Southern Sweden — 18 years ago

"You know exactly why I'm here," the Don said, his gun steady and aimed at the man before him. "You shouldn't have betrayed me. You were one of my best. I trusted you. And all of this... for greed."

Arnold swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

"I know I have no right to argue. Or to defend myself. I accept my punishment." His voice broke. "I know the penalty is death. I only beg for mercy for my family. They didn't know anything. The blame is mine alone."

The crying came after — uncontrollable, humiliating.

"If you really cared about your family, you would've thought about them first," he replied coldly.

He took a few steps forward and stopped in front of the woman. She pressed the child against her chest, as if the gesture alone could protect her.

"On second thought... dying would be too easy for you," he murmured.

He crouched slightly and traced his fingers across the child's face in an almost gentle touch.

"No... my daughter, no," the woman begged, her voice shattered by desperation.

"When your daughter turns eighteen, she'll marry my son," he said coldly. "Keep the girl pure. If you don't, she'll pay for your mistake too."

The man sobbed on the floor, unable to respond.

"As for your son, he'll serve the organization with absolute loyalty. He'll only marry if I allow it... or if my son, as the future leader, decides to grant him that."

He took a few slow, calculated steps.

"Do a better job with them than you did with me. Keep them in line. Otherwise, you'll live to watch the consequences. That will be your punishment: seeing everything, unable to do a thing about it."

He paused briefly — just long enough for the words to settle like a sentence.

"I'll prepare the marriage contract. I'll return to have it signed. And don't forget: your children's fate was sealed by you."

Without looking back, the Don turned and walked to the door. Before leaving, he stopped and gave a short order to one of his armed men.

"Watch them. If they try to run, let me know."

The door closed.

Left behind were a father on his knees, a mother in silent despair, and a boy standing rigid, his eyes far too large for his young face — marked forever by what he'd just witnessed.

Present day.

The sound of ragged breathing broke the silence of the dark room.

Another nightmare.

Not really a nightmare, though — an old memory, persistent, that had been haunting him again over the past few weeks.

Augusto turned on the bedside lamp. The dim light illuminated the room but couldn't reach the tightness in his chest. The darkness stayed right there.

He got up and went to the bathroom. He washed his face, braced his hands on the sink, and stared at his own reflection in the mirror. Thirty years old. Still trapped in that same moment.

He thought about his sister. About how he could get her out of that trap.

At thirteen, Augusto had learned that some images never fade. He'd never forgotten the eyes of the mafia Don's son resting on him that night. A gaze far too intent for someone so young. A gaze that didn't forget.

Today, that boy was no longer known as the boss's son. He was the leader of the organization.

He'd taken command at twenty-two, when his father fell ill. Since then, his name had become synonymous with cruelty and coldness. They said he had no mercy. That he spared only women deemed innocent and children. To enemies and allies alike, he was the same: the monster.

Augusto closed his eyes.

The reason for the nightmares was simple and relentless. His sister, Alice, would turn eighteen in one week.

And he didn't know if he could save her from the sentence awaiting them: marrying the monster.

Over those years, their father had allowed his daughter a certain freedom. He knew that after the marriage to the mafia leader, she'd be stripped of nearly everything. He'd let her go out, have fun, make small choices of her own. In return, he'd begged for only one thing: that she remain pure.

Augusto got up early and went for a run, as he did almost every day. The rhythm of his steps on the pavement helped organize his thoughts. He needed a way out. Any way out that could protect his sister.

While running, he decided to call Mark. Maybe together they could find a solution.

Mark was more than his best friend. He was family. Like Augusto, he was part of the mafia underworld. They'd known each other since elementary school. They'd trained together in the organization, shared falls, victories... and even their first time, in an improvised arrangement Mark had set up for the two of them.

The phone rang only once.

"Hello. I need to meet with you," Augusto said, getting straight to the point. "We need to talk about that matter again."

On the other end of the line, there was no surprise. Mark already knew the weight of that concern.

"Sure. I'm home. Come over," Mark replied. "I'll be waiting."

