Shadow (La Sacra Corona Mafia #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

CHRIS

Two years ago

I 've always been the shadow lurking in the corner, forgotten and ignored. When no one gives a damn about your existence, you learn to blend into the darkness, to fade away into nothingness. That's me. Ever since Mom passed away, the air in the Bonetti household turned icy, amplifying the loneliness that gnaws at my soul.

My brother Nicholas, he's always been the golden child, basking in the glow of my father's admiration. Whatever he desired, he obtained effortlessly. And me? I became the punching bag, the scapegoat for all of Dad's frustrations. I learned quickly to keep my head down, to swallow my pride, and to never dare to fight back.

Nicholas was untouchable, destined to inherit Dad's business empire, while I lingered in the shadows, forgotten and insignificant.

“Alzati, pezzo di merda!” Get up, you worthless piece of shit! Nicholas' voice cuts through the air, dripping with venom, as I lie battered and broken in the cage.

I've grown used to these Saturday night beatings, a sick spectacle to entertain Dad's friends. But tonight, Nicholas went too far. I try to rise, but pain shoots through my side like a fiery arrow, stealing the air from my lungs. Damn it!

He leans in close, his smirk twisting into a cruel grin. “Get up, unless you want Dad to find out about Leila.” The bastard's words strike like a dagger to the heart.

How the hell does he know about her? I've kept her hidden, shielded from their prying eyes. Blood trickles down my face, staining the ice below as I struggle to my feet, my vision swimming in a haze of pain and fury.

Nicholas advances, but I refuse to back down.

“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” I growl, blocking his fist with a defiant stance.

He struggles against my grip, but I hold him firm. “Or what, huh? She'll be in my bed before the month ends.”

“Touch her and...”

“And what? You're nobody,” he sneers.

My fist connects with a satisfying thud, sending him crashing to the ground. “She's off-limits to you, Nick.”

As Dad rises to his feet, I realize I've fucked up big time. I pick myself up, leaving Nick sprawled on the ground as I make my way to the door.

The roar of shouts and cheers surrounds us, drowning out any hope of escape. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, trapping me between the cage and Nick's weight. “Respiri solo perchè sono io a concedertelo,” You're only breathing because I allow it , he snarls, landing another blow that makes me cry out in agony, collapsing to the floor.

Nick is on top of me in an instant, his rage tangible. The pain is unbearable, blinding, before darkness descends, enveloping me in its embrace.

No pain.

No shouts and cheers.

No more his fucking face.

Only peace and silence.

The beeping of the machines around me is like a relentless drill boring into my brain. It's incessant, and I feel as though I'm drowning in a sea of noise. A cold hand caresses my face, and I struggle to open my eyes, but they feel like lead weights, impossible to lift. I hear voices, distant and muffled, as if coming from underwater. I strain to make out the words, but they slip through my grasp like elusive shadows. Panic claws at my chest, threatening to suffocate me as I realize I'm trapped in this hazy limbo between wakefulness and unconsciousness. What the hell happened? Where the fuck am I?

Think, Chris, think… Confusing flashes pop in front of my eyes but I can’t quite focus them until the darkness claims me again.

I’m too tired now.

I need a moment.

A minute.

The noises become stronger and longer each time, as does the continuous murmurs around me. I want to tell them to shut the fuck up because they confuse me even more but I can’t. I feel trapped and it drives me crazy. Each time I manage to pry my heavy eyelids open, I'm greeted by a blur of white coats and worried faces. They check my vitals, run tests, and mutter incomprehensible medical jargon that sails over my head like distant thunder. But through it all, there's one thought that keeps me going: I have to wake up.

For Leila.

For myself.

For the life that's slipping through my fingers with each passing moment. Leila… Thoughts of her flood my mind in an instant, and a pang of fear grips my heart. What if she thinks I abandoned her? How long have I been here? What if she's moved on, thinking I'll never wake up? I never had the courage to tell her how I feel, to lay bare my heart and soul for her to see.

Fuck you Nicholas!

Fuck my life!

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, my eyes flutter open, and I'm greeted by harsh fluorescent lights and the sterile smell of antiseptic. It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep them open, to focus on the world around me.

