MAFIA PRIDE: Vows of Blood and Love

Kelvin's POV

It was supposed to be a peaceful Sunday morning.

I had barely gotten out of bed when loud cries shattered the silence. My mother's wailing echoed through the house, followed by the soft sobs of my younger siblings.

My heart skipped. What's going on? I thought, throwing off my blanket and rushing into the sitting room.

Something wasn't right. I could feel it.

Maybe... just maybe, my father had messed up again. He worked for a mafia group, not just any, but one of the deadliest in New York. And his boss, Lord Sampson, was known to be ruthless. Father had crossed him a few times before... but always managed to survive.

This time felt different.

"Good morning, Mother. What's going on? Where's Dad? Why are you all crying this early?" I asked, but my words fell on deaf ears.

She didn't answer. Instead, she stared at me with red, swollen eyes and broke into fresh sobs.

I turned to my siblings. "What happened?" I asked again, hoping at least one of them could talk. But they just looked down, weeping silently.

I moved closer to my mother and gently wiped her tears. "Please, tell me what's going on."

She struggled to speak, her voice cracking. "Your father... he's been taken. Lord Sampson's men came for him."

"What? Why?" I asked, confusion twisting in my chest. "They work together. I mean... they're partners, right?"

Her lips quivered. "They said he betrayed the group. Accused him of conspiring with an enemy. They dragged him away... said he'd be executed."

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I knew the mafia world didn't forgive betrayal. And if Lord Sampson made the call himself... then it was already over.

My father had been with the gang for over two years, ever since he lost his job as a chef. Things changed fast after that. He became involved in shady deals, and suddenly, we had more money. But we also had more fear. We lived in constant hiding, watching our backs, dreading police sirens.

Now... the life he chose was about to claim him.

"Where is he now?" I demanded.

My mother looked at me, alarmed. "Kelvin, even if you knew, what could you possibly do? They're not men you go after. Not even the police dares to stop them!"

"I didn't ask for advice," I snapped. "Just tell me where he is."

She shook her head, overwhelmed, and shoved a folded paper into my hand.

I opened it, and my breath caught.

It was a blood pact.

My father's signature, written in red. Below it, in bold ink, were the words:

"Should I ever betray the Brotherhood, may my life be taken by my own hand or theirs."

I stared at it in disbelief.

"Who gave you this?" I asked, voice shaking.

"Lord Sampson," she whispered. "He dropped it at my feet... as a reminder."

I clenched the paper in my fist. "Where are they now?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The dungeon. That's where they take traitors."

I froze.

I knew the place. My father had shown it to me once, from a distance. It wasn't far from our cassava farm, just beyond the forest edge. No one went there. It was a place of death.

I turned and headed for my room. My mother yelled after me, "Where are you going?"

But I didn't answer.

I pulled on a jacket, slipped the pact into my pocket, and walked out the door. I could still hear my mother crying behind me, but my focus was fixed.

I was going to the dungeon.

The streets were still quiet, New York hadn't fully awakened. The air was damp, and the sky a dull gray. I reached the crossroads between the city road and the overgrown path into the forest.

My legs hesitated.

I stood for a moment, hearing my heart pound in my ears. It was a one-way journey. If they caught me... I could end up next to my father, dead.

But I didn't care.

I remembered how Dad used to walk me around the farmland. How he'd smile when he came home from a job, hiding the blood on his hands. Those memories burned behind my eyes.

So I stepped forward.

The path to the dungeon was thorny and narrow, littered with dry leaves and broken twigs. Every step reminded me of how close I was getting to the dark side of the world my father lived in.

Then I heard it.

Two loud gunshots. Then a scream.

I froze mid-step.

Was I already too late?

Kelvin's POV

The moment I stepped into the forest path, it felt like I had left the world I knew behind.

Cold. Silent. Still.

The sky was a gloomy shade of gray, the kind that made everything feel heavier than it was. The air was thick with dew, and every step I took pressed into damp soil. Birds weren't chirping. Even the wind sounded cautious.

The trees stretched like silent witnesses, tall and twisted, their bare branches scratching against each other like they were whispering warnings. Beneath my feet, dry leaves crunched, making every step echo louder than I wanted. The forest was alive, not with movement, but with memories. Fear lived here.

And now, so did death.

I tightened my grip on the paper in my hand, the blood pact my father had signed. His signature, written in his blood, burned in my mind like fire. That piece of paper had sealed his fate. One mistake, or even a lie told about him, and his life became forfeit. That was the rule in Lord Sampson's mafia. Betrayal wasn't forgiven. It was eliminated.

The deeper I walked, the more my chest tightened, not from fear... but from rage.

How could they do this to him? My father wasn't perfect, but he was loyal. He served that gang without question. He was never given the respect he deserved, only suspicion, threats, and now... this.

My mother's tears. My siblings' cries. They echoed in my mind. I was supposed to be the one they looked to for strength now, but I didn't even know what strength felt like anymore.

Suddenly, I stopped.

There it was.

