The Mafioso’s Promise (The Fallen Angels Alliance #1)

Prologue

LUCAS

" L ucas," my mother's voice, frail and cracked, breaks the silence of the sterile hospital room. Her hand, once strong enough to hold my entire world together, now feels like paper in mine. "Promise me something, mijo."

"Anything, mamá," I whisper, choking back the lump in my throat. The beeping machines echo her fading heartbeat, each sound a cruel reminder that time is running out.

"Promise to stay away from the gangs, the cartels. Oakland's underbelly. I sacrificed so much for you to live a clean life." Her eyes, still full of fire despite everything, locked onto mine. "It’s the least you can do for your dying mother."

"Te lo juro, mamá," I say, tears blurring my vision. "I swear, I won't get involved with them. I promise." My voice cracks, heavy with unspoken fears and regrets. "But you have to promise me something too."

"Qué quieres, hijo?" Her breath comes in shallow rasps as she asks me what I want, but her curiosity is piqued.

"Tell me who my father is, mamá," I grip her hand tighter. "I need to know."

"First, go grab a nurse, mi amor. I'm feeling a bit flushed," she replies, a hint of mischief playing on her lips.

"Claro, mamá," I agree, rushing out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights above buzz dimly, casting long shadows as I hurry to find help. The sterile smell of antiseptic mixed with the faint scent of despair that lingers in the air.

But when I return, nurse in tow, the room is eerily quiet. The machines have stopped their rhythmic beeping. I stand frozen in the doorway, my heart pounding in my chest. The nurse rushes past me and checks for a pulse, but her expression says it all. My mother is gone.

Tears spill down my cheeks as the reality sinks in. She's really gone. I collapse into a chair beside her bed, feeling like the weight of the world has been placed on my shoulders.

The nurse places a hand on my shoulder, offering words of comfort that I don't even hear. My mind is too busy trying to process this loss, this deep ache that fills every inch of me.

A part of me wants to blame myself for not getting help sooner, for not realizing how serious her condition was. But another part knows that this was inevitable. My mother had been battling cancer for years, and even with all the treatments and medications, we both knew she didn't have much time left.

Now all that’s left are all the promises, all the questions - vanished in the stillness that envelop the room. I clutch her lifeless hand, its warmth fading rapidly.

"She... she promised she'd tell me," I choke out, my body wracked with sobs. "Who my father is."

"Lucas, I'm so sorry," the nurse says again, but her sympathy can’t fill the void left by my mother's death. It can’t answer the questions that will now remain forever unanswered.

But maybe it’s for the best. How much more heartbreak can one person endure before breaking completely?