MAIN CHARACTER INTRODUCTIONS ___________________________

Isabella Donatella Age 21

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Danté Montenegro Age 30

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SINS OF THE FATHERS ___________________________

Chapter One ___________________

ISABELLA __________________

My younger sister, Francesca, Frankie for short, rolls her eyes, huffing dramatically and flipping her long chestnut hair as she takes the mere handful of easy steps necessary to do as I'd asked.

Ignoring her very put out fourteen year old teenager attitude, I smile when she hands me the large wicker basket I'd left sitting at the far end of the long section of garden I'd been tending to. The glaring heat of the mid-afternoon sun beats down on me from behind, causing rivulets of sweat to trickle down my back as I kneel on my knees in the dirt.

My smile finally deflates a little at her words, knowing she's probably right. It was indeed rare these days for our father to grant me the privilege of leaving the gated grounds of our small, private estate just outside of the city. And it had been forever since he'd allowed me to go to the family ristorante he'd owned since I was a small child. I sigh in reply...

As I start carefully picking the reds first... red looseleaf, red romaine, red oak leaf, radicchio, chard... because there's less of it than the green, I focus on the task at hand rather than how mundane it was.

For a moment Frankie drops the adolescent attitude and lowers down to sit beside me, sighing.

I give her a small smile as I reach out and pat her leg, smearing a little dirt on it and making us both laugh.

Anddd... the apology is over as she gives me that exasperated look.

My eyes pop up, blinking in surprise at her outburst. Frankie was getting old enough now she was beginning to understand how things really were. And even though I tried to downplay it all for her sake, she wasn't blind.

She might not be blind, but she was still extremely naive. How was I supposed to leave when I had nothing? No money. No place to go. No friends or other family to ask for help to get me started. Nothing.

And never mind the fact that I had been conditioned over the last thirteen years to believe I could never, and would never, be able to survive on my own. And that I should be grateful to even be taken care of when I contributed nothing to the "family". I basically lived in not only a physical but mental prison, held hostage by fear, threats, punishment and intimidation.

It was an extraordinarily lonely existence, as evidenced by the fact that picking lettuce was the highlight of my activities today. No love, no affection, no nothing. From anyone. Except Frankie. She was the only one I had, and I would not bring her down with my useless complaints or pity parties.

I try to lead our conversation away from the depressing subject.

Frankie rolls her eyes, huffing in frustration.

She was right, they were. Her mother's family was very wealthy and old-fashioned. But Frankie had no idea how lucky she was to be going or how good she really had it.

My father and step-mother treated her so much differently. Yes, Frankie was technically my half-sister, but she was my only sibling. She was sometimes a bratty, spoiled teenager, yet she was also the only person in my family who I even remotely had any real relationship with or connection to.

I have to laugh at her frowning face. Even though I hated to admit it, maybe our father wasn't so far off when he'd suddenly decided it was time for Frankie to travel to Italy to learn more about her heritage.

She perks up a bit at that.

My voice trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished as I swallow hard around the word. Brushing it off, I shift my focus, switching from picking the red lettuce to the green.

Frankie puts her hand over mine.

Not wanting the conversation to head back into depressing territory, I give her a mock look of shock.

As expected, she laughs and smacks my leg as she pulls her hand away.

As I tell her what I can remember about that trip, I also can't help but recall how much different my life had been way back then.

At eight years old, maybe I had been like a young Frankie and just hadn't known a lot of the things going on around me. But I did know my mother was alive then, and that she genuinely loved me.

And when she was taken away from me a few weeks after our trip to Rome, Italy, that love was taken away as well. And it left a huge, lonely hole in my heart that no one else had ever even attempted to fill.

I had been left alone with a father I barely knew because he was always working, and everything had changed. He'd pulled me out of school, and away from the few friends I'd managed to make, leaving me to be homeschooled and taken care of by paid help. He kept me in this house, cut off and away from everyone. Almost as if he wanted me forgotten along with my mother, who was never spoken about or mentioned.

Our conversation is interrupted by the shrill, irritating sound of my step-mother, Elena, calling out loudly from the elegantly decorated, stone-paved back patio.

