Chapter 5 The Don

I tremble at his words, and a tear slips down my cheek. He notices the effect he has on me and seems amused by my fear.

“But you’re married,” I say, vaguely remembering that detail. One of the soldiers mentioned it once.

“I don’t want you as a wife. I want you as a whore. I won’t love you, Sereia. I’ll hurt you every day… just as it should be done to a traitor’s daughter,” he says with cruel amusement, and my body goes cold.

I try to breathe, but the air won’t come. Vadim finally releases me and gives me his most sinister smile before walking away.

Vladimir promised me I would be free once Elena got married… he wouldn’t break his promise, would he? Men in the mob must honor their word.

It’s about honor.

But who needs to keep honor when it comes to a traitor’s daughter? Especially if his favorite soldier asks for her as a personal gift. I was given away once before—it wouldn’t be hard for it to happen again.

Panic takes over me. My throat tightens, and fear makes me tremble. I am more lost than ever.

I lose all desire for something warm to drink and run back to my room, locking the door behind me and letting the tears fall.

My heart feels impossibly small, and I don’t know what to do. But as I stare at the wilted rose on my nightstand, I begin to realize there are fates far worse than death.

And I no longer want those flowers as a reminder in my room.

Ramzi Draneth

“I’m going with you,” Dan says, though his words sound more like a request than a demand.

My younger brother is explosive and problematic in many ways, but he has never disrespected me.

“No. You’re staying in Chicago. If some shit goes wrong, I need you in my place.”

We’re inside one of the family’s commercial buildings, where we maintain the façade of our legitimate businesses. Our father commands the Outfit, the Chicago mob, but he plans to retire soon—and as the eldest son, I will take his place.

I always knew this day would come. That’s why my childhood and adolescence were shaped with surgical precision.

At thirty-two, I’ve become exactly what he wanted: controlled, cold, strategic.

Over the years, I studied, negotiated contracts, expanded territories, and used my intelligence for the benefit of the mob.

But I’ve also tortured and killed for it.

Without hesitation.

Every time someone challenged the Outfit’s interests in Chicago, I stained my hands with blood—and I did it knowingly.

My brothers, on the other hand, were granted freedoms I never allowed myself.

Explosive, impulsive, reckless—Dan and Liam grew up without ever having to tame their rage or measure their words. They did whatever they wanted, however they wanted. And everyone obeyed, because our last name alone was enough to make grown men tremble.

Despite their wild personalities, both possessed exceptional skills.

Dan always carried a simmering rage inside him. Over the years, he learned to channel it into underground fights and illegal street races.

He could kill any man with his bare hands. Quickly.

He could also beat anyone in a race. Because of that, my father put him in charge of Chicago’s illegal fights and street racing circuits.

Dan Draneth was good—he knew what he was doing, even if it put him at risk every damn second. He didn’t care. He always flirted with death.

That only changed when he met his wife, Milena, and later became a father. He had never been cautious before—but now he wanted to live. He needed to live for his girls.

Liam, our middle brother, chose the opposite path.

Liam was a psychopath obsessed with violence and death. He loved killing. He was addicted to weapons and developed an extraordinary skill in handling them. He knew everything about them—and took pleasure in testing them on each of our enemies.

Strategic and violent, he was the perfect underboss for me. He only needed to control his mouth, since wisdom in words was never his strength—but when responsibility called, he knew how to behave.

Until the car accident.

My two brothers were alone that night. Both were severely injured, but Liam was never the same afterward.

After suffering a head injury, the part of his brain responsible for emotions was affected—and he changed. The doctor said the damage wasn’t catastrophic and that there were strong chances of recovery.

But Liam didn’t want to recover.

The man who used to joke and provoke everyone into irritation stopped talking to us. Stopped seeking our company.

He submerged himself in shadows, far from unnecessary human contact… far from us.

For him, only work mattered. Everything else died in that accident.

For the Outfit, in some ways, it was an advantage. Liam Draneth became one of the most feared enforcers in the mob world. His reputation spread across the globe—a killing machine without emotion or mercy.

But he also distanced himself from the family.

He stopped being our brother.

He bought a mansion far from downtown Chicago and isolated himself from the world.

Our mother still suffers because of it. Every day.

And Dan’s mind turned to shit after Liam changed, because I know he feels guilty.

Liam once saved his life, and somewhere in that twisted part of his mind, Dan believes he should have done the same—even if there was nothing he could have done.

I’ve replayed that accident thousands of times myself, trying to understand what I could have done differently… how I could have avoided the chaos… how I could have kept our family whole.

Our father wants to retire to care for our mother. He loves her and can’t stand seeing her in pain. As a result, all that responsibility has fallen on me.

But I will carry it.

I was trained to rule.

I will be the Don.

However, if I die—

“Ramzi, I’m not going to be Don, for fuck’s sake! I didn’t refuse to be your underboss for no reason,” Dan snaps. “I like fights and races. I don’t want to run the city.”

I lean back in my chair, holding his gaze as I open the top drawer and pull out a cigarette. I place it between my lips and light it.

“If I die, Chicago is yours,” I say, leaving no room for argument.

I inhale slowly, letting the wave of pleasure settle inside me.

I appreciate the sensation, even though I hate giving in to the urge to smoke. These things are meant to be sold, not consumed. But I surrender to nicotine when I have no other way to relax.

It was either smoke or fuck.

And I don’t have much time for sex, considering my flight to Russia leaves soon.

“And Liam?”

“He’ll arrive tomorrow for the engagement party.”

“You’re crazy. The Russians want him, and you know it.”

Heat runs through my veins as I take another drag, exhaling slowly.

Liam’s torture methods have become so notorious that mobs around the world have been offering him positions to join them.

Bastards.