Chapter 1 - The Fateful Night

˜”*°• Claire •°*”˜

Night hours...

Night hours mean different things to different people.

Some use this time to sleep and rest, getting ready for the next day. For some, it's a peaceful time to think and find calmness. It can also be a time for parties and hanging out with friends.

But for some people, night hours bring nothing but fear. It's a time of loneliness and isolation, where they feel cut off from the world. It can bring fear and anxiety, as darkness often conceals the unknown.

So, what the night means depends on each person. It all depends on the experiences they've had during these dark hours.

To me, the night hours were pure torment. My own private nightmare. I loathed it when the sun disappeared. I despised it when everything plunged into darkness. The darkness seemed to bring out all my fears. Walking down the street felt like a constant battle, always checking over my shoulder every few steps. Everything became infinitely more terrifying under the shroud of night.

I'm terrified to shut my eyes; sleep eludes me. I can't recall the last time I drifted into sleep naturally. If, by some chance, I ever managed to sleep through the night, it was thanks to the drugs—a temporary escape, a high that drowned out the memories and the fear.

So, here I was. I was in my art studio, escaping the torment of the late hours. A single lamp was softly lighting up my workspace.

In front of me, there was a blank canvas, ready for me to paint on. My paint colors were there, shining in the low light.

I dipped my brush into the cerulean blue paint, feeling its cool texture against my fingertips. As I pressed the bristles against the canvas, the world around me seemed to disappear, and it was just me and the blank surface, creating a beautiful bright blue morning sky.

My brush strokes held intent, but they danced with a graceful ease that came from countless hours of dedication. The steady back-and-forth of the brush on the canvas was like a comforting song, a tune meant for my ears alone. I sensed a deep connection to the colors, almost as if they were a part of my very thoughts and feelings.

My real life was nothing like my painting, it was filled with darkness, violence, and cruelty. I was a part of the Cosa Nostra. At night I painted the world I wanted to be a part of bright, sunny, and beautiful but as the sun rose, I became bait. A bait that lured the men in for the Cosa Nostra.

Time passed, unnoticed and unimportant. The clock on the wall seemed to exist in another world, I was one with my art. I lost myself in the process, letting the colors and shapes guide my hand.

Occasionally, I would step back, my eyes scrutinizing the evolving masterpiece before me. A touch of crimson here, a swirl of gold there—each adjustment was a step closer to perfection. The silence wrapped around me like a cocoon, allowing me to focus entirely on my creation.

I jumped at the sudden thud that came from my living room. My head snapped back, breaking me out of my thoughts and the trance I was in. Goosebumps prickled my skin, and a shiver danced down my spine.

I scanned the dimly lit studio, but I was met with nothing but shadows and silence.

Shaking off my unease, I got to my feet. Then I heard another faint sound, a whisper. Fear engulfed me from head to toe. My cell phone was in my bedroom, even if someone was there, I couldn't call anyone for help.

I looked down at myself and realized what I was wearing. A silk black negligee that was see-through from almost everywhere except for my breasts and my crotch. I cursed myself for not taking my robe with me to the art studio.

A presence, unmistakably in my home, made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My heart jumped into my throat as I walked out of the studio, looking around. I always keep all the lights turned on but when I stepped outside, I noticed how dark everything was. Someone had turned off all the lights.

I bit my lower lip to keep in any sound that might escape my throat in fear. I slowly moved to the living room, my eyes darting all around. I eyed my bedroom door which was ajar. All I had to do was sprint to my room and lock it from the inside. My cell phone was in there, I'll be fine, I'll call Scott and he will be here.

Without thinking too much, I sprinted towards my bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it immediately. Feeling a bit safe in my room, I rested my head against the door, taking deep breaths in and out.

And then I felt something...

Or someone...

I felt him behind me, and my whole body froze, it just shut down in panic. I didn't turn to face him or say a word, but I could sense his gaze fixed on me.

My heartbeat quickened, and my hands trembled. Fear and dread battled within me.

Was it him?

He was here, wasn't he?

He was here to finish what he started all those years ago.

Mustering up courage, I slowly turned to confront the presence. I sucked in a sharp breath when I saw him. I don't think I have seen him before. I clenched the hem of my dress from the side, breathing in and out.

Then my eyes fell on the face I had never seen before. I was speechless, not knowing what to say as I looked at him up and down.

His eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to pierce through my being. His jawline was sharp, his shoulders broad, and his waist trim—traits that spoke of disciplined dedication.