The garden covered the entire far half of the back estate grounds, so Elena couldn't see her until she stood up and waved.

Frankie let's out a long sigh. I throw a piece of lettuce at her, rewarded when she giggles.

She steps back over and gives me a quick hug, and I blink through watery eyes. No one ever hugged me besides Frankie, and even those were few and far between.

After Frankie leaves I get back to work in the garden. Maybe it wasn't that exciting, but the physical labor and fresh air always seemed to help ease my mind a little.

A few hours later, after filling a few more baskets with the lettuces and taking them to the kitchen, I'm washing them off in the sink when Elena walks in.

She was exaggerating of course. Though I did have a little dirt on my jeans, and my shirt was damp and clingy from sweating.

My father had married Elena when I was ten. At first I had thought maybe she might be like a second mother to me, giving me back just a little bit of what I had lost.

Those hopes were quickly dashed though, as Elena had despised me on sight, and never failed to show it, effectively breaking my ten year old heart and my spirit. But I had grown thicker skin over the last decade, and was so accustomed to it now it rarely fazed me anymore.

I ignore the dig, as usual, and sigh as I flick my eyes towards her.

Her lip curls into an odd smile. I notice she's dressed even fancier than usual, and her sickeningly strong, expensive perfume wafts over to assault my nostrils.

Well, that was a shocking surprise. And from years of experience I already knew it probably wasn't going to be a good one.

She looks at me for a moment, and it's almost as if she's trying not to laugh, but I'm not sure why because she never worried about it before. Then she just turns around and leaves abruptly.

Figuring I might as well get it over with, I quickly finish up with the lettuce and make my way to the farthest left wing of the house where my father's office was located. On my way there I pass the couple of intimidating men who always seemed to accompany him now wherever he went.

I might not know much about the details, but I wasn't blind or deaf either. I heard snippets of conversations when no one knew I was listening, and saw many different men coming and going from the estate at all hours of the day or night, especially for the last several months.

My father was no longer just a simple ristorante owner, he was in business with some very dangerous people, that was obvious. And when I thought back on it, likely had been for many years now.

He answers absently when I knock on the heavy oak door.

I hadn't been in my father's office in awhile, and I look around curiously as I step inside.

His office had changed since the last time I'd been summoned inside. Though the furniture was mostly the same heavy, solid oak, there was more of it, along with a large safe and extra storage shelves. His desk was also much more organized, the tons of paperwork usually strewn about gone in place of a computer.

When I do he finally gives me more than a passing glance, frowning at my jeans and disheveled appearance.

Funny how it was almost like talking to a stranger. And he doesn't waste time with smiles or pleasantries.

I blink in surprise, my heart leaping into my chest at the thought of getting out of this place for even just a little while.

He raises a hand to cut me off. I suppose I WAS rambling a bit, but it had been so long...

His words are so matter of fact and dismissive it takes a moment for them to register in my mind.

He pours himself a drink from an expensive brandy decanter setting on the side of his desk.

And the surprises just keep coming.

The Mancini's were a very wealthy, powerful organized crime family that even with my sheltered existence I had heard of in hushed conversations.

No, this cannot be happening. Not from the same man who rarely even allowed me to speak to men.

I can barely speak through the complete, total shock. But my father just tsskks me...

Three days ago not a single person in this house had acknowledged my birthday besides Frankie. Not a cake, not a present, not a mention spoken aloud. I thought my father had long forgotten the date of my birth, and here he had been patiently counting the years until he could foist me off on a known mafia family as some kind of chaste virgin bride? It was like a bad movie.

Taking in shallow breaths while my heart jackhammers in my chest, I look at him in disbelief.

His eyes narrow as he takes a drink from his glass.

Leaning forward, he gives me a thorough look from head to toe from across his large desk.

Lifting my chin in a rare act of defiance, I ask...

In a movement that belies his older age, I find myself being gripped painfully by the arm and pulled from my chair a second later, making me gasp and cringe in fear.

Tears well up in my eyes from his brutal grip and I shrink into myself, dropping my head to hide the pain and fear in my eyes.

