I S H A N K

Past~

I curled into myself. I didn’t fight back. I never did.

Father grunted with the effort of beating me—punch after punch. My back, my head, my stomach—creating new bruises while awakening old ones.

I gasped as the toe of his shoe shoved into my stomach, swallowing down bile. If I threw up, he’d only beat me worse or pull out the knife. I shuddered.

Then the hits stopped, and I dared to look up. I blinked to clear my vision, sweat and blood dripping down my face. Father glowered at me, breathing hard.

Perhaps this was the last test to prove my worth. Perhaps I’d finally become an official part of The Dominion—a Made Man.

“Do I get my place?” I rasped.

Father’s lip curled. “Your place? You won’t be part of The Dominion.”

“But—” He kicked me again, and I fell back to my side. Ignoring the consequences, I pressed on. “But I will be Consigliere when you retire.” When you die.

He gripped my collar and pulled me to my feet. My legs hurt as I struggled to stand. “You are a waste of my blood. You share your mother’s tainted genes. I’m done with you. Your brother will become Consigliere.”

“But he’s a baby! I’m your oldest son.” Since Father married his second wife, he’d treated me like dirt. I thought it was to make me strong for my future tasks. I’d done everything to prove my worth.

“But Father,” I whispered. “It’s tradition.”

His face twisted with rage. “Then we’ll just have to make sure your brother is my oldest son.”

He nodded at Robert, who rolled up his sleeves. The first punch hit my stomach, then my ribs. I kept my eyes on Father as punch after punch shook my body until my vision finally turned black. He’d kill me.

“Make sure he won’t be found, Robert.”

Pain. Bone-deep.

I groaned, feeling vibrations twinge through my ribs. I tried to open my eyes and sit up, but my lids were crusted shut. I groaned again.

I wasn’t dead. Why wasn’t I dead? Hope flared up.

“Father?” I croaked.

“Shut up and sleep, boy. We’ll arrive soon.” It was Robert’s voice.

I struggled into a sitting position and peeled my eyes open. My vision was blurry. I was sitting in the back of a car. Robert turned to me. “You’re stronger than I thought. Good for you.”

“Where?” I coughed, then winced. “Where are we?”

“Detroit City.” Robert steered the car onto an empty parking lot. “Final stop.”

He got out, then opened the back door and pulled me out. I gasped in pain, holding my ribs, then staggered against the car. Robert flipped open his wallet and handed me a twenty-dollar note. Confused, I took it.

“Perhaps you’ll survive. Perhaps you won’t. I suppose it’s up to fate now. But I won’t kill a fourteen-year-old kid.” He grasped my throat, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Your father thinks you’re dead, boy, so make sure you stay away from our territory.”

Their territory? It was my territory. The Dominion was my destiny. I didn’t have anything else.

“Please,” I whispered. He shook his head, then walked around the car and got in. I took a step back as he drove off, then sank down to my knees. My clothes were covered in blood.

I coughed and tasted blood. Perhaps I’d die anyway. My eyes flitted around, landing on a huge graffiti mural on the wall of the building to my right—a snarling wolf in front of swords. The sign of the Cosa Nostra .

Robert couldn’t kill me himself. This place would. Detroit City belonged to the Russians.I began walking, searching for a place to spend the night. Eventually, I settled at the entrance of a coffee shop. I’d never been alone, never lived on the streets. I pulled my legs against my chest, swallowing a whimper as my ribs throbbed. I couldn’t return to the Dominion . Father would kill me.

This was it. I was alone.

Four Days Later

Only four days. I was out of money and hope. Every night, I returned to the parking lot, hoping Robert would come back, that Father had changed his mind, that his last pitiless, hateful look had been my imagination. I was a fool. And hungry.

No food in two days. I’d wasted all my money the first day on burgers and fries.

I held my ribs. The pain had worsened. I tried pickpocketing today but chose the wrong guy and got beaten up. I didn’t know how to survive on the street.

What was I going to do? No Dominion. No future. No honor.

I sank to the ground of the parking lot, in plain view of the Cosa Nostra graffiti. I lay back. The door opened; men got out and walked away. Cosa Nostra territory.

I was so tired.

The Italian words flowed from my mouth, filled with loss and despair. I repeated the oath over and over again. It had been my destiny to become a Made Man.

Voices to my right—male voices in a foreign language.

Suddenly, a black-haired guy stared down at me. He was bruised—not as badly as me—and dressed in fight shorts. “They say there’s a crazy Italian fucker outside . I guess they meant you.”

He was covered in scars, perhaps eighteen.

“Talking that kind of shit in this area means you’ve got a death wish or you’re batshit crazy. Probably both.”

“That oath was my life,” I said.

He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder before turning back with a twisted smile. “Now it’s going to be your death.”

I sat up. Three men in fight shorts, tattooed with wolves and Kalashnikovs, stepped out of a door beside the Cosa Nostra graffiti.

I considered lying back and letting them finish what Robert couldn’t.

“What family?” the black-haired guy asked.

“Dominion,” I replied, even as the word ripped a hole in my heart.

He nodded. “Suppose they got rid of you. Not the balls to do what it takes to be a Made Man?”

Who was he? “I got what it takes,” I hissed. “But my father wants me dead.”

“Then prove it. Now get the fuck up from the ground and fight.” He narrowed his eyes when I didn’t move. “Get. The. Fuck. Up.”

And I did, even though my world spun and I had to hold my ribs. His black eyes took in my injuries. “I suppose I’ll have to do most of the fighting. Got any weapons?”

I pulled my Karambit knife from the holster around my calf.

“I hope you can handle that thing.”

Then the Russians were upon us. The guy began some martial arts moves that kept two of the Russians busy. The third headed my way. I swiped my knife at him and missed.

He landed a few hits that had my chest screaming in agony, and I dropped to my knees. My bruised body had no chance against a trained fighter like him. His fists rained down on me—hard, fast, merciless. Pain.

Black-haired guy lunged at my attacker, ramming his knee into his stomach. The Russian fell forward, and I raised my knife, burying it in his abdomen.

Blood trickled down my fingers as I released the handle, as if it had burned me, watching the Russian topple to the side, dead.

I stared at my knife sticking out of his belly. Black-haired guy pulled it out, cleaned the blade on the dead man’s shorts, then held it out to me.

“First kill?” My fingers shook as I took it, then I nodded.

“There will be more.”

The two other Russians were dead as well. Their necks had been broken. He held out his hand, which I took, and he pulled me to my feet. “We should leave. More Russian fuckers will be here soon. Come on.”

He led me toward a beaten-up truck. “Noticed you slinking around the parking lot the last two nights when I was here to fight.”

“Why did you help me?”

There was that twisted smile again. “Because I like to fight and kill. Because I hate the fucking Cosa Nostra. Because my family wants me dead too. But most importantly, because I need loyal soldiers who will help me take back what’s mine.”

“Who are you?”

“Reyan. And I will be Capo of the Crimson Cartel soon.” He opened the door to the truck and was halfway in when he added, “You can help or you can wait for the Cosa Nostra to get you.”

I got in—not because of the Cosa Nostra.

Because Reyan had shown me a new purpose, a new destiny. A new family.