Twisted Obsession (Red Knights #1)

Dmitri

Prologue

Age Eighteen

“In matters of justice,

a knight has no greater

duty than to stand firm

for what is right.”

– Lord Tristan Fairbanks

Dmitri

“D mitri, are you listening to me?” Alexei asked, rapping his knuckles sharply against the round, wooden table to seize my wandering attention.

“Yes,” I replied with conviction. “We will take Carmine Balestrini tomorrow night.” I was keenly aware that he would soon ascend to the position of don of New York’s Eastern territory, a position of great power and influence.

It was a move that felt both justified and inevitable, especially considering our history.

Two years prior, we had ended the life of Carmine’s younger brother, Alfonso.

The memory was vivid—Alfonso and two other boys from our school ambushed Alexei in the dim, echoing confines of the boys’ locker room after everyone else had departed.

Though Alexei could easily have beaten Alfonso in a fair fight, the odds were stacked against him.

Held back by the other two, he was a helpless target as Alfonso mercilessly bludgeoned him with a baseball bat.

Above our clandestine meeting place, the streets seethed with an undercurrent of pandemonium, violence, and disorder.

Pedestrians moved along, blissfully ignorant of the malevolence lurking just out of sight, a sinister presence in every shadow.

Among these shadows, members of the Cosa Nostra prowled, their influence woven into the very fabric of the city.

Two years ago, we five—Alexei Popov, Maxim Rostov, Isaak Angeloff, Nazar Sokolov, and I—united to regain our dignity and respect.

Our sanctuary was the bowels of an abandoned Catholic church, its hollowed-out halls hiding secrets from the days of Prohibition.

In its depths, we discovered a network of tunnels, lined with dusty crates likely filled with illicit alcohol.

This was our stronghold, where we vowed that no one would ever see us as weak again.

It was a place none of our visitors would ever leave.

Instead, fear would be our calling card.

Though our names would remain unknown, our presence would be unmistakable, a harbinger of death and retribution.

The Red Knights, as we called ourselves, swore an oath to eradicate every heir of the Cosa Nostra, severing their legacy at its roots.

They had taken my mother from me, a day they would eternally rue.

In response, we crafted our own hit list, mirroring that of the Bratva.

Unfortunately for Carmine Balestrini, he had the misfortune of being next.

“Where do we want to take him?” Isaak chimed in, curiosity lacing his voice as he leaned against the dimly lit wall.

“He’s always at Club Millennium. That’s where we should take him,” Nazar replied with a knowing nod, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the countless nights spent tracking Carmine’s every move over the past month.

In the shadowy underworld of mafia families, the first rule is simple—never be predictable.

Predictability is a vulnerability, a beacon for threats lurking in the darkness.

Yet, the Italians seemed to either underestimate this principle or believed themselves to be invincible, strutting through life with a dangerous blend of arrogance and carelessness.

“Let’s take a vote,” I declared, my voice firm and resonant in the dimly lit room. “All those in favor.”

“Aye,” Alexei responded swiftly, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Aye,” Maxim followed, his tone steady and unwavering.

“Aye,” Isaak intoned, raising his finger as his gaze swept over the assembled faces around the table.

“Aye,” Nazar’s voice came last, but it was no less resolute.

As the head knight, my vote carried the weight of three, granting me the decisive power should any dissent arise. “With my three votes, the ‘Ayes’ have it. By this time tomorrow, Carmine Balestrini will cease to exist.”

~***~

Just as Nazar had predicted with uncanny precision, Carmine was at Club Millennium.

The pulsating lights and rhythmic music of the club surrounded us, but the presence of three of his top men complicated our task, creating a formidable barrier between us and our target.

It was more challenging, yet not insurmountable.

Sooner or later, Carmine would find himself isolated, presenting us with the perfect opportunity to strike.

And then it happened—a single, fatal mistake.

Carmine made the ill-fated decision to have his security team investigate the diversion we cleverly orchestrated.

Ten minutes later, with a discreet slip of something potent enough to dull his senses and obliterate his awareness, we had him bundled into the back of our SUV.

