Page 1 of Deal with the Devil
PROLOGUE - RAFAEL
FEBRUARY 2008 - RAGUSA IN SICILY, ITALY
“Chi gioca col diavolo, si brucia.”
Mamma’s words echo in my ears as I lurk in the shadows of the alley. It’s a rainy night, the streets slick and air bitter and cold. My breath frosts out in front of me, my heart pounding inside my chest as if I’ve run a mile.
I’ve been standing still for more than seven minutes, but my pulse races anyway. It pounds like a drumbeat, almost loud enough to drown out Mamma’s warning.
She’s never been wrong before; she’s more than likely not wrong now.
But she’s not here anymore, and I’ve got decisions to make.
I’ve got a future staring me in the face as I stand at a crossroads with an angel and devil on my shoulders, each trying to convince me which route to take.
IknowMamma’s answer; I can still hear the quiver of worry in her voice.
Her weathered face materializes in my mind’s eye, each line on her furrowed brow telling a story of the rough cards she was dealt in life.
We were never fortunate. We were always dirt poor.
One of the poorest in Ragusa.
I decided from a young age I didn’t want my future to look like my past, regardless of how it broke Mamma’s heart.
The backdoor halfway down the alley creaks open and two men step into the rain. It’s so dark out, they’re shrouded in shadows, but I can tell who they are by their silhouettes.
A short, round man with his head tucked against his chest to shield from the rain walks alongside a taller guy who’s his muscle for the night.
They’re coming out of Il Toro.
On a normal night, the club vibrates from the loud Eurodance music playing inside. But tonight’s no normal night for several reasons.
My grip tightens on the pistol. I clench my teeth despite how fast my heart beats, readying myself to do what I’ve got to do.
This is my only chance. If I want something better, I’m going to have to fight for it.
Bleed for it.
…even kill for it.
Before the two men can reach the end of the alleyway, I come up fast behind them. They hear me only at the last possible second, half turning for a glance at me.
Panic explodes inside me, my heart pounding fast. The last thing I need is for them to see my fucking face.
If I had any hesitation before, it vanishes in that single second—that last second where their eyes meet mine and my finger squeezes the trigger.
Twice.
Bang. Bang.
One shot for Enzo Morelli, underboss of the Morelli crime family, and the second shot for?—
I go still when I realize who the second bullet’s hit, the tall man I thought was his bodyguard walking at his side.
But it’s no bodyguard. As Enzo sinks to the muddy ground with a groan, the guy falling at his side is none other than hisson.
Elio Morelli can’t be older than sixteen or seventeen years old. Younger than me.