Knowing protesting is futile, and hysterics, or yelling, or any further defiance will only cause him to hurt me and still do nothing to sway his decision, I nod.

He let's me go, considering the matter over. I quietly leave his office, shutting the door behind me and making my way to my room.

But my mind is anything but quiet. The tears I'd been holding back overflow and fall freely before I even reach the safety of my room. I look at the beautiful, elegant white dress lying on my bed just where he said it would be, then collapse beside of it, sobbing into the mattress as I realize this is not some nightmarish dream. It was really happening.

I am still crying as I force myself into the bath, automatically doing what was required of me while trying to wrap my mind around it.

Maybe Frankie was right earlier. Staying under my father's thumb was one thing, but marrying a man I didn't know or love? Allowing myself to basically be sold, and binding myself forever to someone because it was good business? I didn't think I could go through with that. I'd sooner take my chances living a pāuper on the streets.

But I would have to at least go tonight and do what my father demanded, or he would undoubtedly make me pay dearly. Even though his punishments when I was younger left no permanent visible scars, the mental ones were more than enough to deter me from more outright rebellion.

But I would start planning right now, because I had no intention of going along with his plans for me. Some how, some way, I would find a way out of it. I had to...

**********

DANTÉ _______________

Three Days Prior ________________________

I hear the quiet voice, and feel the firm hand on my shoulder, but my mind is trapped in that deep darkness, that hellish place where the monster inside that had been force fed copious amounts of pain and torture, and intentionally trained to mercilessly inflict the same, was doing just that.

My father's voice comes out loud and clear over the speaker, from where he watched from an adjoining room. His righthand man, Vincenzo, who was the only one physically present in the room with me besides Mancini's now unconscious man, and had attempted to call me off, nods at the order and does as directed.

Truth be told I didn't think I could stop now if I wanted to. Having been down in this hole for nearly nearly twenty-four hours straight with no food, drink, or rest, and only a short break to take a piss, surrounded by endless screams of the pure agony I was inflicting on my newest victim, my only thought was to get the dirty bastard to talk.

Circling around his hanging body I smile grimly as I consider my options. The last several months I had become well acquainted with both mental and physical torture, but had also become very proficient in the practice of those dark arts.

After my oldest brother Gio, who was set to take over the business one day had been murdered, and my other elder brother, Nicco, who had nearly joined him in death and was still on life support in the hospital, my father had been brutally ruthless in his thirst for revenge.

And I was his tool of destruction.

I had spent hours slowly beating and breaking bones, beginning with the least to most painful, before ever drawing a single drop of blood. But now it was generously spattered throughout a good portion of the room. Yes, he would talk.

Deciding on the acid, I pick up the bottle and drip a bit into the bleeding, open wounds scattered over his body, laughing cruelly when he screams himself back to consciousness.

A few hours later it's finally over, and I walk into the other room, covered in blood, with Vincenzo to relay the information to my father. Even though he'd doubtless already heard everything, it was required of me, and would signal the end of yet another test of my abilities.

His eyes flick up to mine from his desk when we walk in.

The same ristorante that Enrico Donatella owned and had used to set my brothers up to be sitting ducks for our biggest rivals, the Mancini's, and murdered when he stupidly betrayed our family.

Still dripping blood, adrenaline pumping, and that dark, murderous rage fogging my mind, I nod curtly.

When I turn to leave he stops me.

I swing back around, eyebrow raised questioningly.

He stresses the "I" to make sure he is fully understood...

His eyes take in my gory, monstrous appearance, and a small smirk of approval curls his lip.

High praise from the man who had put me through hell every day for months while reminding me that it was necessary I be properly trained and "groomed" to take Gio's place. Of course I had always been involved in the business. But as the youngest I had been happy to do only what was required, and then enjoy myself, leaving the bulk of the darkest side to my older brothers.

That had ended abruptly the night at Donatella's, when they'd walked into the perfect ambush...

He waves towards the door now.

When he speaks this time his head tilts as if still pondering.

He cuts me off with a look, then smiles.