The dungeon.

Hidden behind thorn-covered bushes, part of the structure sunk into the ground like it had been swallowed whole. The walls were built of thick stone, stained and cracked. Rusted metal doors guarded the front like jaws waiting to snap shut. I'd seen this place once as a kid, when my father made us take a shortcut home from the farm. He pointed to it and said, "Never go near there, Kelvin. That's where secrets are buried."

I didn't understand it then. I do now.

A voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Move him!"

It was close. Too close.

I dropped to the ground behind a thick log and crawled forward on my elbows, brushing aside fallen leaves and avoiding the dry twigs that could give me away.

From where I crouched, I saw them.

Lord Sampson stood tall in the clearing, dressed head to toe in black. His hands were gloved, and his posture screamed authority. Around him, at least eight men circled the dungeon entrance. Guns slung across their chests. No mercy in their eyes.

My heart leapt into my throat when I saw who they were dragging forward.

My father.

His shirt was torn, blood soaked the side of his face, and his legs barely held him up. They forced him to kneel. But even in that state, he didn't bow his head.

His eyes, though swollen, burned with dignity.

"Any last words, traitor?" Lord Sampson's voice was calm, cold, calculated.

My father didn't flinch.

"I've done nothing but serve you," he rasped. "Everything I've done, all of it, was for the Brotherhood."

Lord Sampson chuckled, pacing in slow circles around him. "Loyalty doesn't erase suspicion. And in our world... suspicion is death."

He stopped in front of him, staring down like a judge delivering sentence. "You know the rules."

One of the guards raised his gun.

I wanted to scream. To leap out. To shout, No! He's innocent!

But my limbs wouldn't move. I was frozen in that moment, every nerve screaming, yet my body refusing to obey. What could I do? I was a teenager with nothing but a piece of paper and a heart full of pain.

My father turned his head slightly. I swear... he looked straight at me. Like he knew I was there.

His lips moved.

I couldn't hear it clearly, but it looked like he said, "Run."

And then,

Bang.

Just one shot.

It echoed through the trees, louder than thunder.

He slumped forward. Blood poured from the back of his head. Silence followed. No gasp. No final cry.

He was gone.

I bit my hand to keep from screaming. My teeth dug into my skin, drawing blood. My chest ached, like something had broken inside me.

I had lost him.

The men didn't bury him. They didn't even close his eyes. They dragged his body to the side like he was just trash and left him there.

Tears blurred my vision.

I stayed hidden, waiting, watching as they filed out of the forest, chatting and laughing like nothing had happened. Even Lord Sampson walked away casually, as if he hadn't just murdered a man who once called him "brother."

Once the last one disappeared into the distance, I crawled out.

My knees hit the cold earth as I ran to him.

His face was pale now, lips parted, blood soaking his shirt. His eyes stared blankly at the sky.

I collapsed beside him. I didn't care about the blood. I pulled him into my arms, whispering, "I'm sorry, Dad... I should've done something... I should've stopped them..."

But he couldn't hear me.

I reached into my pocket and placed the blood pact on his chest, smoothing it out gently.

"This," I said, my voice trembling, "this is why you're dead. This damn paper. This sick game."

I looked at the sky, blinking back more tears than I could count.

Something inside me shifted. I could feel it, like the pieces of who I was before had been shattered and rearranged.

I wasn't the same boy who woke up this morning.

That boy had a father. A home. A family held together by fear, but still holding on.

Now? That family had been torn apart.

Lord Sampson had declared war, and I was the only one left to answer it.

I stood up slowly, knees shaking.

"I swear on your blood, Dad..." I whispered, staring into the forest. "He'll pay for this."

As I turned to leave, I looked one last time at the clearing, that cursed piece of land. The birds still refused to sing. The wind still whispered through the trees.

But something else stirred inside me.

Not just anger. Not just grief.

Purpose.

I didn't know how I was going to do it. I didn't know how long it would take. But I knew this wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.

I had a name to protect. A legacy to rebuild. And one day, the man who did this... would kneel just like my father did.

But unlike my father, he wouldn't leave this dungeon as a memory. He would leave it as dust.

Kelvin's POV

The moment I stepped out of the forest, something in me had changed forever.

My clothes were soaked with dirt and dried blood. My legs wobbled, but I didn't stop. I didn't even look back. Not at the dungeon. Not at my father's body.

I couldn't.

If I did, I would break.

And I didn't have time to break.

I had to think.

Had to breathe.

Had to act.

I walked for what felt like hours. The sun had already begun its climb into the sky, and with every step I took, the pain in my chest deepened. The world around me moved as if nothing had happened. The streets buzzed with morning life shop owners opening stalls, students rushing to school, taxis honking in traffic.

But I wasn't part of their world anymore.

I crossed the road near the corner shop my father used to buy bread from every Sunday. The old woman who sold the loaves glanced at me and smiled, then quickly looked away when she noticed the stains on my shirt.

I didn't blame her.

I looked like a walking nightmare.

