[Your father is dead. They will look for you next. Run.]
Isla Varela stood by the window, looking at her faint reflection in the dewy glass. Her chest rose and fell, trying to regulate her irregular breathing. Her right hand trembled, holding the cell phone that had just displayed the last message from an informant working for her family.
The message was enough to make her heart race. Isla swallowed, trying to calm herself down. But how could she calm down when her entire world had just collapsed in a matter of hours?
Diego Varela-her father the leader of one of Spain's oldest mafia families. Although Isla has always hated the dark business her father runs, her blood carries the Varela legacy. And that means one thing: her father's enemies won't stop until she's gone too.
There's only one place she can go. One person who could give her protection. And it's someone she should never see again.
Rafael De Luca.
***
Isla set her jaw as her steps echoed down the corridor of a stately home in the center of Madrid. The two burly men escorting her had opened a large door, revealing a room adorned with mahogany bookcases and a fireplace still burning in the center of the room. Behind a large desk sat the man who had long haunted her thoughts, Rafael De Luca.
He looked the same as the last time Isla had seen him all those years ago. His black hair was neatly slicked back, revealing the firm lines of his face and the sharp gray eyes that were now fixed on her. His strong jaw hardened slightly, but his lips curved in a thin, serene smile.
"Isla Varela," he said in a low, deep voice. "I did not expect you to appear before me after so many years of disappearance."
"I had no other choice." Isla sighed, pushing away the uncomfortable feeling that rose in her chest.
"Of course." Rafael stood up slowly, both hands stuffed into his pants pockets. "Sit down."
She did not argue. Once seated, Rafael walked over to her, then leaned on the table directly in front of her, looking at her with interest.
"So," he said, "why should I help you?"
"My father was murdered tonight. I know which group did it and I know they will come looking for me." Isla clenched her hands on her knees.
"Damn." Rafael let out a short breath. "So Diego finally fell too."
There was a hard-to-decipher tone in his voice. It wasn't sadness. More like satisfaction.
"I know we're not allies," Isla said, looking into his eyes. "But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to gain your protection."
For a moment, Rafael just stared at her. Then, the corners of his lips lifted. Isla swallowed, knowing full well that this man was not someone who would help her for nothing.
"You will be mine, Isla." Rafael said in a dangerously low tone. "Not just as a woman, but as part of my organization. I want you to stand by my side, just as you once stood by your father's."
Isla's breath caught. She knew Rafael wasn't joking. If she agreed to it, there would be no escape. No freedom. But what was her choice? If she didn't accept this offer, she would die. Finally, after a moment, Isla lifted her chin, looking at Rafael with determination.
"Fine," she said. "I accept."
Rafael smiled a little, then extended his hand toward her.
"A wise decision," he said. "Welcome to hell, Isla."
Isla took his hand and in an instant, she knew her life would never be the same again.
***
She stood in the center of a large, dimly lit room. The smell of metal mixed with sweat permeated the air and in front of her, a tall, well-built man stared at her expressionlessly.
Matteo Salvatore.
Rafael's right-hand man. The merciless killer who became a legend in the mafia world.
"I can't believe Rafael told me to train Varela's son," Matteo muttered, his voice full of disdain. "You don't look like someone who could survive in this world."
Isla clenched her fists. She knew full well that this man would not welcome her with open arms. She also realized that she was here not because of her skills, but because of the deal she had made with Rafael.
"I don't care what you think," Isla replied coldly. "I just want to learn."
Matteo grinned, then threw a pistol at her. Isla caught it reflexively, though it weighed more than she expected.
"Well, let's see how determined you are."
That night, Isla's first training began. Matteo did not give her a chance to breathe. From the way he fired weapons, to using knives, to hand-to-hand combat, everything was brutal and merciless.
"Keep standing," Matteo said as Isla fell for the umpteenth time.
Isla's body was bruised, her breathing labored. But she refused to give up. She got up and looked at Matteo with determined eyes. The man smiled at her.
"Interesting," he said. "Perhaps you are not as weak as I thought."
In the corner of the room, Rafael watched them silently. His smile was thin, meaningful. Isla didn't realize it, but tonight, she had just stepped deeper into a world that no longer offered her a way out.
Isla never thought that revenge would begin with pain. Heat crawled up her cheeks after Matteo's hard fist landed without warning. She staggered back, the blood on the corner of her lip salty as she licked it.
"You are too slow," Matteo raised his voice. "If this was a real battle, you would have been dead thirty seconds ago."
"I'm still standing." Isla wiped her blood with the back of her hand.
"Revenge is not just a matter of courage. It's about precision, endurance, and most importantly, it's about getting rid of all the stupid emotions you still harbor."
"I'm not here to hear your lectures. Teach me how to kill."
Matteo looked at her for a moment, then smiled a small smile. He pulled the knife from the sheath at his waist and before Isla could react, Matteo had already aimed it at her neck.
"Listen to me carefully, Isla," he whispered. "I can teach you how to shoot, how to stab, how to kill someone in seconds. But if you still have a weak heart, you'll never be a real killer."
Isla remained silent, refusing to show fear. But deep inside, she knew that Matteo's words contained the truth. If she wanted revenge, she would have to bury who she was before. And that was the price she had to pay. For her dead father, Diego Varela.