Chapter 73
CEZAR
Stuck in this damn pillory with only my thoughts to entertain me, I started thinking about what Adelina asked me back then, about my first kill…
I was always hauled by my father everywhere.
It seemed he relished both keeping a watchful eye on me and inflicting emotional torment, fully aware of my hatred for this world.
That night, he marched us onto a massive estate—land stretching forever, the kind of place only old money or old blood owned.
His men swarmed the grounds, more than usual, eager for bloodshed. My brothers stood near him while I lagged behind. “Sons,” he declared, arms wide, grin too eager, “tonight, we take what should have been mine all along.”
None of us understood the power play that was unfolding. The mansion was already alive with music and glittering lights—people stepping out of cars in elegant masks, dressed for a masquerade.
We weren’t allowed near the festivities. A few of Father’s associates boxed us in while Darius fumed, desperate to follow him inside. I only wanted the night to end, like countless others before.
The quiet exploded into screams and gunfire. I didn’t know what was going on. Codrin and I exchanged a glance, disrupted by fleeing figures, now casualties staining the ground.
There was no end to his violence. When silence fell again, Father emerged from the ballroom and gestured for us. No choice. Never a choice.
Inside, bodies littered the marble. The ones who refused to kneel were dead. The two on their knees before him, still breathing, were the heads of the Crimson Rose Syndicate, an infamous mafia clan. Even I knew who they were. Legends. An empire built with discipline and purpose.
He wanted it simply because it wasn’t his.
“You two stand over there and don’t move,” our father commanded my brothers, and then he turned to me. He was always disappointed in me, everything about me. He grabbed my neck, fingers digging in as he dragged me toward the founders.
“Son, I’m sure you know who these two are. Sorin and Camelia V?lean…”
His voice became useless noise somewhere above me. My eyes were fixed on one of his men slipping out of a side room, giving a single, silent signal.
Usually, that signal meant the job was done. Only later would I learn it was for their little girl. Eleven years old and murdered in her sleep.
A peaceful death compared to what came next.
My father slapped me across my face, bringing me back. “You never listen,” he hissed.
Codrin hardened behind him. They knew how much of a temper our father had, but that is where their knowledge ended.
Then the gun was shoved into my hands. “Kill one,” my father ordered, “or I kill both.”
My fingers shook around the cold metal. I’d trained for this.
I’d fired guns. I’d handled blood before, but I had never taken a life.
The woman watched me with teary eyes. The man looked past me—toward the doorway where their daughter would have been.
Neither begged. They were not cowards like my father.
I stepped back, terrified, and my father smiled with pure evil. “You’re weak,” he taunted. “Choose one. I’ll let the other live.”
The man met my eyes with a strange calm. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “As long as my wife and daughter can go free.”
My father nodded in agreement, then whispered a dark directive, and I pulled the trigger—aiming for the stomach, as my father commanded.
There was no other choice… this was the only choice… my only choice…
I sobbed as my first kill sank in, then another gunshot rang. My father had executed the wife with perfect aim, right between her eyes. She crumpled beside her husband, a dark halo spreading under her head. Tears still clung to her lashes.
“IT’S ALWAYS LIES!” I screamed at him, throat tearing open.
The scent of smoke filled the room. Somewhere deeper in the house, fire had already taken hold.
Viktor grabbed my face. “The world is an unfair place. Look at what you’ve done.”
With that, he left, dragging Darius and Codrin with him. Darius followed without question—the dutiful son, though he kept looking back at me. Codrin fought him—hands tense, jaw clenched—but one tug from Viktor ended the resistance.
Sorin was still alive. Barely. He crawled to his wife, collapsing over her, their blood mixing on the floor. His hand reached for hers, pulling free a small necklace tucked beneath her fingers. I stumbled toward him, a child standing over the remains of a family I helped destroy.
His breath wavered. “Never forget who you are, don’t lose yourself at the hands of your father,” he rasped. “Don’t become him. I don’t blame you. You don’t need forgiveness, Cezar.”
He knew my name.
He pressed the necklace into my palm with the last of his strength, forcing me to take it, and with his final breath, whispered, “For my little red rose.”