Page 1 of Revenge on the Mafia

PROLOGUE

MARBELLA, SPAIN.

JUAN

They say you know when death knocks on your door. In Juan’s case, it was the heavy footsteps that announced his impending demise. Polished shoes bought with blood money tainted the white tiles in his entrance hall, the very hall that had seen his girls running through it barefoot and happy. The textured stucco walls that had breathed of innocence and joy shook as the men stormed towards his office. Unannounced. Unwelcome. Bringing with them the stench of bad intentions and heartbreak.

Outside, the day was bright. The sun blasted heat at forty degrees Celsius. The sky was clear blue, not a cloud in sight. Just five minutes before, a house sparrow had chirped on the olive tree outside his window, as unaware of the danger as his little girl seated next to him with her legs folded underneath her and one hand tucked under her thigh. She was far too self-conscious about her body. He hadn’t known it before, but apparently eighteen was the height of doubt and awkwardness. Eyes closed, forehead scrunched in concentration, she tapped a beat on his desk. When she practiced a rhythm for her recitals, her awkwardness slipped off her. Replaced with inner courage and discipline. He wanted to pause this moment and bury it in a chest under lock and key. When she was still untouched by the darkness that was about to encroach upon her life.

Anger berated him for the malicious strike they were going to leave in her life. But it was what it was, and he didn’t have the luxury of time. Doors slammed open and shut. The stench of cigarettes had already invaded the air in his office. It was a matter of seconds before they stormed into the last room at the end of the hallway. Panic crawled in his chest. He shoved it away. No somos cobardes. We are not cowards.

He pushed off his chair, silently, but his movements were jarring, grabbing the attention of his sunshine.

“Papá, ¿qué pasa?”

“Shh.” He held up his finger to his lips while opening the sliding door of the cupboard next to his desk. He didn’t have the time to explain what was happening. “Get inside here, mi solecita.”

Her eyes rounded. “I’m way too big f—”

“Now,” he snapped and regretted his tone instantly. “Please, do as I say.”

She was brewing for an argument, and time wasn’t on their side. But thankfully she got off the chair and hesitantly made her way to him. When she was close to the cupboard, he gave her a gentle shove. She grunted. He forced himself to ignore it. Her head banged against the shelves. Her arms scraped against the sides. She was twisted and folded into a space that wasn’t made for a teenager. When she came out… if she came out, she was going to be bruised. Her discomfort wasn’t a priority anymore. Survival was.

His pulse raced at an unusual speed. She didn't know what was happening, but even then, her face was beginning to color with fear.

“¿Qué pasa, Papá?” Her words dripped with uncertainty.

His hands trembled when he tipped her chin up. “You love me?”

She scowled. “That’s not cool to ask.”

He meant to chuckle, but it came out as a sob. “Then you’ll be quiet. You understand me? No matter what happens, you stay inside and you. Be. Quiet.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“What have I taught you?”

“Homework first before TikTok.”

“Si no puedes encontrar una estrella, busca lo suficientemente lejos hasta que la encuentres.”

If you can't find a star, look far enough until you do.

Her forehead scrunched in confusion. He didn’t have time to explain. Grabbing the worn door, he slid it shut and locked it from the outside, shoving the key under the split in the cupboard. The slats in the cupboard were open, and he peeped through them at her big, round, brown eyes, staring back at him with trust. Trust that nothing bad will happen to her. I’ll protect you, mi solecita. As best as I can.

“Recuerda, mi solecita, no somos cobardes.” He flipped the slats closed.

Behind him, the door burst open. The stale tobacco stench permeated his orderly office, and two men stalked into the room. His heart sank when he noticed the young man standing behind them. Why did they have to involve him? Juan’s troubled gaze slid to the man heading the threesome, commanding the room. The Don. Thick body draped in gold chains. Index and middle fingers stained yellow as he blew smoke from his cigarette. His stance and his eyes spoke of only one thing. Death.

Juan Vales had washed the Don’s money for years. Cocaine from Colombia. Clubs along the coast. Real estate that hid the blood money. Numbers had made the Don rich and Juan disposable. He had never had a choice in the matter. But he had always known that one day his death would come at the Don’s hands. Yet he’d never thought it would be in the presence of his daughter.

He had only one question for the Don.

“Why?”

His spiteful gaze ran over Juan. Blowing thick smoke his way from his cigarette, he took his time answering. The Don knew he had the upper hand, and that kind of power given to a man with malicious intentions made him into a monster that even the devil wouldn’t cross. “You’re a fucking thief. You think you can get away after stealing from me.”

Only a fool would steal from the Don. He was no fool, and the Don knew it.