Chapter 1: Buried in Rain, Avenged in Blood
The rain poured relentlessly, soaking the earth and turning the freshly dug graves into pits of mud. Three coffins lay side by side, their polished wood dull under the stormy sky. A priest muttered hollow words, barely audible over the downpour.
He stood alone, a single figure clad in black, gripping an umbrella that did little to shield him. His face was unreadable, his grip firm yet motionless. Before him, they were lowered into the ground—his father, John Rico, once the most feared man in the underworld, and his two younger brothers.
Fourteen and twenty-two. Just boys.
The older one had always been reckless, a shadow of their father. The younger had never even had the chance to become one. Now, both were gone, buried beside the man who had shaped them all.
He wasn’t their blood. No one knew the feared king of the underworld had an adopted son. Raised in shadows, trained to be something more. A weapon. He had walked away, serving his country as a special forces officer. But now, he had returned—to nothing but graves.
Water dripped from the brim of his umbrella, mixing with the tears he refused to shed. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and regret. Mourners had long since left, unwilling to linger in the presence of the one who remained. They knew what came next. They knew who he was now.
His phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He answered without looking at the screen. A voice, sharp and edged with urgency, cut through the rain.
"It’s done. We have proof."
His fingers tightened around the phone. "Who?"
"Your father’s men. They sold him out. Worked with the cops. It was a setup from the start. Your brothers—" the voice hesitated, "—they were just loose ends."
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. He closed his eyes for a brief moment.