Bound by Revenge

Prologue

The warehouse echoed with the heavy thud of my boots against the concrete floor, each step swallowed by the vast, empty space.

Shadows pooled beneath the flickering fluorescent lights, while the scent of oil and rust lingered in the cold air, seeping into the walls like ghosts of the violence they had witnessed.

An Italian guard approached without a word. With a curt nod, he motioned for me to follow, and I fell into step behind him as he led me deeper into the warehouse. Neither of us spoke. There was no need to.

When we reached a heavy steel door, he stepped aside and deliberately avoided meeting my eyes.

Smart.

Fear kept people alive. Curiosity usually got them killed.

I wrapped my hand around the cold metal handle and pushed the door open.

The conversation stopped the instant I crossed the threshold. Every face in the room turned towards me, their voices dying as though someone had cut the power.

Five of the deadliest mafia families in the world sat around a single conference table: the Italians, the Spanish, the Mexicans, the Greeks and the French.

Seeing one family gathered wasn't unusual. Seeing two usually meant someone was about to die. But all five? That almost never happened.

Years of loyalty, shared bloodshed and common enemies had forged an alliance few people even knew existed. They trusted one another with their lives.

Me? Not so much.

I stepped further into the room without acknowledging the weight of their stares, letting my gaze drift from one face to the next as I quietly assessed every person present.

To my left sat Rafael Moretti, the former Italian Don, beside his wife, Bianca, the former Italian Donna. Their children sat with them: Dante, the current Italian Don, alongside Salvatore and Enzo.

The Spaniards sat next. Andres Romero occupied the head of his family's side of the table, Eleanor beside him, while their son and heir, Luis, appeared relaxed. His sharp gaze, however, suggested he missed very little.

Across from them sat the French Don, Sebastian Lambert, with his heir, Tristan, at his side. Beside them were the Mexican Don, Alejandro Leyva, and his son, Antonio. Theo Nikolou, the Greek Don, occupied the final seat.

For the past two years, they'd tried to recruit me into their alliance. Seven invitations had arrived, and I'd refused every single one. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and I agreed to hear them out.

Somehow, that decision had landed me in a warehouse surrounded by some of the most powerful criminals in the world.

The amusing part was that I could kill every single one of them without ever leaving this chair.

None of them knew a sniper had the entire room in his sights. Either they'd suspected I'd never attend a meeting like this unprotected, or they were arrogant enough to believe they intimidated me.

Either way, they'd made a mistake.

I pulled out a chair and sat before motioning for them to do the same.

To my mild amusement, they listened.

Rafael Moretti folded his hands on the table before clearing his throat.

“Morana,” he began, his voice calm and measured, “thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

I inclined my head once, saying nothing.

Small talk had never interested me, especially not with strangers. Right now, I was surrounded by them.

“We need your help.”

The words came from Dante Moretti. Unlike his father, he didn't waste time on pleasantries. His voice was calm and controlled, carrying the quiet authority of a man who had long since grown accustomed to giving orders and expecting them to be followed.

“We all have a mutual enemy,” he continued. “The Russians. Rather than fighting separate wars, we believe it's time we joined forces and ended this once and for all.”

Silence settled over the room as every pair of eyes found me. They watched closely, as though they could predict my answer from the slightest movement.

I let the quiet linger for a few moments before meeting Dante's gaze.

“So?” I asked evenly. “Why should I join forces with you when I've managed perfectly well on my own?”

There was no hostility in my voice, only indifference. If they wanted my help, they were going to have to give me a reason worth listening to.

Rafael's expression hardened.

“I'll keep this simple. The Russians have taken someone from us. They've crossed a line they should never have crossed, and what they're doing can't continue. We intend to put an end to it, but we can't do it without your help.”

I'd already made my decision before I'd even walked through the warehouse doors. Whether I accepted or refused had never really been the question.

That didn't mean I couldn't make them work for it.

“Who is this someone?” I asked, my gaze shifting between Rafael and Dante. “If I'm expected to risk my neck for your cause, I'd like to know exactly who I'm fighting for.”

“My Principessa,” Rafael answered without hesitation.

For the first time since entering the room, genuine curiosity stirred.

“The Italian Princess?” I asked. “Well... that's certainly one way to start a war.”

The words were light, but my thoughts weren't. I knew exactly what happened to people the Russians considered valuable. I'd seen enough over the years to imagine what she was enduring, and none of it was something I'd wish on anyone.

Pushing the thought aside, I looked around the table at the leaders of the other families.

“I understand why the Italians are involved, but why are the rest of you making this your fight?”

Sebastian Lambert answered before anyone else.

“If one of us needs help, we all answer.”

His voice remained calm, yet every word carried the weight of absolute conviction.

“This alliance wasn't built for convenience. It was built on loyalty. If one family is attacked, every family is attacked. By taking the Italian Princess, the Russians didn't make enemies of the Morettis alone.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle over the room.

“They declared war on all of us.”

No one disagreed. They didn't have to. One look around the table was enough to understand the bond they shared. Different countries, different bloodlines, but one family when it mattered.

I leaned back slightly, studying each of them in turn. Their expressions varied – anger, frustration, determination – but they all wanted the same thing.

Revenge.

“I'll help you,” I said at last, “but only under one condition.”

Several heads lifted almost imperceptibly.

“You don't ask who I am. You don't try to discover my identity, and you certainly don't send people looking for me. My name, my face and my past are off limits.”