When we reached the cathedral, Alexei and Isaak carried Carmine through the cathedral and down the stairs to the labyrinthine tunnels below.

Carmine’s screams were muffled by the gag as he struggled violently against the chains and ropes that bound him to the metal chair, which was securely bolted to the floor. He sat there, stripped of dignity, his body exposed and vulnerable.

Good. Let him struggle in vain. Let him hold on to the fleeting hope of escape or, perhaps, even mercy. He needed to feel a fraction of the terror my mother endured as she fought for her final breath while I clung to her desperately when his family took her from me.

I stepped forward, the shadows playing across my face, and pulled the gag from his mouth.

“Please,” he begged, his voice quivering with abject fear and humiliation.

Just like his brother Alfonso, Carmine was no angel.

He had cunningly deceived my younger sister into believing he loved her.

He used her, manipulated her emotions, and stole her innocence to worm his way into our family.

His ultimate goal was to uncover our secrets and to exploit the trust she had so willingly placed in him.

The day before the Cosa Nostra stormed our opulent mansion, my sister revealed the harsh truth.

She had been secretly seeing Carmine Balestrini.

When she confided in him about her pregnancy, he cruelly branded her a slut, denying any responsibility.

He threatened her with humiliation, promising to ruin her reputation by labeling her a whore if she dared to speak out.

It was in that moment of betrayal that I swore vengeance, determined to make him pay for the devastation he had caused.

In the early days of forming the Red Knights, I had moments of self-doubt, questioning my own nature.

Before the intoxicating taste of vengeance, I feared there was a darkness within me, or something far worse, something sinister.

I worried I was insane or psychotic for having spent most of my life as a killer, living in the shadows.

But then, clarity struck. I realized I did not kill for gratification or the thrill of ending a life.

No, my purpose was clear. I would put despicable creatures like Carmine Balestrini down all day, every day, if it meant preventing them from inflicting the same suffering on others that he had on my sister.

Reaching out with determination, I ripped the blindfold from his eyes. I wanted him to see us, to truly grasp who his executioners were. I wanted him to understand the faces and the fury behind his judgment.

He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his blurry vision until his eyes finally focused on us.

“You. You fucking four are all dead,” he spat, defiance lacing his words.

I remained silent, my resolve unshaken, as I reached into my jacket and drew out a gleaming ten-inch blade made of titanium steel.

“Please, whatever you want, it’s yours,” Carmine screeched, desperation tainting his voice as he futilely struggled against his bindings.

“I’d like my mother and my sister back, but we both know that’s not possible. Did you know how old my sister was when you violated her?” I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. “She was barely sixteen. You, of all people, should know that under New York law, she was still a minor.”

“I never knew. She came to the club. She used a fake ID. I had no idea she was only sixteen,” Carmine squirmed, pushing himself further back in his chair as I carefully placed the cold, gleaming blade between his trembling legs.

“You know what, Carmine? I think you are a liar.” My voice was calm, yet it cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife.

Before he could utter another word, his eyes rolled back into his head as my blade descended, ensuring he would never again have the chance to impregnate an innocent girl. The room seemed to close in around us, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood.

“Carmine, focus,” I commanded, slapping his cheeks sharply to bring him back to the present.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared at me with a dazed expression.

I gripped his head with both hands, forcing him to look at me.

“Did you also know that when you killed her, she was pregnant with your child?”

“Your sister was nothing but a slut. I wasn’t the only one she spread her legs for. I didn’t kill her, but I’m glad she’s dead.” His words dripped with disdain, a vile smirk twisting his lips.

Rage surged through me, a searing inferno blazing in my veins.

With one swift, decisive movement, I swung my knife and severed Carmine’s head, watching it roll down to the floor to rest beside his severed cock.

The finality of it all was as satisfying as the silence that followed—a silence that echoed with justice served. Cocksucker.

As I looked at what remained of Carmine’s body, I knew justice had been served, but my heart still ached. My sister’s secret would remain hidden forever. And now the last of the Balestrini’s heirs were dead.