Eventually, I reached the small compound we called home. The moment I stepped through the gate, my younger brother came running to me.

"Kelvin!"

He stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw my face.

"Is he... is Daddy with you?"

I swallowed hard. My lips parted to speak, but no words came out. My brother's eyes began to water.

"No..." he whispered.

I dropped to my knees and hugged him tight.

"He's gone," I finally said.

His small arms wrapped around me, and together, we cried.

My mother rushed out next, wiping her hands on a piece of cloth. The moment she saw me, her hands froze mid-air.

"Kelvin?"

I shook my head.

Her legs gave way.

She collapsed into the dirt, wailing.

I had never heard my mother cry like that before. It wasn't loud. It was soft. Broken. The kind of sound that slipped through the cracks of someone who had held on for too long.

That day, I buried the boy I used to be.

And something else, something sharper, colder, was born in me.

Three days passed.

Three quiet, miserable days.

We didn't tell anyone what happened. No police. No neighbors. No friends. No one. We all knew the truth wouldn't help. This wasn't a normal murder. This was a mafia execution. The kind you don't talk about if you want to keep breathing.

I spent those days locked inside my room, going through every conversation I ever had with my father. Every warning. Every coded message. Every memory.

He knew this could happen. He must've known.

And yet... he never prepared me.

Or maybe he did, in his own way.

Tucked inside his old leather bag, hidden beneath a false bottom, I found a small notebook.

It was filled with scribbled names, locations, passwords, and something else, drawings. Diagrams of buildings. Routes. Symbols I didn't understand.

But one name kept appearing again and again.

"Rico."

I didn't know who Rico was, but my father had circled that name more than a dozen times. Under it, he'd written:

"Watch your back. He's Lord Sampson's shadow."

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I sat by the window, watching the moonlight pour over the rooftops.

I wanted revenge. I wanted to burn every part of Lord Sampson's empire to the ground. But I wasn't stupid. Going in blind would only get me killed.

I needed power.

I needed knowledge.

I needed allies.

But most of all... I needed patience.

So I waited.

And then, I got my first opportunity.

It happened on a Thursday evening.

I was sitting at a street corner, pretending to read a book while keeping an eye on the men who entered the club across the road, The Den. It was a mafia hangout spot. Exclusive. Dangerous. My father once told me that's where most of the deals were signed and sealed.

And then I saw him.

Rico.

At least, I was 90% sure it was him. He matched the sketch in the notebook, scar across his right cheek, gold watch on his left wrist, tattoo of a serpent curling up his neck.

He stepped out of a black SUV, surrounded by three other men.

And that's when I made my move.

I followed him.

At a distance.

Shadow to shadow.

Block after block.

Eventually, the other men split off, and Rico entered a rundown apartment building by himself. I waited fifteen minutes, memorizing every detail.

Then I followed him in.

The hallway smelled of mildew and old cigarettes. I climbed the stairs slowly, step by step, until I reached the second floor.

I pressed my ear to the door he entered.

Silence.

I drew a deep breath.

And I knocked.

Seconds passed.

Then footsteps.

The door opened halfway.

"What the hell"

I didn't wait.

I shoved the door with all my weight, slamming it into his face. He stumbled backward, shouting, but I was already inside, locking the door behind me.

He reached for a gun.

I kicked it across the floor.

"Who the f**k are you?" he shouted.

I picked up a chair and raised it high.

"My name doesn't matter," I said. "But the name of the man you killed does."

He narrowed his eyes, blood trickling from his nose.

"Wait"

"Kelvin," I said. "Peter's son."

His entire expression changed.

Rico tried to reach for a blade this time, but I swung the chair at his hand.

"Don't bother."

I pointed to his leg, now slightly bleeding.

"I'm not here to kill you. Yet."

He groaned. "Then what do you want?"

"Information."

"And if I don't give it?"

I leaned in close.

"I'll remind you what it feels like to bleed."

He stared at me, then laughed through the pain. "You're just a boy."

"No," I replied. "I used to be. Not anymore."

He fell silent.

I gave him two options, tell me what I wanted to know or lose a few teeth tonight and still tell me later.

He chose wisely.

From Rico, I learned something I wasn't expecting.

Lord Sampson had more enemies than I thought, even inside his own circle. Men who feared him. Men who followed him only because they were too scared to rebel.

And some of those men... were ready to jump ship.

But they needed a leader.

Someone young.

Hungry.

Unpredictable.

That night, I didn't just walk away with information. I walked away with something more dangerous.

A whisper of rebellion.

If I could pull the right strings, I could break Lord Sampson's empire from the inside out.

But rebellion had a price.

And I would pay for it soon.

Because the next day... someone knocked on my door.

A stranger in a leather coat. Cold eyes. Hands in his pocket.

He didn't introduce himself.

He just said, "Lord Sampson knows what you're up to."

Then he handed me something wrapped in cloth.

I unwrapped it slowly.

It was my father's broken wristwatch.

Blood still crusted around the edges.

I looked up.

But the man was gone.