CHAPTER 6 MAURO
I head into the security room, where the monitors showing every corner of the fortress are mounted on the wall.
I step up to the screens, but nothing seems out of the ordinary, so maybe I imagined it.
Still, I sit down at the keyboard and type in a few commands, pulling up footage from the last several minutes on every monitor.
Most of the cameras show nothing. Most residents are asleep at this hour, though not everyone. One hallway, the one leading to Rocco's apartment, shows a scene I've seen far too many times before. My brother is dragging an omega behind him. The omega has a long, pale blond braid.
I clench my jaw, hating the sight of it.
The omega fights back as Rocco drags him down the hallway, bracing himself against doorframes, grabbing random doorknobs, and scraping his nails desperately across the walls. Rocco is like the rest of us, a Ferro trained to fight in underground cages, so no omega stands a chance against him.
I've watched similar kidnappings many times ever since I turned fifteen and took over the fortress's surveillance system.
An endless procession of omegas, betas, and sometimes even young, attractive alphas has passed through that hallway.
Some walked into his room willingly, others under the influence of drugs, and some were simply dragged there by force, only to stumble out hours later half-dead or never come out at all.
I should stand up and walk away. After years of witnessing this, I've taught myself how to shut my emotions off, at least to a point, though never completely.
Something inside me has never stopped clawing at my conscience, no matter how brutally I've tried to silence it, forcing it out of my mind, or getting up and turning my back on the screen.
But as part of the Ferro crime family, I never really had much of a choice.
Sometimes I think Ennio and Luca saved me.
If they hadn't taught me how to organize all of this inside my head, it probably would've broken me.
Because of them, I've learned to put on a mask, count the days, and keep going, which is why I'm still here, still alive, even though I haven't found the courage to leave this place behind for good.
But I will. One day I will.
I'll throw all of this to hell and go back where my dad's family came from, back to the Santoros, back where I actually belong.
I rewind the recording and let my eyes linger on the omega before watching it again, and then again. Eventually, I put it on a loop.
His face isn't very clear in the footage, yet something about him keeps pulling me in more and more.
I've seen so many of them and pitied them all, but never enough to interfere, because if I ever tried, my own fate would become even darker than theirs.
I'd be betraying my fucking family. And betraying the Ferros comes with one sentence: a brutal death.
That's how the mafia works.
So why can't I ignore this one?
Something inside me won't let me. Something keeps pushing me forward until I shoot to my feet and stare at the screen, already forming a plan of what I should do now.
Me against Rocco?
In hand-to-hand combat, I don't stand a chance.
He's five years older than I am, and both of us have trained in MMA since we were kids because our uncle, the capo, ordered it.
We both fight in underground rings, but he's been the heavyweight champion for two years now, while I've only spent the last year trying to earn some respect in the light heavyweight division.
I'm twenty. He's twenty-five. For alphas, that's a huge difference. I'm still growing into my strength, while he's already in his prime.
And yet I go there anyway.
Something is directing me there, as if a massive wave of energy is shoving me forward. Within a minute, I reach the familiar hallway leading to Rocco's room, and even through the soundproofed door, my alpha hearing catches the screams and the begging.
Jaw clenched tight, I pound both fists against the door and wait.
Nothing.
Rocco is probably stunned. No one ever interrupts his activities, as everyone knows what the consequences would be.
After all, he's considered second only to the capo himself, the underboss of the Ferro mafia. Maybe only my cousin Ennio, as consigliere, carries influence equal to his.
Me? I don't matter around here.
But I can't just walk away, and I won't.
The door flies open, revealing Rocco half-naked, wearing only his pants. His face is flushed, and there's a fresh scratch across one cheek, but unfortunately, he's blocking the doorway, so I can't see inside the room.
"What the fuck do you want?"
My fingers tighten around the phone I've already typed my message into.
"Let the omega go. Let him leave."
My voice converter delivers the sentence in its usual calm, emotionless tone.
Rocco bursts out laughing. "Get the fuck out of here, kid, before I beat your ass."
But I’m not backing up. Instead, I grab his arm and try to shove him aside so I can see the omega, but Rocco has other plans.
A lightning-fast left hook crashes into my jaw. I'll admit I didn't expect him to turn violent that quickly. That was na?ve of me.
If years of training hadn't toughened my face and made me tolerant of pain, that punch probably would've put me flat on the floor. Now I know my only chance is to tie him up in a clinch, so I grab hold of him and drive him into the wall with a half-turn of my body.
Rocco is an inch shorter than I am, but he's far heavier, and the second we lock up, I know this isn't going to end well. Still, I have to try.
A surge of unexpected determination rushes through me as I drive my knee into his stomach. When he doubles over, I smash my elbow into his chin, making him grunt and curse.
For the first time, I see genuine surprise flash across his face.
We've sparred countless times, and he's always had the upper hand. Not now. I'm one step away from taking control when I realize I've made a terrible mistake.
I never would have guessed that, even while half-dressed, Rocco was still armed, the pistol tucked into the back of his waistband.
Fuck.
He yanks it free and slams the grip into my brow with enough force to send me crashing to the floor. Blood pours down my face, and I curse silently as my vision blurs.
At that exact moment, when I hit the ground, my angle changes just enough for me to finally see inside the room.
The omega is lying on the bed, his wrists and ankles tied down.
For one brief second, our eyes meet.
I can only see him through one eye, because the other, along with half my face, is buried beneath a curtain of blood. I want to say something, but I can't. My throat refuses to obey me, just as it always does, and I haven't spoken a single word in twelve years.
Instead, I simply reach toward him and make the sign that means I'm sorry. With trembling effort, I curl my hand into a loose fist and press it against the center of my chest, then begin tracing a small circle.
Even that simple movement costs me more strength than I have left.
My arm starts shaking before I can finish the gesture, then falls limply to the floor.
Rocco crouches beside me.
"Never get between me and my fucktoys. Especially this one. The tastiest of them all."
He grins before adding, "Or you die."
The grip of the pistol crashes into my skull one last time, and darkness swallows me.