A light, perfectly groomed stubble added to his rugged appearance, and his tattoos were telling me another story. Immaculately combed black hair framed a face dominated by deep brown eyes. His nose was shaped with a hint of aristocracy. His clothing was a testament to refined taste—a tailored suit that accentuated his physique and an air of sophistication.

No, he was too well-groomed to be a crook or a thug but he wasn't a gentleman either. He was some high-class criminal, not someone to be messed with...

He was a Made Man and the aura that surrounded him unnerved me—dangerous and tempting—that gave me pause. It felt as if he carried with him the weight of a world—a world of crime and shadowy dealings.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice coming out stern opposing to what I was feeling inside.

He raised an eyebrow and then his eyes travelled down the length of my body. I pursed my lips, I was used to being ogled at but somehow his intense gaze seemed to get under my skin.

"Why are you here?!" I snapped.

He casually slipped his hands into his pockets, then began a deliberate, backward stroll. His gaze never wavered from me, like a predator sizing up its prey. With fluid grace, he smoothly pulled a chair in front of him and seated himself, one leg effortlessly crossing over the other. He observed me as though I were a bothersome cockroach he intended to crush beneath the gleam of his polished shoe.

"So, you're the whore he fucks after he's bored of making a fool out of innocent girls?" he spoke.

Whore.

Whore.

Whore.

Whore.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to take a step toward him. I wasn't entirely sure if I was attempting to appear intimidating, but he remained utterly unfazed by my presence. It was as though I were a mere nuisance he could casually brush aside with the flick of his hand.

I thought about what he was talking about. The threatening texts I had been receiving and the things they asked me to do. How they threatened me with the lives of my friends and Scott—the underboss of the Cosa Nostra—being shot was the warning. Scott had a lot of enemies but none of them would have asked me to seduce him into my bed.

I narrowed my eyes, "You're the one who shot him, right? It was you."

His expression remained indifferent, and he casually adjusted his jacket cuff, as if my very existence had the ability to tarnish the flawless state of his impeccably tailored suit.

Just another self-absorbed gangster who believes the entire universe revolves around him... how delightful!

"Did you honestly believe I was joking around with you? I gave you a fair warning, didn't I?" he remarked, his tone devoid of any emotion, much like his face.

They had asked me to sleep with Scott and send them video proof of it multiple times, day and night. They were forcing me to break up his marriage but I wouldn't do that, so they shot him as a warning. What would he even get out of destroying a marriage? What purpose could it serve in our world? Was this man in love with Scott's wife? Was he in love with Allegra?

"Even if I beg, he'd never touch me again let alone sleep with me. So why don't you crawl all the way back to your fancy-ass palace? Because whatever you're trying to achieve won't happen, your little plots won't work. He's wrapped around his wife's finger, like it or not, and frankly, I couldn't care less. Now, do us all a favor and get lost."

Scott had brought me in, helped me build myself up, and got me this house. He had gone above and beyond to help me, and I couldn't even think of betraying his trust like this. By breaking up his marriage.

A sinister look crossed his face, there was no other way to describe it, he looked completely devilish right now as if he was about to murder me. I can put up a good fight. I have trained with Scott Mancini, and trust me when I say, he doesn't care if you're a man or a woman, he'd break your jaw in training if you don't block it in time.

"What is your name?" he asked, out of nowhere.

With a subtle click of my tongue, I couldn't help but add a touch of sarcasm to my retort, "Oh, so you decided to pay me a surprise visit without even bothering to gather some intel about the person you plan on threatening?"

He got off the chair, his hand moving over to the holster strapped underneath his jacket and he pulled out his gun, his words sliced through the air, laced with a cruel threat, "You? Insignificant. A waste of my time. A mere blip on my radar. Don't imagine for a second that I won't extract every detail from you, even if it means making you scream for it. Now, how about you quit the games and start talking, like a good little girl?"

His condescending tone got on my nerves, I almost had half a mind to throw a punch at his perfectly symmetrical face but glancing at the gun in his hand, I changed my mind.

"Now, what's your name?" he asked again, and I gave him a bitchy look that said that I had no plan of answering his questions.

Without warning, he pulled the trigger, sending a gunshot echoing through the room as a wave of shock washed over me.

"Aaah!" I let out a shriek, jumping away from my spot as he had aimed just above my head. My voice trembled with anger and fear as I yelled, "You fucking deranged lunatic! What the fuck is wrong with you?" My eyes remained fixed on the gaping hole he'd blasted into my once-intact wall.

