Prologue

He was far too young to remember when it all happened or to remember where he came from.

All he knew was that he had been a slave of the Mirko Cartel and that he was standing naked in a row of boys – all ranging in age – as a man that smelt of money walked before them. Inspecting them with beady and scrutinizing eyes, turning over his shoulder to talk to their owner, referring to them as ‘the package’. His riding crop dragging against the floor behind him.

He stared at the muddied ground, splotches of red scattered on the tiles, and held his breath when a pair of glinting black shoes, the ones like he would never own; stopped before him.

The riding crop flattened beneath his chin, turning his swollen and black eyes up to the man.

"What do they call you?" The master asked him as he knew by years of training that he only spoke when talked to.

"Slave 347." He responded in a shrill prepubescent voice.

"How did you get beat up?" He pressed the leather against the black bruise and his eye twitched, the master looking at his face and body with narrowed eyes, taking in all the scars and bruises littering his pale dirty skin.

"I got into a fight with some other boys." He answered honestly.

"And who won?"

"I did, master." He informed the master smirking in satisfaction.

"I'll take him." He told the dealer behind him. "He'd do just wonderful in my underground ring. Fresh meat for the audience."

And that was how he was bought from the Mirko Cartel and sold to Master Cipriano's underground boxing ring.

The first few weeks, he was the champion's punching bag. His main purpose of being bought was easy training. He was kicked, punched, thrown, and even broken as their chew toy. He was nothing but a rag doll to them.

That was until the day he fought back.

As an eleven-year-old, he had too much anger in him and attacked the best fighter of his Master's ring. He had no idea what he was doing, all he saw was red and relished in the pain blossoming from his knuckles as he relentlessly punched the teen beneath him. He was pulled off the champion, being restrained as the master stood before him, not with an angry face, but one full of intrigue and glee.

"You will fight tonight." He stated to his slave. "And you will win."

He didn't respond as he was taken away to be prepared for the fight. Even when the bell rang, he was still seeing red, and one single blow to his opponent had rendered him on the floor and in an unconscious heap. The crowd that was roaring and deafening had suddenly fallen silent as the ringmaster declared a winner within the very first minute. It was so silent that he could hear his rapid heartbeat and the blood surging through his veins. And then suddenly he couldn't hear anything as the crowd erupted into a burst of volcanic cheers.

That was the day he became known as 'TKO' - Total Knock Out.

Every fight after that, was his.

Every night he brawled with men twice his size, and every night he relished in the pain of the fight.

He won, every single time, and he was the prince.

By the time he was twelve he was bulkier and more dangerous than anyone his age. He might have been short, but he was most definitely a force to be reckoned with.

That is until one of his opponents caught him off guard by slamming a steel rod into his rib, instantly breaking it as he staggered back at the familiar sensation.

That one moment of distraction was enough for him to be on the floor, the rod coming down on him relentlessly as he made futile attempts to protect himself. He felt his bones break, skin tear open with blood oozing from his wounds, he even felt his skull crack as the sticky liquid flowed freely.

Once the fight finished, he faced the same faith every loser of the match was subjected to when he was far too weak to recover. He was thrown onto the dirt road and left to die.

He lay there on the murky ground, taking slow and painful breaths as he believed that one if his lungs had collapsed and that there was only a mere minute until he passed out and a further few seconds until he would die.

But someone seemed to have different plans for him as laughter rang down the alley, a group of five boys cackling down the path. All of them stilling and on alert when they heard rustling coming from the dark alley, taking out guns from behind their backs and held them out before them while two shone the flash of their phones down the darkness.

And what they saw had them gasp in horror.

Instantly, their reflexes kicked in as they put away their guns, and ran over to the boy. One of them checking his pulse and finding a faint heartbeat, as another one tried to stem the blood that seemed to be flowing from every orifice of his body.

"Guys, he'll die if we don't get him help!" One of them exclaimed in panic as the others knew he was right.

"Open the car, we're taking him back to the estate." The one with shaggy black hair and glowing blue eyes ordered as he and two others lifted him off the floor, gently settling him in the car. Three guys settled in the back with the bleeding boy in their lap all of them trying to stem the blood flow with either their hand or jackets.

"There is too much blood!" One of them growled in frustration. "He'll die before we even reach the estate! Drive faster, Fransisco!"

"I'm already going over the speed limit! Any more and we might all die!" He barked back at them as they just tried to help the dying boy on their lap.

"What the fuck happened to him?" The one in front asked in mortification at his state.

