Mafia Don Claims Me (Book 2)

SANTINO

Blood haunted me.

Not just the memory of it—but the weight, the taste, the suffocation. It filled my lungs in sleep, clung to my tongue like rust, and dragged everyone I loved beneath the surface with me.

No matter how hard I fought, no one ever came up for air.

The dreams began during my early years in the life, back when I still answered to my father—not just as his son, but as his soldier-in-training. In our world, being the heir to the throne didn’t mean protection. It meant indoctrination.

Every brutal task was a lesson, a sharpening of my edges.

As the Lord's son, you would think I got a special treatment.

But no, I got treated the same way as Everyone, even worse.

There was no fork on the road. Just one path. One future. A bloodstained inheritance carved into my skin long before I could say no.

So I did what I was told. Never hesitated. Never flinched. I buried my softness so deep it forgot how to breathe. Killing became a rhythm. Pain, a craft. And in mastering them, I earned what mattered most in our line of work: fear and reverence.

That pleased my father.

He told me as much, always after I’d done something particularly vile. The kind of work that left me soaked, my hands raw and slick from someone else's screams.

Whenever they had to call him in—usually because I’d gone too far, lost myself in the red—he’d look at me like I’d made him proud. That's when the whispers started. They called me il Diavolo, the Devil himself.

I tore through enemies like they were paper, carved warnings into bodies. I destroyed men. And each time, the pride in his eyes grew brighter.

It was a cycle I couldn’t break. His love was laced with blood, and I kept killing to drink more of it.

But the cost came later. Always later. In sleep, when I had any. I’d jolt awake after three hours, maybe four, heart racing, breath thin, my throat burning from a scream that never made it out. Then I’d run. Run until my legs begged me to stop. Run to forget.

The dreams only left when she was with me.

For a little while, I slept like a normal man. No screaming, no waking up drenched in sweat. Just peace. The kind I hadn’t known since I was a boy. A few quiet weeks, and it felt like I could finally breathe.

Then I let her go.

And the nightmares came back—twisted now, because she was in them. I saw her afraid, broken, dying right in front of me.

Blood pouring from her body while I stood there, unable to move. My mind didn’t care that she’d lied, that she wasn’t who I thought she was. In my dreams, she was still mine.

And watching her die over and over again drove me close to madness.

My son started showing up too.

Each time, I tried to save him. Each time, I failed. I’d hear him calling for me, and by the time I reached him, he was already gone. His small body lying there, eyes open, chest still. My good boy. Gone like all the rest.

So much blood. So many losses.

They say, Chi male comincia, peggio finisce.

THOSE WHO START WITH A DARK END OFTEN MEET A DARKER END.

I chose this life. I chose the violence. I told myself I could carry it all. But now the past won’t let me go.

And the truth is, I can’t go back.

**********************************

GIULIO

I was parked at a red light when I dipped a finger into the baggie and took a quick hit. One sharp sniff and the jolt hit me hard—like slamming back a bunch of energy drinks all at once.

Sh*t, that felt good. My head dropped back against the seat, eyes closed, letting the wave rush through me.

I’d done my share of partying over the years, nothing wild. But doing a line alone in the middle of the day? That was new.

Didn’t matter. It helped blur the edges.

Aña would lose her mind if she found out. I had to keep it together, at least until I saw her. Showing up at my old man's beach house twitchy and soaked in sweat would only piss her off. She could read me like a book.

Later, after I saw her, maybe I’d cut loose again.

A loud horn blared behind me. My eyes snapped open.

I didn’t even think—just threw a middle finger in the air.

*ssh*l*. Part of me wanted to step out, flash my gun, watch him panic. Maybe even make him cry.

But I stayed in the car. Smiling.

I threw the Ferrari into drive and took off, weaving through the slow beach traffic. Music blasted from the speakers—some old hip-hop track I hadn’t heard in years.

My fingers tapped the wheel in rhythm as I shifted gears, singing along under my breath. D*mn, I felt good. Horny as hell, but good.

If I could screw Jõn right now, I would.

The thought hit hard and nearly wrecked my high, so I shoved it out of my head. Seeing him again was dangerous. If I wanted him safe, I had to stay away. But the truth was, I didn’t want anyone else. I still loved him.

My chest squeezed tight, and my heart pounded loud—louder than the bass shaking the car. I hadn’t been with anyone in three weeks, and it was getting to me.