My gaze swept slowly around the table, making sure every person understood exactly what I was saying.

“Everyone who's ignored that rule is either buried six feet underground or lying in a ditch somewhere, waiting for someone to find what's left of them.”

The threat lingered in the silence that followed.

Luis Romero was the first to break it.

“Is that supposed to scare us?”

There was just enough arrogance in his voice to suggest he enjoyed provoking people.

I tilted my head, holding his gaze.

“No,” I replied evenly. “It's a statement, pretty boy.”

His jaw tightened almost instantly.

Good. Maybe now he'd stop underestimating me.

Rafael was the first to respond.

“Very well, Morana. Your condition will be respected.”

His voice remained composed, but I caught the subtle tightening of his fingers against the table – a tiny fracture in his control that most people would have overlooked.

I wasn't most people.

“That's good to hear,” I replied, settling back in my chair. “But before I decide to solve your problems, I want something in return.”

Dante's eyes narrowed slightly. “And what would that be?”

“Information.”

The single word settled over the room before I continued.

“If I'm expected to go to war with the Russians, I want everything you have. Their movements, safe houses, supply routes, business fronts, political connections, financial networks – everything. I don't want edited reports or half-truths. If I'm risking my life, I expect complete transparency.”

In truth, I didn't need any of it. If I wanted information, I'd go to Mario – Ghost to the underworld and the most dangerous hacker alive.

Governments spent billions protecting their databases, yet Mario could dismantle their security before he'd finished his first cup of coffee.

If anyone knew where the Russians breathed, slept or hid, it was him.

Still, if the Morettis wanted something from me, it was only fair they gave me something in return.

Tristan Lambert, who had remained silent throughout the meeting, finally spoke.

“That's a considerable demand.”

His voice was calm, almost detached, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath it. Unlike Luis, Tristan didn't waste energy trying to provoke people. Every word he spoke had a purpose.

I met his gaze.

“So is asking me to fight your war.”

For a brief moment, the room fell quiet before Sebastian's lips twitched with the faintest hint of amusement.

“She has a point.”

Alejandro released a slow breath and turned towards Dante.

“How much are you willing to give her?”

Dante didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied me in silence, his expression unreadable.

“If we agree,” he said eventually, “this isn't a temporary arrangement. You're in completely. No disappearing when things become difficult. No changing your mind halfway through.”

A quiet laugh escaped me, muffled beneath the mask.

“Do I strike you as someone who walks away from a fight?”

His eyes remained fixed on mine for another moment before he gave a single nod.

“No. You don't.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Fine. You'll have everything we know. Every file, every report and every piece of intelligence we've gathered.”

He paused.

“But there's one thing you should know before you accept.”

My attention sharpened.

“I'm listening.”

Luis glanced towards his father before looking back at me.

“The Russians are expecting you.”

I remained perfectly still.

“Are they?”

Andres answered this time.

“They've placed a bounty on your head.”

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then I laughed.

The sound echoed softly around the warehouse, drawing every eye back to me.

“They wish they could afford me.”

Bianca, who had remained quietly observant throughout the meeting, tilted her head slightly.

“You don't seem surprised.”

“Because I'm not.”

I rested my hands on the edge of the table, letting my gaze travel around the room before settling on her again.

“I killed their last boss. And Diabola.”

The words changed the atmosphere instantly.

No one spoke. Their expressions shifted almost in unison as surprise gave way to disbelief, followed quickly by calculation.

They knew Ivan Volkov was dead. They knew Diabola had disappeared.

But judging by the looks on their faces, none of them had ever imagined the same person had been responsible for both.

Dante was the first to recover.

“You really killed Ivan Volkov?”

I gave a small shrug.

“Among others.”

Salvatore leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.

“And Diabola? Russia spent years turning her into the perfect assassin. Half the underworld thought she was nothing more than a myth, and the people who believed she existed considered her untouchable.”

“They gave her too much credit.”

Curiosity flickered around the table, but I had no intention of satisfying it. The fewer people knew about how I worked, the longer I stayed alive. Assassins who bragged about their methods rarely lived long enough to grow old.

“I let her believe she'd won,” I said simply. “People stop thinking clearly the moment they believe victory is guaranteed. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that's all I needed.”

My fingers tapped lazily against the tabletop as I looked from one face to the next.

“One mistake is all it takes. It doesn't matter how well you're trained or how feared your name is. Hesitate once, and you're dead.”

No one interrupted.

Luis was the one who eventually broke the silence.

“No wonder the Russians want you dead.”

“They've wanted me dead for years,” I replied. “The bounty is just their latest attempt.”

Another silence settled over the room, though this one felt different. They weren't trying to decide whether I was dangerous anymore. That question had already been answered. Now they were trying to work out exactly who they had just allied themselves with.

I rose from my chair and adjusted my jacket before looking towards Dante.

“You'll send me everything you've gathered.”

“You have my word.”

I inclined my head once and turned towards the door, stopping only when my hand rested on the handle.

“One last thing.”

Every eye followed me.

“When this is over, Sergei Volkov is mine.”

Dante held my gaze for several seconds before giving a slow nod.

“Done.”

The heavy door clicked shut behind me, muffling the voices inside as I crossed the warehouse. The meeting was over, but the war was only just beginning.

Somewhere, Sergei Volkov was still breathing, convinced he had time.

He was wrong.