The call ended, and Mark's expression changed instantly. Hearing that Augusto wanted to talk about his sister again, he took a deep breath. He poured a generous measure of liquor and downed it in one gulp. He needed courage for what he was about to do.

They'd planned to meet at Mark's apartment, but first Augusto went back home. He was sweaty from the run and needed a shower. The moment he walked in, he sensed something was wrong.

There was an unusual commotion.

Alice was crying. Their father and mother were nearby, trying to console her, speaking softly, as if words could wound more than they could help.

"What's going on here?" he asked, making everyone turn.

Alice lifted her tear-streaked face and ran to him, hugging him tightly, as if she were afraid to let go.

"Augusto... they want me to marry that monster. To marry Pietro," Alice said, clinging to him, beside herself.

The embrace was too tight to be just fear. It was desperation.

Augusto raised his gaze to their parents, searching for answers. They only looked away, defeated.

"Easy," he murmured, kissing the top of his sister's head. "Let's sit down. You need to calm down."

He guided her back to the sofa, trying to contain his own tightness in his chest. That was when he noticed the large box on the armchair. The ribbon still intact. Inside, a wedding dress.

Augusto sat Alice down and picked up the note resting on the lid. He read it.

"I hope you like the dress I chose for my future wife. I can't wait to see her walking into the church wearing it.

P.S.: There's also a suit for your brother. I believe it will look very good on him. The bride's brother needs to look impeccable too."

The air seemed to grow heavier.

Below the larger box, there was a smaller one. Augusto didn't need to open it to know.

It was the suit.

"Arrogant bastard," Augusto muttered, low enough for no one to hear.

"I don't want to marry him," Alice said, her voice breaking. "I'd rather die than spend my life beside that man."

Her words pulled him back from his own thoughts. Augusto set the note on the box and moved closer. He held his sister's face between his hands, feeling her warm tears streaming through his fingers.

"Our father didn't have a choice," he said, steady despite the knot in his chest. "But I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of this. Even if the price is too high."

She took a deep breath. The crying gradually subsided. Her brows furrowed, and the look she raised to him was no longer just fear. It was suspicion.

"Wait..." she said, pulling back slightly. "You knew about this too? You knew about this whole scheme... and you didn't tell me?"

Augusto saw the anger in Alice's eyes before the shove even came. She pushed away hard and ran toward the stairs, going up to her room without looking back.

He stood there, motionless.

Nothing about this situation was easy for their family. But he knew that for her, it was even worse. Being forced to marry someone she didn't love... someone she feared.

The idea settled in his chest like a slow, almost suffocating pressure.

Augusto

Augusto started to go after his sister. He needed to talk to her, to try to calm that desperate heart. But he was stopped by their father's firm hand on his arm.

"Don't bother going now," Arnold said, his voice heavy. "She won't want to listen to you. Let her process this first. You two can talk later."

There was too much emotion behind that forced composure.

Arnold sat on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. The crying came hard, broken, as if it had been held back for years.

"If I had another alternative, I'd take it," he said between sobs. "Any alternative at all. Just so I wouldn't have to see my daughter like that... and still having to marry that man. I'd be willing to die if I had to. Just to spare her from this."

Augusto felt the weight of those words settle onto his shoulders.

"I'm going to find a solution, Dad," he replied firmly. "I promise. I'll go upstairs, take a shower, and then meet with Mark. We'll figure something out."

"Take the box he sent for you," their mother asked before Augusto went upstairs.

He picked up the box reluctantly. He knew it wasn't wise to cross Pietro, not even over something seemingly trivial. Sometimes a single detail out of place was enough to create problems.

In his room, he tossed the package on the bed and went straight to the shower. The cold water helped push away, for a few minutes, the weight he carried in his chest. He dressed quickly, but the white shape on the mattress caught his attention again.

He took a deep breath and decided to open it.

Inside was a white tuxedo. Flawless. Far too elegant to be a coincidence.