I suppose he would know. Don Roberto Montenegro was infamous for his... extracurricular exploits. Even in his late fifties, he looked younger than he was, and had never thought twice about fúcking around on my mother after she'd given him three sons. All he had to do was speak, and women would willingly drop to their knees. It was the same for myself. The arranged marriages rubbed me the wrong way, but I had known it was coming eventually. It was just the way things were done.

With a nod, I take my leave, heading up to the main house and taking the back entrance to another flight of stairs that led up to my wing.

*****

After a long shower and a few hours of fitful sleep filled with nightmarish screams and rivers of blood, I get up. My body still radiates with suppressed tension, so I decide to take my father's advice and find a suitable outlet for it.

After getting dressed and calling for a car, I take a quick side trip before heading for the club.

St. Anne's Hospital was closed to visitors for the night, but no one even bats an eye or dare speak up as I enter and walk straight to the elevator, making my way to the top floor and then down its now very familiar, rambling hallways.

Standing by my brother Nicco's bedside at nearly midnight, my eyes take in the shell of the man that was left, withered and weak and broken, kept alive only by the constantly humming machines my father refused to have removed.

In the stillness of the night, and the rare moment of total privacy, I lay my hand over my brother's and blink rapidly as a tear falls from my eye, whispering...

*****

After some decent food and several rounds of drinks with my best friend since childhood, Luca Berlusconi, at Reddy's, one of my family's many high dollar strip clubs, I almost feel human again. As much as I ever did these days anyway.

Luc's family was allied with mine, so technically he worked for my father as well. Being with him reminded me what my life used to be like. When I was able to fulfill my obligations, but then still be free afterward to enjoy myself.

And speaking of...

I feel the brush of a hand on the back of my neck above my collar as he and I sit at the bar in the VIP section watching a petite little blonde strip her skimpy top off while hanging from a pole.

I swing around, reaching behind me at the same time to pull my piece.

I relax when I see Lillian, one of the club's best dancers, and also one of my go-to's for a good blow job or quick piece of ass.

Lil was perfect. She was sexy, eager to please, and she knew her place. She also knew her way around a dick just as well as she did a pole.

I signal the bartender to bring her her usual drink. Luc and I make small talk with her while she drinks it, and I feel myself growing hard as I watch her give me fúck me eyes while toying with the straw between her plump, pouty lips.

When she finishes it, she puts her hand on my chest.

She snakes her fingers under my shirt and rubs her other hand down over the bulge growing in my trousers.

Tossing back the rest of my own drink, I nod goodbye to Luc, who snickers, and then lead Lil away, back to a private office.

Closing the door behind us, I waste no time speaking, just pushing her down to her knees in front of me and freeing myself from my trousers.

Several minutes later she's gagging and choking, struggling to breathe as I hold deep and explode down the back of her open throat. But I'm not finished yet.

While she does I roll on a wrap. Then I pound her so long and hard into the desk I bet they can hear her screaming from the other side of the club. But I don't give a fúck... By the time I'm finished she's had multiple orgasms, been properly and thoroughly fúcked, and my tension has been greatly alleviated.

Hell, my father could marry me off to whoever he wanted as long as I could still do this once in awhile...

I slap her hard on the ass before I straighten myself out and dispose of the condom in the toilet.

She winks and giggles as I toss her a handful of cash.

When I finally make it home in the wee hours of the morning I'm surprised to see my father's office door cracked open and hear he and Vincenzo talking.

But I don't stop to join them, nor even slow down, heading to my room, where I thought I might finally be able to get some real sleep before setting the plans into place that would effectively exact revenge for my brother's death.

Therefore I do not hear the conversation that continues between them after I pass...

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SUPPORTING CHARACTER INTRODUCTIONS ___________________________

Francesca Donatella Age 14 Isabella's Half-Sister ___________________________

Elena Donatella Age 43 Isabella's Step-Mother ___________________________

Enrico Donatella Age 52 Isabella's Father ___________________________

Don Roberto Montenegro Age 58 Danté's Father Head of the Montenegro Mafia Crime Family ___________________________

Vincenzo Bianchi Age 55 Don Roberto Montenegro's Right-Hand Man __________________________

Luca Berlusconi Age 30 Danté's Best Friend ___________________________

Lillian Davisson Age 25 Stripper at Reddy's ___________________________