After a few minutes, Fransisco skidded the car to a halt as the guard patrolling the ground stared at the car with surprise, their eyes widening even further when the five boys stepped out all bloodied before carrying the younger one between them.

"Piero! Salvatore!" One of the suit-clad called out in disapproval, running behind them as they entered the estate. "What is the meaning of this?!"

"Not now, Major!" The boy with the black hair and blue eyes, Salvatore, growled at the older man. "He's dying!"

"Does your father know?" Major called in disapproval as they made their way to the basement.

"Major! Are you going to help or are you going to let this kid die?” Salvatore demanded in anger as the older man jumped back in surprise, giving him a disapproving look before grabbing the boy and draping him over his shoulder.

They all ran down the hallway of the luxurious estate before entering the hospital wing.

"Dr. Adolfo!" All five boys cried out as the doctor jumped back, dropping the equipment in his hand, before gaping at the person being laid down on his hospital bed.

"What the hell happened to him?!" He shrieked as he hovered over his body, checking his pulse before looking him over. "Did you hit him with your car, Salvatore?!"

"No!" Salvatore denied. "We found him this way!"

"Well somebody drove over him." He muttered under his breath as the boys looked at him with surprise in their eyes. "You guys go deal with your dads, I'll handle him." Nodding, they all stepped out of the area before walking back down the hall in silence with their shirts stained and their hands covered in dry blood.

"I've informed your father of this." Major stated calmly as Salvatore groaned.

"God! Major, I can talk to my dad on my own! You don't need to constantly pester him with every single move I make!" He growled at the man as another boy, Piero held him back by grabbing his shoulder, shaking his head at Salvatore before turning his gaze towards Major.

"Not cool, dad." He stated with a shake of his head.

"Something that is 'not cool' is the fact that there is a bleeding and dying stranger in my estate." A voice spoke up as Salvatore rolled his eyes and the others tensed. "And the fact that I did not authorize something like this."

"Well we couldn't leave him to just die, dad." Salvatore stated as he turned around to face his father, catching sight of the other three boy's parents standing with raised eyebrows or blank expression, all awaiting an explanation. "He's a kid."

"Who is he?" Salvatore's father demanded sternly.

"A dying kid."

"I asked who he is?!"

"I don't know!" Salvatore retaliated. "All I know is that he is a kid and that he was dying in an alley! I think he was mugged."

"Boys, go home. I'll deal with this."

"No." Salvatore stopped them as he leveled his father's glare with his own.

"What?"

"I said no." Salvatore started again. "They aren't leaving and you aren't dealing with him. Because the moment that traumatized kid wakes up you will manipulate him into talking and the moment you think he hesitates too much, you'll kill him. I know the way you work dad, and I'm not letting you close to him."

"Fine, don't come crying to me when he ends up being a spy." His father stated about to walk away.

"He's not a spy." Tazio spoke up, halting everyone.

"And why do you think that?"

"Because spies don't get branded."

Almost instantly their fathers tensed, whirling around to look at their sons in disbelief.

"Branded?"

"Yeah, he has some mark burned into his forearm. It's old and healed, but he is still branded. And spies don't get branded."

"Spies don't." Arcangelo agreed. "But, slaves do."

Just as those words left his mouth, he sidestepped the confused boys before making his way towards the hospital wing, his second-in-command beside him.

When the boys finally snapped out of their stupor, the door had locked behind them, leaving them to stand outside with angst-ridden minds. It wasn't even a full five minutes before Arcangelo stepped out again, this time a passive expression adorning his face.

"Where did you find him?"

"In the alley in front of Alfredo's." Piero informed, not entirely sure what they were waiting to hear.

"He is a slave of the Mirko Cartel." Arcangelo sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "The Mirko cartel is a human trafficking organization that smuggles people – especially children – across borders and sells them to the highest bidder. By the looks of it, he was bought and sold to an underground ringmaster, where he fought, and it seems like he lost because he was in that alley left to die."

"He was a slave..." Salvatore realized with wide eyes as he stared down at the floor. "But he can't be-"

"-more than twelve." His father nodded. "He is one of the older ones, the youngest ones they have are at least two."

"Boys, I need you to understand something." Salvatore's dad spoke gravely, seriousness immersed in every word that followed. "That boy in there...he is not like you or me. He does not know who he is, where he came from, or if he has a family. He doesn't have the concept of family or love or happiness. He has been raised in a cartel, and he has been brought up as a slave. And as a cartel slave, his very first instinct is complete obedience to his master. But since no one is his master, he would not know what to do. He doesn't have a concept of free will and freedom. So...I am allowing him to remain here, but understand that he will be your responsibility and he will be a lot of work. Treat him like you'd treat a little brother...and we'll see from there."

