than him, and he hates it.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cell phone.
“To stand beside me and claim your place in the family, make the call, and our men will put an end to him. Will you make the decision with your head? Because, my son, you can’t very well make it with your heart.”
He’s wrong. I’ll make this decision with a clear head, but also with my heart. For when it’s done, and Alessandro Camarco is dead and gone, it’ll be one less battle to fight to be with Mila.
“So, what’s it to be? Head or heart?”
I know all about the prophecy Father Luke foretold of the night we were born, and nothing is going to get in our way of fulfilling it.
“Head.”
And my father will be next in line to meet his maker.
He smiles proudly.
“Wise decision.”
He passes me the cell phone, and it feels like the weight of a brick in the palm of my hand.
“There’s only one number stored in the contacts. Call it, and use the code word Morte.”
I know what I’m doing is God’s work, and choosing who lives and dies is being transferred to me from Him. Mila and I may be in love, initiating the fulfilment of the prophecy to bring peace, but we are who we are, and know there’s no way to bring peace by any other means than violence.
I bring up the contact and place the call, putting it on speakerphone. It rings twice before it’s answered.
No one speaks.
No greetings are exchanged.
My father nods, and with a heavy sigh, I decree, “Morte.”
I’ve sanctioned Alessandro Camarco’s death.
The call ends, and my father slaps me on the shoulder.
“Welcome to your destiny, son.”
Removing the phone from my hand, he returns to his desk and deposits it in the top drawer. “You’ll have our crest inked before your party tomorrow night. You can go now.”
Oh, yes, the family crest all males working for the family have tattooed on their backs—the one I won’t be getting. Not that I’ll tell my father so to his face, at least not today. He’ll have me held down in order to get it on my skin if he has to.
I make it to the door, my hand ready to twist the knob when he calls out, “At this very moment, the entire Camarco bloodline is being wiped out. Remember this day, son, as it places the City of Vita at our feet. We will finally hold full control of it in the palm of our hands.”
I stand there, numb and motionless. The entire Camarco line? I couldn’t have heard him right.
Turning ever so slowly, forcing myself to face him, I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“That whore, Giana, and their wretched daughter, Jamila, are with him.”
No, that can’t be. Mila hasn’t been out of the city; I would’ve known if she had been. Then again, I haven’t heard from her in three days, not since the last time we had met up. My heart beats like a drum in my ears, battering against my chest.
“You think I didn’t know about your secret meetings with the girl?” he huffs. “That ridiculous prophecy is nothing more than an old