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PROLOGUE - RAFAEL

MAY 2006 - RAGUSA IN SICILY, ITALY

“Il diavolo ha molte forme.”

Mamma’s words whisper in my ear as I lurk in the bushes outside the club. I always thought it was some dumb proverb, but seeing Vito Bellucci in the flesh gives the saying new meaning.

He arrives like he’s in a parade. An army of cars fills the usually barren roads of Ragusa’s city centre. A formation of men waits for him on the cobblestone outside Il Toro.

Ragusa’s never seen celebrity liketheVito Bellucci coming through.

My eyes are peeled watching the doors pop open and the devil himself emerge. He’s everything they say he is and more—a bull-faced man that stalks forward in his pinstriped suit and gold pinky ring, striking fear in the hearts of everybody nearby.

The devil comes in many forms, but in Sicily, it’s Vito Bellucci, Don of the Bellucci family. He has public officials on his payroll and the world at his fingertips.

He exudes power and glory.

Never to be crossed, always to be revered, nobody can compare.

The two of us live in opposite worlds despite being less than fifteen meters apart.

Don Bellucci’s escorted inside Il Toro nightclub while I sulk unknown and unseen in the bushes.

Tonight’s been another night of pickpocketing and scamming. I’ve got about twenty euros to show for it. Barely enough to feed me and Nonna Ornella for a few more nights.

The little money she’s earned giving tailoring clothes has been taken by the same devil strolling into Il Toro.

People in the village don’t dare push back against histax.

The fee he charges for his protection is seen as a necessary evil. Otherwise, he’ll allow the street gangs to take over. He’ll let the rival crime family, the Morelli’s, reign over us.

Everyone’s come to an unspoken consensus that their rule would be worse than Don Bellucci’s. At least Bellucci leaves us alone; he doesn’t allow his men to bully and intimidate residents and he doesn’t lay claim to various properties around the village.

Though it’s a known fact theydobelong to him should he ever wish to take them.

But, as the devil himself disappears into the nightclub and his men follow, I can’t deny there’s bitterness snaking through me. There’s a real sense of animosity that this ugly fuck has the world at his fingertips while I’ve got nothing more than a pocket full of coins.

Call it reckless. Call it dumb.

Call it fucking suicidal—’cuz it is.

It’s a death wish I’m embarking on as I step out from behind the bushes. I stick my hands in my pockets and look both ways before crossing the street.

Nobody’s around except stragglers. A pair of lovers sharing a smoke a few buildings over.

Bellucci’s men have gone inside with him. The music pours out from the club building. Eurodance music that makes my eardrums bleed. Everybody must be having the times of their lives, because nobody comes out.

The coast is clear.

The fancy Fiat he arrived in sits unguarded. Easily hot wirable in under sixty seconds. Especially since they didn’t even bother locking the door.

I’ll almost certainly die if I do this. Either I’ll get caught right away or I’ll take the fast car for a joyride and eventually be gunned down by his men.

I’ve got nothing to my name. I’ve got nothing to lose.

So why not risk the one thing I do have?

My life.