Chapter 2 THE GENOVESE MANSION 2

Paolo lowered me to the ground outside, his menacing red eyes glaring at me. I instinctively covered my mouth, too terrified to speak.

Alessandro emerged next, flanked by two men dressed in black on either side of him. He walked past me, heading towards a sleek black Lamborghini Huracán, before getting in.

"Bring her!" he commanded. With that, his car sped away as fast as the Lamborghini Huracán could go. I was so lost in the moment that Paolo had to tap me to regain my attention. As I turned to face him, the trunk of a black SUV popped open.

"What?" I stammered.

"Get in!" he ordered, his gaze warning me not to defy him. I took a slow breath and climbed into the trunk, trying to maintain my composure. I couldn't afford to panic now. Growing up, I had struggled with claustrophobia, but I had managed to overcome it as I entered adulthood. This, however, was a whole new test of my strength. The trunk was shut close, trapping me in total darkness. The car engine roared to life, causing my heart to skip a beat. They were really taking me somewhere unknown. I closed my eyes, allowing tears to flow freely.

"Buon Dio, salvami." (Good lord, save me.) I whispered, clasping my hands together. I had no idea what to expect; it was the first time I had been taken away from home. Memories of my mother and sister, Flavia, flooded my thoughts. Flavia had no idea that it would be the last time she would see me. Why had my father sold me to the Genovese, of all people? I tried to recall what had happened earlier, before my father took me away, depriving me of the chance to say a final goodbye to the people I loved most in the world.

EARLIER THAT DAY.

"Aria, per favore, vieni ad aiutarmi qui." (Aria, please come help me here.) Flavia's voice called out, and I rushed to her side. She was my younger sister and my everything.

"What is it?" I asked, as she struggled to lift a small bucket from the well. "Let me help," I offered, taking the bucket from her and settling down next to her. She fanned herself with her hands, attempting to cool down despite the inadequate airflow.

"This is so stressful," she complained. "Why couldn't Mom and Dad have had a son? This would have been easier for me." She pouted, and I couldn't help but smile.

"I don't need a brother. I love you just the way you are," I reassured her.

"Really?"

"Oh, Flavia, don't pretend. You know exactly what I mean," I teased, loving to repeat how much I cherished her.

She blushed and handed me the bucket. I pulled it up from the well for her, filling it to the brim with water. "Lift it and let's head home," I instructed, even though our house wasn't far.

"I'm tired," she replied, crossing her arms and turning her head away, lips pouting. I chuckled at her childishness.

"Fine, fine... I'll carry it," I relented, lifting the bucket. Her face lit up with a smile, and she skipped ahead, pouring out her thoughts as we made our way home. I couldn't help but laugh.

When we arrived home, she headed inside while I went to empty the bucket at the back of the house.

"Aria, il cibo di Flavia è pronto. Lasciate tutto quello che state facendo e venite dentro." (Aria, Flavia's food is ready. Leave whatever you're doing and come inside.) My mother yelled from indoors. I dropped the bucket and approached the house, my father's voice called out from behind me.

"Aria?"

"Papa," I replied, walking toward him.

"You... you... need to come with me," he said, his voice filled with unease. He walked away without saying another word, leaving me confused. I glanced back at the house before hurrying after him. We followed a narrow, overgrown path, and I repeatedly asked where we were going, receiving the same vague answer each time.

"Somewhere."

I didn't press further. He was my father, and I trusted him not to lead me astray. At least, that's what I thought. Unfortunately, I was mistaken.

As we reached the main road, my father stopped, seemingly waiting for someone.

"Papa, why are we here?" I questioned, my voice trembling.

"Be quiet, Aria. You ask too many questions," he replied, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Papa?" I called out, concerned as I noticed his trembling hands and perspiring brow. He turned to face me, his eyes filled with anxiety. "What's wrong?" I asked, my worry intensifying. He seemed worn out and stressed, as if he might collapse at any moment.

"Aria," he began, but his sentence was cut short by the squealing of tires approaching us. Not just one car, but two... no, three. Before I could comprehend what was happening, we were surrounded.

The door of the Lamborghini Huracán swung open, and a tall man stepped out. I found myself gaping at him before a black sack was forcefully placed over my head. I struggled, kicking and fighting, but then I heard a distinct click.

"Do anything stupid, and Francesco dies..."

"Francesco? That was my father... my own father..." I tried to calm myself, even though not entirely successfully, as I was thrown into a car. The journey began, and with the sack still covering my face, I had no idea where they were taking me. When the sack was finally removed, I found myself standing before Alessandro Genovese...