Without any warning, I heard another deafening gunshot, and this time, the bullet whizzed right between my legs. My eyes widened as I anxiously looked down, fearing I might have been hit.

He had managed to fire a bullet that struck the wall behind me, passing through the narrow space between my legs.

When I looked back at his face, he displayed not a hint of concern or remorse. It was as if firing a shot from between my thighs was the most ordinary thing for him. He was a total maniac. His utter indifference to the situation left me seething with anger.

"What is your name?"

Staring at the two holes in my bedroom wall, I turned back to him, "Fuck you!"

In an instant, he closed the distance between us, his long strides eating up the space like a predator closing in on its prey. His sudden proximity sent shockwaves through my body, jolting me.

I felt his strong, calloused hand encircle my neck, his fingers gripping me with a vice-like hold. With an almost effortless force, he dragged me toward the wall behind us. My back collided with it, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain through my body.

Pressed hard against the wall, I could feel his imposing presence enveloping me. It was as if there was no space left for me to breathe, and I struggled to catch my breath. His chest, broad and hard, pinned me against the cold surface.

At that moment, I became extremely aware of his every detail—the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the faint scent of cologne that clung to his skin, and the intensity in his eyes that bore into mine.

It was like being trapped in the lair of a dangerous predator.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest like a caged animal. I could hear the rush of blood in my ears, drowning out any other sound. The world seemed to narrow down to the space between us.

And then, I felt the ice-cold steel of his gun pressing against the side of my head. His voice was a low, menacing growl, "You find this amusing?"

I glared at him, my insides were quivering. He was muscular, more powerful obviously, if he tried to force me into something, I wouldn't be able to defend myself, "Get away from me!"

"What is your name?" he sneered on my face.

"Cin—Cindy," my voice trembled but I answered because I just wanted him to get away from me, to stop towering over me like this, to stop holding me like this.

His sneer deepened, oozing cruelty, as he lashed out with even more venom, "Cindy, is it? What a pathetic excuse for a name. Tell me, do you even have a real name, or should I just stick with 'Whore'?"

I landed a solid punch into his stomach, but he didn't even flinch. My desperation led me to punch, scratch, and even attempt a knee to his groin, but he deftly blocked my every move.

His eyes bore into mine as he leaned in closer, causing my breath to hitch, "Your real name."

Gritting my teeth, I spat out, "Claire!"

He pressed harder, "Claire what?"

My hands trembling, I pushed against his chest, trying to create some distance, "Claire Parker, now get the hell away from me!"

His voice oozed with menace as he continued, "Well, Ms. Parker, here's what's going to happen. You are going to be my little puppet, you are going to do exactly what I tell you to do. You are inviting Scott Mancini to your home, and I don't give a damn how you do it, but you will get him into your bed. I want his wife to witness what a despicable man he truly is."

I scowled, my eyebrows furrowing as I pushed against him, my heart pounding in my throat, "Why are you doing this?"

"None of your damned business," he sneered.

I pressed further, "And if I refuse to comply with your sick plan, what then?"

With the cold steel of his gun, he brushed my hair away from my face, his tone chilling, "Then, the next bullet will find its home in Mancini's head..."

My lips curled with disgust as he finally stepped back and let me go. He pulled out his cell phone and then showed me live footage. It was Allegra, working in the bookstore and then he showed me how he had a gun pointed at her head at all times.

I fisted my hands as fear gripped my throat. I didn't really know Allegra but what I know is that she meant a lot to Scott and Scott meant a lot to me.

"One wrong move and she dies... You know, I could just kill Mancini and get over with this but I think watching him suffer for the rest of his life would be more fun, don't you think?"

I looked between his phone and his eyes a few times before I said, "Fine... I'll do it."

I had to do what they wanted. I became a part of their plan, even though I didn't like it. I didn't know why they wanted to separate Scott and Allegra, but I didn't have a choice. I did it to save their lives.

"Good girl, I knew you'd do it," his tone dripped with condescension.

"If I carry out your plan, promise on your pathetic life that I'll never have to suffer the sight of your repulsive face again!" I spat, my voice filled with contempt.

His face contorted with pride as he looked me up and down, "I'm Vincenzo fucking Capone. Even considering making whores like you my habit would be the lowest I could stoop."

Meeting Vincenzo Capone that night felt like a painting that I couldn't erase from my memory. At that time, I hoped it would be the only time our lives crossed, but I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Little did I know, it was just the beginning of a story I never wanted to be a part of.