When Dr. Adolfo was done patching him up, he gave an overview of his condition, stating that he has several broken and fractured bones along with multiple bruises and cuts littering his skin. It took a lot of time and energy and are giving him a blood transfusion along with painkillers, and keeping him sedated to let his healing take a more natural course in his sleep. The doctor then further informed that they would be keeping a close eye on him and that one of the guys should be with him at all times to be there when he wakes up.

The five teenage boys decided that they all take turns sitting by him. Each turn lasting for about twelve hours.

They all agreed that the moment he wakes up, they'd call the others immediately.

Tazio offered to take the first shift and sit with him and the nurse that was monitoring his condition. He was the one that talked to his unconscious form about mundane matters like the weather or politics and nature.

After Tazio, it was Fransisco, and he spoke comforting words to him, promising that they'd treat him like one of their own and promise to never let him get hurt ever again. Then it was Rosso. He, rather than talking to him, made him listen to heavy metal music, something which Rosso was a great fan of. As the second day – and Russo's shift – was coming to an end, Piero came for his turn.

Piero, like the first two, decided to talk to him, telling him all about who he was and who the guys were, highlighting their quirks and flaws and laughing at some old memories. And then finally came Salvatore for his shift two days later.

The boy was still unconscious and recovering, and the guys were concerned that he might not make it, despite the doctor having indicated no such thing. Unlike the others, Salvatore read a book to him, falling asleep every now and again.

He rubbed at his eyes as he had taken the night shift and found himself having trouble staying awake. Yawning, he rested his head onto the edge of the mattress and closed his eyes for a few moments, promptly falling asleep.

Salvatore woke up with a cry of pain when someone slapped him on the head. Jolting upright, he rubbed at the abused area before turning to glare at Piero who matched his glare with one of his own.

"Look at you, sleeping when you're supposed to be watching him." Piero hissed sarcastically at him.

"Well sorry that I was tired." Salvatore grumbled as he stood up to stretch his limbs.

"Boo hoo, princess, you gotta sacrifice some things every now and again, and sacrificing sleep isn't so much of a big deal anymore."

"I got it." Salvatore grumbled. "Ass."

"Prick." Piero scoffed at his friend as he crossed his arms over his chest, both of them playfully glaring at each other, before bursting into a fit of laughter, trying to muffle it behind their hands.

A sudden clatter behind them had them whirl towards the sound. Surprised to find the boy, kneeling on the floor and staring at them with wide fearful eyes.

"I'm sorry, Masters." He whimpered as he lowered his head in submission. "I didn't mean to make a noise."

Piero and Salvatore looked at each other uncertainly, not entirely sure on how to address this until Piero shoved Salvatore forward, causing him to stumble as the boy whimpered once more at his approach.

"Hey, it's okay, we won't hurt you." Salvatore assured as he crouched before his kneeling figure. "I'm Salvatore and that idiot over there is Piero. What's your name?"

"M-my what?" He peeked up at the older teen from below his shaggy bangs.

"Your name." Salvatore repeated, giving a quick glance to Piero to let him know to wake up the others as he nodded and left to get them. "You know...what others call you? Name? Nome?"

"Slave 347..."

"No, no, no." Salvatore shook his head. "Like I'm called, and known as Salvatore and he is known as Piero. What are you known as?"

"Slave 347." He repeated, this time with a bit more assurance as he understood what the concept of a name was.

"Slave three forty-shit, you don't have a name, do you?" Salvatore realized softly.

"But I'm Slave three forty-seve-"

"Not you're not a slave!" Salvatore exclaimed in agitation, startling the boy before him. "Stop calling yourself that!"

"I-I-I am sorry, master. I didn't mean to upset you." He stammered and hunched his head.

"No, I'm sorry." Salvatore apologized. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's my mistake."

"But, master-"

"No, I'm not your master." The older boy denied. "No one is your master, you're your own master from now on."

"I cannot be a master." He denied in mortification. "I'm just a-"

"If that word comes out of your mouth again, I swear I'll-" Salvatore started to threaten before biting his tongue from finishing his sentence. "Look. You're no longer a slave. You're a free person, just like me and Piero. We'll give you a name, a home with a room and a bed, you'll get three meals a day with snacks in between and you'll have friends with you at all times."

"A name? A home? Bed? Food? Friends?" He questioned with wide eyes, not understand what his master was asking of him. "But I am not deserving of those, master."

