Chapter 1: The Omertà Curse

  Water dripped from the rusted ceiling, the slow, rhythmic sound echoing through the dimly lit warehouse. A single flickering bulb cast long shadows over the men in sharp suits, their polished leather shoes stepping through pools of blood.

  In the center of the room, a man knelt, his body battered, his wrists bound tight with thick ropes. His face, barely recognizable under the bruises, lifted weakly. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he coughed, his breath ragged.

  "P-please..." he managed to whisper.

  Tony Luciano, the head of the infamous Luciano Family, rolled up the sleeves of his thousand-dollar suit, his cold blue eyes gleaming with amusement. He crouched down, gripping the beaten man's chin roughly, forcing him to look up.

  "Please?" Tony chuckled. "You really think you can beg your way out of this, Nico Valerio?"

  Nico flinched as Tony's fist crashed into his ribs. He gasped, but there was no air left in his lungs to scream. The suited men around them smirked, watching their boss enjoy himself.

  Tony straightened up, exhaling in mock disappointment. "Well, gentlemen, looks like we’ve got ourselves a baked Nico." His voice turned ice-cold. "Omertà."

  The word alone sent a chill through the room.

  Suddenly, Nico's body seized. His muscles contorted unnaturally, veins bulging black as if something was crawling beneath his skin. He let out a guttural scream as his eyes rolled back, his body convulsing. Tony smirked, watching with sick satisfaction.

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  "Put him in the basement," he ordered, adjusting his cuffs. "Let’s see how long he lasts."

  The guards nodded. "Yes, sir."

  ---

  Amsterdam, Netherlands.

  The rain fell steadily, pattering against the café window. The air smelled of fresh coffee and wet pavement. A man sat alone at a corner table, his face obscured by a hood. Steam curled from his cup of tea as he slowly sipped, watching the world pass by outside.

  The TV above the counter flickered with the evening news.

  "Crime rates have surged worldwide, with New Avalon seeing a 40.5% increase in violent crimes. Citizens are urged to remain vigilant as organized crime continues to tighten its grip..."

  Dante Valerio took another sip, unfazed. The world had always been rotten. Nothing new.

  Then his phone rang.

  He glanced at the screen before answering. "Yeah?"

  "Dante... it's Nico." The voice on the other end was strained, shaking. "He's dead."

  Dante’s grip tightened around the phone. "What?"

  "The Luciano Family. They got him. He was mixed up with the Nostra Gang... tried to go after them, but—"

  "I don’t give a shit what he tried to do," Dante interrupted, his voice eerily calm. "He's dead?"

  Silence. Then a quiet, "Yeah."

  Dante exhaled through his nose. His free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

  "Come back, Dante. We need you."

  Dante hung up without another word.

  He set the phone down, staring into his tea. The rain outside blurred the neon lights of the city, reflecting off the streets like a dream dissolving into reality.

  ---

  Meanwhile, in New Avalon...

  Silvano Vanetti leaned back in his leather chair, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. Across from him, a man from the Rossi Cartel swirled whiskey in a crystal glass.

  "So?" Silvano asked. "Is the Costra Gang dealt with?"

  The Rossi enforcer smirked. "Yeah. Luciano wiped them out. Not a single one left breathing."

  Silvano exhaled slowly, satisfied. "Good. Now that those pests are gone, we can move our product through the city without interference. The other families won’t dare fuck with us now."

  The Rossi enforcer chuckled, raising his glass. "To business."

  They clinked glasses, sealing another bloodstained deal.

  ---

  Back in Amsterdam, Dante sat in silence.

  His thoughts drifted to his past—his mother, father, little sister... all gone. All because of the Luciano Family. And now Nico had joined them.

  The Omertà Curse wasn’t just a word. It was real. It was powerful. And it had just taken another piece of his world.

  Dante cracked his knuckles.

  "Tch... those motherfuckers."

  He pushed back his chair, standing up. His reflection in the rain-streaked window showed something he hadn’t seen in years—the cold, ruthless hitman he used to be.

  New Avalon was calling him back.

  And this time, he wasn’t leaving until every last one of them was dead.