Even at the club last night, with a stripper grinding on me, I couldn’t get hard. She looked annoyed. I didn’t blame her.

Things would be easier if I liked women.

Or if Jõn were mine.

But my father made it clear: once I got married and had kids, then I could do whatever I wanted.

“You’ll have your fun later,” he said.

Yeah? Jõn wasn’t going to wait a decade while I built a fake life. And I couldn’t ask him to.

Was he already seeing someone else?

The thought cut through me, even with coke still firing through my blood. Had he moved on already?

Three weeks was long enough. Maybe he cried when I left, but what if that was just an act? What if he was already on the apps, getting railed by someone else?

I had to know.

Being my father’s son came with some perks—mainly money. Anything illegal, we had access to. Guns, cars, coke... even spy gear. Once I had cameras set up, I could start watching Jõn. See who he let into his bed.

I pulled up to the beach house. The coke burned in my pocket as I stepped out of the car. Clearly, I’d been thinking about him too much again. Maybe I just needed some guy to blow me and get it out of my system.

But the idea made my stomach turn.

I didn’t want anyone else. And I couldn’t risk word getting back to my father. God knows what he’d do if he found out.

Sometimes I hated him for wrecking everything.

I had a box of pastries in one hand—Tia’s cornetti and sfogliatelle, fresh and warm—and made my way to the front door. Aña barely ate these days, but I was hoping I could at least get her to take a bite or two.

We were both a mess, but at least we were a mess together. Honestly, she was the only thing keeping me grounded since the breakup.

I shot a quick message to Sal to let him know I was there, then used my key to unlock the door in case Aña had fallen asleep again.

First stop: the kitchen.

The place was quiet. Still. I could hear the sea faintly through the windows, soft and distant. There was an old cup of coffee sitting on the counter, right next to her tablet. No sign of her.

“Sal?” I called, voice low.

He usually kept watch out by the back door—close, but not hovering. Today, his chair was empty.

I checked the time. Two in the afternoon. He should’ve been here.

Maybe they went for a walk? That didn’t sit right. Aña hadn’t had the energy for walks lately, let alone the beach.

I looked through the window. There were people out on the sand, but none of them were her. My gut started to twist.

I called Sal’s phone. No answer.

I reached inside my jacket and grabbed my gun. Every part of me went still. Quiet.

I moved upstairs, slow, careful. Maybe she was just sleeping.

The bed was a mess—but empty. Bathroom? Also empty.

My stomach dropped.

That was it. The high I'd felt earlier vanished in an instant. I was wired now for a different reason. A bad reason.

I ran a quick sweep of the upstairs, nothing. Headed back down fast, heart pounding.

I called Lucas. He picked up on the second ring.

“Where are you?” I asked, no time for pleasantries.

“Just leaving the house. What’s wrong?”

“Did you talk to Sal today?”

“Yeah, this morning. He asked if we could switch shifts tomorrow.”

“Well, he’s not here. And neither is Aña.”

A pause. Then I heard him moving fast on the other end.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I’m coming now. Call Luca. He can pull the camera feeds from the castello.”

Without a waste... My fingers scurried over the buttons, waiting to get an information from the camera feeds.

Just as soon as I dropped the phone, I hurried back to the kitchen, pulled the door and my heart froze.

Unmoving, he lay there.

Sal.

F*ck! Is he dead?

Where the hell was Aña?!

Dio! Dio! This is really bad. Very bad.

I need to call my father.

SANTINO

I rubbed my eyes, glasses sliding down my nose as the letters on the screen swam out of focus. I was too tired to concentrate, too drained to care.

With a tired grunt, I grabbed my glass—Campari and tonic. I'd started drinking earlier and earlier in the day.

Luca hated it. Said it wasn’t healthy. But for me, it was the only way to quiet the constant heaviness pressing on my chest.

The last two nights, I’d passed out drunk for a few hours at a time. Honestly? Better than the weeks I’d spent staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

Luca sat across the room with his phone in hand, pretending to scroll. He thought I didn’t notice, but he was watching me. Always was.

I forced myself to refocus, squinting at the numbers in front of me. “Toni just scored us over two million euros shorting that tech stock,” I said.

Luca let out a grunt, not even looking up.

I kept going, hoping to get a reaction. “Maybe we don’t