“Mr. Bonetti, can you hear me?” The voice cuts through the fog of my consciousness, pulling me back from the brink of oblivion. I try to reply, but words fail me, so I grasp her hand tightly, pleading silently for her not to leave me alone again.

“It's so good to have you back.” Her voice is a lifeline in the darkness. But then she shifts, and I lose my grip, my heart pounding with panic. Please don't go , I silently cry out, but no one can hear me. Relief floods through me when she returns. I'm awake. It's not a dream.

“This may burn a little bit, and I apologize,” she warns, and I brace myself as she moves closer. I close my eyes, fighting back the urge to push down a wave of nausea. Her cold hand presses on my wrist, and I feel a flicker of warmth spread through me. “Here you go,” she offers me a glass of water.

I sip on it gratefully, my mouth drier than the desert itself. “Thank... thank you,” I manage to choke out, my voice hoarse and barely audible.

“It'll take a few days to ease the pain in your throat,” she explains gently. “I'm Ava.” Her smile is warm and genuine, a ray of sunshine in the sterile hospital room.

“Christopher,” I rasp, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” she replies, checking the fluids in my IV with practiced ease.

“Tuesday...” I mutter, trying to wrap my head around the passage of time.

“You've been unconscious for sixty-three days, Mr. Bonetti.”

“Sixty... what?” I try to sit up, but my head spins, and I'm forced to sink back onto the bed, defeated.

“Please take it easy.” Ava's arms gently hold me back. “Is there anyone we should call for you?”

The question catches me off guard, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Who came to visit me?”

Ava looks momentarily lost, and then it dawns on me that she doesn't know the answer. “I know of a lady who comes here on a daily basis.”

“Leila...” I whisper, my heart aching with longing.

“Hmm, I think it was like a flower... Vi...” Ava replies, her tone uncertain, before she moves away as the door opens.

“My maid”. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Viola is the only one who's come to visit me. No friends, no family, just her. And each time the door opens, my heart leaps with hope, only to plummet into the depths of despair when I see nurses and doctors coming to check on me.

Cosa ti aspettavi? Che Nicholas fosse andato da Leila per dirle di averti messo ko? What were you hoping for? That Nick would go to Leila to tell her he knocked you out?

I clench my fists realizing I’m on my own.

Every day feels like a relentless battle against pain and exhaustion as I push myself through grueling sessions of rehab. But despite the progress I've made, there's still a lingering sense of unease that gnaws at my insides, a feeling of uncertainty that refuses to be silenced.

As I struggle through another round of exercises, I catch sight of Viola, who's been taking care of me during my time in the hospital. She moves with a grace and efficiency that belies the chaos of my thoughts. Summoning every ounce of strength, I manage to croak out her name.

“Viola,” I call out, my voice barely above a whisper. “Can you... can you tell me what happened?”

Her expression softens as she approaches me, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Oh, Chris,” she gently squeezes my hand, “I don’t know much. Rumor has it Nicholas enjoyed the cage way more than he should. Someone says he brags to have knocked you out because of his woman, but honestly I don’t know more than that.”

My heart sinks at her words, the weight of lost time pressing down on me like a heavy burden. “His woman...” I murmur, trying to comprehend the enormity of it all. Cazzo, no! Fuck no! “Bastardo, pezzo di merda!” The bastard piece of shit. I move on again, taking another step forward, pushing myself over my limit. I need to get out of here and fast. “Do you happen to have my cell phone?” I ask, a glimmer of hope flickering within me. “Or do you know where it is?”

Viola nods, her concern evident in the furrow of her brow. “I brought it here.” She hands me the phone from her bag. “But I'm afraid there's been no activity on it since... well, since you've been unconscious.”

How is it possible?

Taking the phone in trembling hands, I feel a surge of anxiety knotting in my stomach. I know I need to reach out to Leila, to let her know I'm okay, but the thought of hearing her voice fills me with dread. With shaking fingers, I dial her number, my heart pounding in my chest with each ring. But the call goes straight to voicemail, and I'm left with a hollow ache in my chest. Leaving a brief message, my voice strained with emotion, I hang up, feeling more alone than ever.

