RUTHLESS: The Mafia Alpha's Toy

Prologue

Aviana

FEW YEARS BACK.

The Darkness beneath the bed had been suffocating but it was nothing compared to the silence that followed, a silence so thick, it brought me to my knees.

I was only eight years old when I watched my mother die in front of me.

I still remembered the gunshot, the way her body crumpled, lifeless to the floor and how helplessly I watched the men that had done this walk away without any remorse.

I remember the shadows of the men who did it, their voices sharp with a foreign accent, their laughter like blades slicing through my ears.

I still remember my cries … my mind could never distinguish it if it had been me at that time or someone else.

But most of all, I remember the growl. Low. Guttural. Something that didn't belong in this world.

For years I wondered if I imagined it and if trauma had twisted my memory or if it had been real…

And now, as I stood in a dark alley fifteen years later, face to face with one of the men that had taken my life away and I couldn't help but remember the way my mom had begged and the way they had laughed or the way the gunshot shattered my world.

I never saw his face until 5 years after my mother's death. I had seen him at a bus station smoking, when I noticed a black scorpion tattoo inked onto his foot but that wasn't what gave him away. His accent had been what gave it away… I instantly knew that I had found one of my mother's killers. I followed him for years after and eventually joined the police force. I had found out everything that I needed to know.

And now, standing in the dark alley, rain soaking through my clothes, I was staring at the same scorpion tattoo.

He hadn't even noticed me yet

He was too busy checking over his shoulder his breath ragged. He was running away from something but he wouldn't be running much longer. I had come to be his absolute nightmare.

I lifted my gun, stepping into the dim light. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” I smirked.

His head snapped up, eyes wild. “Who the hell are you?” He questioned, visibly distressed as he looked between me and over his shoulders.

I chuckled darkly. “You don't remember me, do you?” I took a slow step forward, the gun trained in his chest.

“That night, the woman you murdered, I am her daughter. I look just like her, don't you think?” I asked, my voice menacing and my steps intimidating.

His face twisted, “You're…”

“Good, you remember me…” my plastic smile dropped only to be replaced by hatred.

For a moment, he just stared, Then he laughed, low and dark. “And what¿ You think you're gonna get revenge for? You don't even know what you are dealing with.”

A familiar sound rumbled from deep in his chest– a growl, guttural and inhuman. Just like that night.

A warning shot cracked through the air, the bullet grazing his shoulder. “Shut up,”

He grunted, clutching his wound. But instead of fear, amusement danced in his eyes.

“Killing me will only be doing me a favor,” he stared.

“Hmmm…”

"You think you’re ready for this, little girl?"

I stepped closer, pressing the barrel against his forehead. "I’ve been ready for fifteen years."

I pulled the trigger.

His body slumped to the ground. Blood pooled around him, mixing with the rain.

I exhaled, lowering my gun, my heart steady.

One down. Three to go.