This is a Mafia and werewolf romance book about Luciano Salvatore, "The Bullet." The most wanted Italian boss, Mafia, in the world. Who is also the hidden, only living heir to the Blood Moon werewolf pack. He meets Keirah, a thirty-two biomedical engineer, the most wanted scientist in his world. One you would call a map to the lost city of gold. And kidnaps her. Setting them both on an expected path toward a love-and-hate relationship as he discovers the fate set upon him. What chances does he have for redemption and surviving two deadly worlds that both want him dead? While caught up in the unfamiliar feelings, he has for Keirah? PLEASE NOTE THIS BOOK CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE, MATURE AND DISTURBING SCENES 18+
Chapter 1 The odor of death
Twenty-two years ago....
The only daughter of the Blood Moon's pack, Alpha, saved a dying man who was bleeding to death in their pack forest.
She slept beside the man for a whole month, attending to him until he was completely healed.
In showing his gratitude to the pack, the man kidnaped the Alpha's daughter out of the pack into his Mafia world and forced her to become his wife.
He was threatening the pack with her as leverage. If they ever tried anything, he had promised to kill her.
The Gangster boss's name was Salvatore Solana. Luciano Salvatore's father.
Today......
LUCIANO's POV
The smell of dead people's corpses, 'the odor of death', that distinct and unpleasant scent.
That arises every time I walk through these corridors, hits me hard again.
The memories of my first kill and my first walk in here resurface in my mind.
I take fast steps to the higher deck of my uncle's warehouse. As I straw behind him through the main corridor to his office at the end of the hall.
The traumas I went through when I first held a gun at someone's head for my first kill. And the ones I had to go through watching what goes on here attack me.
I take deep breaths to fight for the present air. And push the memories to the back of my head.
I hate coming here.
I escape the first corpse room. That is one step, but I know this is just the beginning. And there are a dozen rooms, each with a different death style marked for the rooms to come.
This is one place in the world that torments me the most. Reminding me of how dirty I am. I don't want to blame anyone for what I am, nor do I want to blame myself.
I chose this path. No one forced me to be who I am.
For the past years, I paved the way to shredding the last parts of my humanity I had left. And now I am no longer human anymore.
I am a serial killer.
I have more blood on my hands than any of my age mates I know at twenty-two years old. And for the past few years, I buried all the senses of feeling when I started killing mercilessly.
While still on the torturous, journey to my uncle's office at the end of the hall. I accidentally glance at my reflection through the eyes of a woman bleeding to death and I look away.
I decided a long time ago I would never get involved with feeling pity for the human dying in here.
No matter how much my human part wants to intervene. I promised myself to look away.
Anything human that made me feel human or any kind of warm feeling, I would bury it without question.
I don't need destruction. I am a monster that causes destruction, and any feelings would be my biggest weak point.
When you have climbed this high of a ladder. There is no coming back, nor is there a way to show weakness.
Any weakness I make, I will eliminate it single-handedly before anyone notices it.
The smell of blood fills my nose again, this time so hard. And it makes me feel nauseated.
I hate all kinds of human secretion smells. I can't stand them.
A killer who can't stand smells ... Yes. I survive my killings without smells because I use gunshots trick religiously for my killings.
The rule is to never stay long enough to deal with the bloody smell.
A bit of smoke from the ignition of gunpowder is the only smell that I let close enough to me.
All that makes me content with my killings is the sound one makes when they have seen death coming their way.
I turn my head and walk away from my kills instantly before the blood has found its way to the ground.
I have never missed my target since I started killing at the tender age of five years old.
Why would anyone stay long enough to dirty their memories and senses with the stinky smell of the blood of their kills?
And the unpleasant visuals of the dead people's faces and bodies?
This Is a question I can never answer. Unfortunately, that is a basic need for my uncle.
He is a special case. Although he is my flesh and blood and someone who has raised me.
He is the only killer that scares the hell out of me.
He is insane. A serial killer that snapped a long time ago.
And killing anyone, me included, is a basic need for him, like breakfast every morning. Or drinking a good bottle of wine on a clear beach.
And that is what I hate most about him. Probably what also scares me most too.
Killing for a reason is human and animal nature. We suppress it because of how we are raised.
Some people kill not to get killed, but my uncle kills for fun.
I don't want to keep going through these corridors or this torture, and I want it to end as fast as it came.
So, I turn around, halting my uncle's movement. "You said you had information you wanted to share....
"Isn't it safe enough here.... Where we are standing... For you to share the information?"
Even with a gun pointed at my head, I would never come here willingly.
But my uncle knows the weakness that will bring me here willingly, anytime.
A dying wish promise I made to my mother.
We both know I will do anything to fulfill it. And that is what he has used to make me crawl out of my sanctuary to this hell.
"Yes." My uncle answers without giving away anything more.
I stand still, debating whether it's a trap and whether he might not have been truthful.
"I am sure I told you the last time we met that I won't stand for you wasting my time."
"How will you continue the family legacy?" My Uncle speaks in his deep Italian accent as he studies my face and even without saying a word, we both know the answer.
He worships our family legacy, and I don't. I hate it.
Blood has always stained all our hands in the Solana family for generations.
And would stain the coming generation too.
This is our legacy. But before the Legacy which he would die for.
I would die to do the impossible to fulfill the promise I made to my mother.
It was an impossible promise, but I made it, and I am going to fulfill it.
"You are no hope Bullet." I turn my head, ready to leave."In our line of work, there are principles and rules that everyone follows and you're not an exception.
"Getting out of our line of work?! Bullet... You have chosen to end up with a bullet in between your eyes.... Just like your mother...
"She was delusional, and you should have understood that by now... No one leaves the Mafia life and stays alive.
"If she didn't lie to herself that she would leave, she would be alive today.
"But look at the poison she planted on you......useless." My uncle speaks with spite.
I made a dying wish promise to my mother that I was going to leave the Mafia world.
With or without a soul, I am keeping the promise.
Other books by Beautiful Butterfly
More