"Yes. Yes, you are deserving of those." Salvatore stated seriously as he stood up, ushering him up as well before making him lie down and covering him with the blanket. "And like I've said before. I am not your master, and you will call me Salvatore."

"But, mast-"

"-Salvatore."

"Salvatore." He repeated hesitantly, not understanding why he was being asked all this.

"Great." Salvatore smiled reassuringly at him before settling down in his seat, looking up to the door when a knock sounded. "Now, a few guys are going to come in, and I want you to know that you can trust them, okay? They won't hurt you. They are your friends."

"My friends?"

"Yes, your friends." Salvatore confirmed with a nod. "Guys, you can come in now."

Piero opened the door, stepping in as the other three followed hesitantly.

He watched them enter with curiosity before they all gathered around the bed, disheveled and looking absolutely sleep ridden with their bedhead, mismatched shoes, trousers, and awkward shirts.

"This is Piero." Salvatore said as he pointed to said person, who gave a nod of confirmation along with a smile. "That is Fransisco, Rosso, and that is Tazio." They all waved or smiled harmlessly at him after they were introduced.

"Hello." He nodded back in greeting.

"Guys, we gotta give him a name." Salvatore called over his shoulder as they all looked at him with slight surprise.

"That's simple." Rosso grinned cheekily as everyone looked at him expectantly. "We'll name him Rosso Junior."

Salvatore snorted as Piero rolled his eyes and the others shook their head in amusement.

"Something that is preferably him?" Tazio suggested with a chuckle as Rosso pouted.

"How about we let him choose?" Fransisco suggested as they all looked towards him in curiosity. "I mean, open one of those baby naming websites on your phone and let him choose for himself."

"Would you like that?" Salvatore inquired with a spark in his eyes as he turned to address the boy on the bed. Seeing the sparkle in his blue eyes and the smile, he did what he knew was expected from him and nodded his head. "Great!"

With that, he dug out his phone from his pocket, unlocking it before opening a baby naming website. Once he filtered the options to be boy names, he handed the phone to him, who uncertainly looked down at the device, inspecting it with curiosity.

"It's a phone." Rosso spoke up with an amused smile at his intrigue. "We'll get you one soon."

"What do I do with this?" He asked holding the phone up.

"For now?" Tazio spoke up. "Choose the name you want to be called."

"But I don't know what they say." He told them as he looked down at the screen, seeing the words, but not knowing how to read them.

"That's alright." Fransisco smiled reassuringly. "We'll teach you how to read soon."

"You will?" He asked in bewilderment. He found this bunch of masters very peculiar. Different from all the other masters he's had. Nicer.

"Of course we will." Piero burst into a fit of laughter. "You're our little brother from now on."

"I'm your what?"

"Little bro--you know what? Just choose a name for now." Piero stated. "We'll take things one at a time."

"Here," Salvatore got up from his seat and perched himself on the edge of the bed, plucking his phone from his hands as he looked down at the names written. "The first name on the list: Aberto, Abramo, Achile..."

The guys settled down around the room as Salvatore read through the list of names, stopping when their friend liked the sound of one of the names and asked the meaning, after which he pondered it for a moment before uncertainly shaking his head.

This arrangement continued on for a while until they had gone through the whole list. All of them looking at him expectantly as he pondered his options.

"I like a name..." He stated with a sheepish smile.

"Which ones?" Fransisco urged as everyone leaned forward in their seats to look at him expectantly.

"Marco." He stated as he fiddled with his thumbs.

"Marco." Rosso murmured.

"That's sounds like a good name." Salvatore nodded in approval.

"That's your name!" Piero proclaimed with a gasp. "We'll call you Marco from now on."

The boy, now to be known as Marco, smiled.

"That's my name." He said with a smile. A foreign sensation bubbling in his chest, making it feel as if though it were swelling but actually wasn't. His stomach twisted, not in an unpleasant way, but in more of an excitement. The others grinning, and that made him smile.

"Marco,” He grinned back at them, feeling a spark of hope ignite in his chest, his smile suddenly dropping as they all grew confused to see the downcast look on his face. “But…but why?”

“Why Marco?” The boy called Russo inquired. “Because you liked it-”

“No, why are you doing this for me?”

“Because,” Salvatore moved to be seated beside him and draped an arm over his shoulder, pulling him into his side and Marco had to marvel and how warm he was and how he smelt very nice too, expensive. His heart sinking to realize that he smelt like Master Cipriano. “Because here, it's family above all else. And now you are family,”