Days pass in a haze of uncertainty as I try desperately to reach her, sending text after text into the void. But the messages never get delivered, and it's as if she's disappeared from my life entirely, leaving me adrift in a sea of doubt. Why didn’t she reach out? On Sunday we should have hung out. It was my secret and the only day Dad lets me breathe. Why didn’t she text me? Or call me?

Despite the crushing disappointment, I refuse to give up. I throw myself into my rehab with renewed determination, pushing my body to its limits in a desperate bid to regain my strength and independence.

Weeks blur into one another as I fight through the pain and exhaustion, clinging to the hope to get out of here and go see her. The days are like a déjà vu: the same routine, same exercise, new check ups, me trying to reach Leila up and then again get back in this fucking room. When my father shows up during lunch, I hold my breath when I meet his expression, stern and disapproving.

“Chris,” his voice is cold and clipped. “I expected you to recover much quicker than this. You've been wasting precious time.”

My jaw clenches with frustration, but I force myself to remain calm. “I'm doing the best I can, Dad,” I say through gritted teeth. “I'm not just going to bounce back overnight thanks to Nick.”

There's still an edge of impatience in his eyes. “Always ready to blame someone else for being the worst fighter ever.” He clicks his tongue. “You'll need to hurry up,” he says brusquely. “Seattle can’t wait around for you to get back on your feet.”

Seattle. The mere mention of the city sends a shiver down my spine. Perchè io? Why me? It should be Nicholas' responsibility, not mine. Since when does he want to hand off one of his business to me?

“What happened in the cage, Dad? Why didn’t you stop him?” I stupidly ask. Like when did he ever give a fuck on my life?

“It helped you learn a lesson.”

“Yeah, that Nick is a pussy and the only way to make him feel strong is to fake he’s better and not respond.” I sigh, “What if I wouldn’t have woken up?”

“That’s what happens when you tease a dog.” He shrugs, “Nicholas had a few stitches and it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Yeah,” I admit grudgingly. “But he had it coming.”

“Is a woman worth your life?”

I snap my gaze at him. Sapeva di me Leila? Does he know of me and Leila?

The satisfaction in my dad's voice cuts through me like a knife, piercing deep into my heart. It's a stark reminder of how little I matter in his eyes, how easily he overlooks my pain for the sake of my brother's happiness. “Nicholas si prenderà cura di lei.” Nicholas will take good care of her . I feel a surge of anger and betrayal boiling within me. No. She can’t. Fuck no.

My struggle amuses him. His laughter echoes in my ears, a mocking reminder of my place in this family. “Don't ruin Nicholas' happiness,” he warns me, his tone laced with thinly veiled threats. “Or you'll face the consequences.”

I swallow down the bitter taste of resentment, forcing myself to nod in reluctant agreement. I know better than to defy my father, to risk his wrath for the sake of my own selfish desires. But deep down, a part of me rebels against the injustice of it all, screaming silently for justice.

When the day comes and I'm discharged from the hospital, my body's weak and battered from weeks of rehabilitation. As I step out into the cool evening air, a sense of freedom washes over me, mingled with a heavy weight of uncertainty. Valentino, dad’s driver, waits for me to get in the car and I do. He pulls out of the parking lot in silence following for sure dad’s order.

“Go Newton Avenue 66, please,” I instruct, tapping my fingers on my knee.

Valentino meets my eyes in the rearview, “I’ve been told to drive you to the airport, sir.”

The airport? No goodbye, no stop home? “I need my stuff and passport too.”

“Viola got everything sorted,” he drives across downtown and I see the street she lives on getting closer each second. “I don’t want to get in trouble.” I can sense his fear and I get it. Dad never gives second chances and that’s why they know to whom to vow their loyalty. But as we round the corner and see Nicholas' car parked outside her building, my heart shatters into a thousand fragments.

It's true. They're together . And in that moment, all the pain and betrayal come crashing down on me with a force that threatens to break me apart.

“Take me to the airport.” I flop my head back and control my breath. There’s nothing here for me anymore. Tornerò, Nicholas. è una promessa, e te ne pentirai di aver preso la mia donna. I’ll be back, Nicholas. This is a promise and you’ll regret taking my girl.