Augusto frowned. He didn't understand the choice of color, but he recognized the good taste. There was something unsettling about that perfection, as if every detail had already been designed with him in mind.

He closed the box and left it on the bed.

He grabbed a copy of the contract and headed out. He needed to see Mark.

On his way down, he found his parents still in the living room, talking in low tones. He approached only to let them know where he was going.

"I'm going out to try to find a solution. Keep an eye on Alice. Don't let her do anything reckless," Augusto said, visibly worried.

He left right after and drove straight to Mark's place. He got there quickly. They lived close to each other.

The door opened almost immediately. Mark greeted him with an expression far too serious for that hour, but Augusto didn't find it strange. The situation was too complicated for smiles.

"Want a drink?" he offered.

"Please. I'm going to need one," Augusto replied, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the sofa.

Mark prepared the drink in silence. He didn't ask anything. Just served. Then he led Augusto to the study.

On the desk, there was already a copy of the contract.

The two sat down and began rereading the document. Silence stretched as their eyes traveled over the cold clauses, each line more suffocating than the last.

After a while, Mark broke the silence.

"So... do we kill him?" he said, shrugging, as if suggesting something mundane.

Augusto let out a short, humorless laugh.

"I'm trying to save my sister, not commit suicide."

He knew that idea was practically a death wish. Others had tried something similar before. None had survived.

"He sure as hell deserves it," Mark added, draining his glass in one gulp.

That sounded strange to Augusto. He'd always known Mark didn't like Pietro, but there was something different about the way he said it. It wasn't just hatred. There was resentment. Something personal.

Mark stood, poured more bourbon, and walked to the window. He stood in silence for a few seconds, breathing deeply, before continuing:

"There's another way out."

Augusto looked up.

"You could offer an aunt, a cousin..." Mark paused briefly. "Or even yourself."

Augusto felt his stomach turn.

"The contract doesn't mention Alice by name," Mark added, still facing away. "It only says it has to be a member of the Castro family."

Augusto smiled, about to scold his friend, but held back the impulse. He looked at the contract on the desk again and, for the first time, didn't just see clauses. An idea shot through his mind. Reckless. Dangerous.

Mark returned from the window and sat beside him again. He noticed the faint smile that had appeared on Augusto's lips. It should have brought relief. Instead, it tightened his chest.

Augusto turned suddenly, took Mark's face in his hands, and kissed his cheek.

It was quick. Too intimate to be casual.

Mark went rigid for a second, caught off guard by the closeness. He played it off, the way he always did.

"Hey..." he said, forcing a smile. "I know I'm hot, but don't push it."

Inside, though, the gesture weighed more than it should have.

Augusto stood, grabbing another drink before continuing his explanation.

"Pietro is a massive womanizer," he said, gesturing lightly with his glass. "So I'm going to offer myself in my sister's place, arguing that the clause isn't clear. He's so proud of his own masculinity that he'll refuse. Not even his father would allow his son to marry another man."

He drained the glass in one go. There was excitement in his voice. Hope.

"Augusto..." Mark interrupted, this time looking directly at him. "Have you considered the possibility that this could backfire? What if he accepts?"

Augusto was quiet for a moment.

"There's no possibility he'll accept," he answered, trying to sound convincing. "But if I'm that absurdly unlucky... then I'll have to live with the choice I made. What'll console me is knowing I saved my sister."

Despite the firm words, doubt crept in. Pietro wasn't an ordinary man. He was cold. Calculating. Cruel enough to accept just for the pleasure of humiliating, tormenting, punishing Augusto for destroying the planned union with Alice.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away before it could take root. If he let that possibility grow, he'd end up drowning in it.

"Mark, can you set up an appointment with your uncle for me? I want to talk to him about the contract."

Mark nodded silently and picked up his phone. He called his uncle, who answered promptly. A few words were all it took for a direct response: Augusto could come immediately.

The speed of the confirmation made Augusto smile with relief. He didn't want to wait. He needed that answer as soon as possible, as if time were slipping through his fingers.

"So... are you coming with me to talk to your uncle?" he asked, already grabbing his jacket.

Mark hesitated for an almost imperceptible instant. He put his phone away, looked elsewhere, and took a deep breath before answering.

"I can't," he said at last. "I've got something to take care of. I can't go with you."

The excuse sounded rehearsed. Too short. Too fragile.

But Augusto didn't notice.

Augusto wasn't sure if it was just in his head, but he had the feeling that Mark had changed suddenly — ever since the moment he'd suggested offering himself in his sister's place.

"Then I'll send you news as soon as I talk to your uncle," he said, already walking away. "I hope we're right and I can actually pull this off."

He hurried toward his car.

Mark stood still, watching him leave, until the vehicle disappeared from sight. Then he lowered his head, as if the weight of the world had crashed down on his shoulders, and murmured an apology that would never be heard.

"I'm sorry... I can't defend you. And I'm sorry for being such a coward all these years, for never saying how I really feel."

He picked up his phone with trembling hands. He wiped the tear rolling down his face and dialed a number he knew by heart. When the call was answered, his expression changed. The sadness gave way to something harder. More bitter.

"He already knows about the clause," he said, his voice low and loaded with restrained anger. "I've done my part."

He ended the call without waiting for a response.

Back inside his house, he walked to the study. He poured more liquor, ignoring the harsh taste, and then his eyes fell on the photograph on the desk.

It was him and Augusto.

He traced his fingers over the image carefully, as if he could touch him through the paper. The composure he'd still been holding shattered right there. The glass trembled in his hand and, finally, Mark couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

Mark remained there for some time longer, drowning in alcohol and his own tears. The guilt and regret consumed him. He felt like a coward. He was pushing the man he loved straight into the lion's den, while he'd never had the courage to admit — not even to himself — that he was in love with his own best friend.

Augusto went straight to Mark's uncle's office. As soon as he arrived, he handed over the copy of the contract and explained what his question was.

"What I want to know is about this clause," he said, pointing to the specific passage. "It only stipulates that a member of the Castro family must be given in marriage. They should have put my sister's name. In that case, they can't contest it if another family member is presented in her place, correct?"

The lawyer read the document carefully, adjusting the glasses on his face. He took a few seconds longer than necessary, as if confirming something too obvious to ignore.

"Yes, you're correct," he replied at last. "They made a serious error in this clause. Not specifying the bride's name in a marriage contract is an enormous oversight." He paused briefly, incredulous. "Honestly, I don't know how the lawyer responsible let this slip through. A contract of this type is usually meticulous about every single word."

Augusto was overjoyed to hear that. What truly mattered was that the document bore the signature of Pietro's father, who at the time was still the mafia leader. That made the contract fully valid. For the first time in days, he felt hope. He could hardly wait to tell his sister the news and make her believe that maybe there was a way out.

+++++++

Pietro had just finished his self-defense training. He was sweaty, his body still tense with the adrenaline from the precise movements. He said goodbye to the instructor and headed to where his things were. When he checked his phone, a slight smile curved his lips.

"The package has been delivered to the Castro family home, sir."

The day had started well.

He'd waited eighteen years for this moment. Every step, every silence, every decision had been calculated with surgical patience. Now the plan was beginning to take shape, and very soon he would have what he'd desired all those years.

Pietro headed to his room. The gym was inside his own house — something he considered practical. He took a quick shower, but his mind remained fixed on a single place. Or rather, a single person. He wanted to know how they'd reacted to the delivery of the gifts, what expressions they'd made, what feelings had been stirred.

Nothing interested him more than that.

He finished his shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the study. Diego was already waiting for him.

"Good morning, little brother," he greeted him with his usual smile.

Diego was Pietro's younger brother and completely different from him. While their father had dedicated himself to molding Pietro into a cold, ruthless man, Pietro had done everything he could to keep Diego from following the same path. He'd taken upon himself the weight, the violence, and the dirty decisions, keeping his brother away from that world, shielding him as best he could from the darkness in which he himself was submerged.

"Good morning," Pietro replied, sitting behind the desk.

With Diego, he could be who he really was. He didn't need to wear the mask of the cold, bloodthirsty monster the world knew. Diego was aware of his brother's secrets and, on some occasions, even helped him when needed.

"So... it's next week?" Diego asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Pietro opened the desk drawer and pulled out a photograph. In it, Alice and Augusto appeared smiling, sitting on the lawn of the house where they lived.

Diego came around the desk and leaned in.

"You're really lucky," he commented, studying the image. "She's beautiful... I wish I were the one marrying her." He sighed before sitting back down in the chair across from the desk.

In truth, Diego had always been in love with Alice. Even so, he'd accepted the fact that she was promised to his brother. And deep down, he knew Pietro would never touch her.

"You'll get your chance, little brother," Pietro said calmly. "You know my plans for this marriage contract well enough."

Pietro noticed then the subtle spark of hope that appeared in his brother's eyes. Diego looked up, as if trying to draw out more than he'd been told, seeking to confirm that silent promise.

"Do you really think this plan will work?" Diego asked. "You think you can get around Dad?"

The biggest obstacle in Pietro's plans was his own father. If the old man discovered everything that had already been orchestrated to bring this moment about, he would lose his mind.

"I will," Pietro answered with conviction. "You know he trusts me blindly. He thinks he created the perfect successor... or rather, the perfect monster."

They both smiled at that. Pietro turned his gaze back to the photograph, running his thumb carefully over the face in the image. That smile always knocked him off balance.

From the moment he'd walked into that house beside his father eighteen years ago, Pietro had known what he wanted. What he liked. Those eyes, that frightened gaze, had lodged themselves inside him in a way impossible to explain. He'd been only thirteen at the time, but by the time he left, his mind was already made up.

When they were adults, that boy would be his.

It didn't matter who needed to be bribed, manipulated, or eliminated along the way. The owner of that gaze would belong to him.

Augusto would be his.

From that point on, Pietro tracked Augusto's every move, even though Augusto never knew it. He knew who his friends were, who he got close to, who he was interested in. He even knew the exact day and with whom Augusto had lost his virginity. Nothing escaped him.

The jealousy and envy he'd felt toward that girl had nearly made him lose control. Pietro wished it had been with him. The first kiss, the first touch, the first time. During one of his training sessions, consumed by rage, he'd nearly killed the man he was sparring with that day, unleashing on him a violence that didn't belong to him. It took immense self-control not to cross a line he could never come back from.

He swallowed the jealousy in silence. He couldn't be the monster his father wanted him to be — at least not with Augusto. Not yet. He couldn't interfere directly in his life, not until the right moment came. He allowed him to have fun, to get involved with whomever he wanted, to live freely, even though it corroded him from the inside.

The wait would last until the date stipulated in that contract. Eighteen years was already far too long. After that, he wouldn't wait anymore. Augusto would be his, and Pietro would never allow him to slip away again.

Whenever he saw him at meetings, he couldn't look away. He watched the women who flirted with Augusto, even knowing that within the organization, Augusto had never been considered a good match. The son of a traitor, he carried a stigma that had never left him. Beyond that, his father had never allowed him to marry, and when Pietro took over command, he'd never granted that permission either.

The anger he felt watching Augusto coveted by those women was channeled into training and enemies. Every blow, every confrontation served to relieve the frustration of not being able to touch him. During one of the meetings, he ended up seeing Augusto in the garden, accompanied by a woman. They were kissing, and he was touching her intimately, without any shame.

The sight made Pietro's blood boil.

He wanted to rip him away from there, pull him from that woman, take him far from everyone and show him, with cruel precision, what he could do with every part of his body. It took every ounce of self-control he'd learned over the years not to act on impulse.

To the world, Pietro maintained the image of a womanizer. He slept with some women, fed his own reputation, and made a point of being seen that way. That was also part of the plan. He knew Augusto would use that argument against him if needed, and above all, his father could never suspect the truth.

No one could know that he loved him.

Pietro