Page 1 of Stolen By the Devil

Prologue

Drago

Two years earlier.

The Escalade’s tinted windows reflected the dim city lights in the distance as they passed by in a blur, the pulse of New York’s nightlife a world away. The underworld belonged to me, its criminal arteries feeding my power. The blood of this city ran thick, tainted, and corrupt—just how I liked it. I leaned back against the cool black leather seat, feeling the hum of the enginebeneath me as we sped along the winding roads leading to my estate.

My fingers itched with the memory of the day—business handled, debts collected, bodies left broken in the street as a sign of what happens when deals with me are broken. I had done what I always did…Dominated…Ruled. And now I was returning to my sanctuary, the only place that rivaled the darkness of the streets—My home.

The driver didn’t speak as he guided the car through the narrow roads leading into the foothills, the city shrinking behind us until we were swallowed by the shadows of the estate. He knew better than to speak unless spoken to. Fear did that. And I liked it. Fear was my currency, my power. It crackled in the air around me, in the way people averted their eyes, the tremble in their voices when they dared to speak my name. I fed off it, consuming it and letting its energy fuel me.

The sprawling mansion soon loomed ahead, the enormous iron gates slowly creaking open to allow us entry.

My estate was a fortress hidden away from the prying eyes of New York. It was more than just a mansion—it was a monument to my power, a reflection of my heritage, and a graveyard for all who crossed me. Towering stone walls protected my home, and every inch of the grounds were guarded by my men, sentinels of my empire. No one entered without my permission. No one left without my consent. Some never left at all.

The house itself was a tribute to my roots—ancient stone from my native Sicily, imported at great cost and arranged meticulously. It was a piece of the old world, a reminder of the bloodline I descended from. A reminder of the demon lurking in my veins, inherited from generations of violence and sin.

My father’s voice echoed in my head, as it always did. “You are a Barone. You are the Devil. And the Devil bows to no one.”

I liked the weight of those words. I embraced the blood-soaked legacy, the hunger for power, and the sharp, biting joy I found in making others tremble. It was in my nature. My soul had long since been given over to the darkness.

The Escalade rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, the headlights cutting through the mist that clung to the ground like a suffocating fog. My driver, a quiet man named Luca, glanced at me through the rearview mirror, awaiting orders.

“You can go,” I said, my voice low, the edge of command sharp.

Luca nodded, his face pale beneath the faint glow of the lights. He knew better than to linger.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered before getting out of the car and disappearing into the night, leaving me alone in the stillness.

I stepped out of the vehicle, breathing in the cool night air. The scent of damp earth mixed with the faint hint of sulfur. It reminded me of home. Of Sicily. And of the place where demons like me thrived.

The iron gates closed behind me with a metallic clang, the sound echoing through the silence like the toll of a bell. A warning. No one would disturb me here. No one would dare.

The guards stationed at the perimeter of the mansion stood like statues, their faces hard, their bodies stiff. I could feel their fear as I passed by, the way their eyes lowered to the ground, avoiding mine. They knew what I was capable of. They’d seen it firsthand.

I enjoyed the sight of them trembling. The sight of anyone trembling.

I dismissed them all with a single wave of my hand, my command met with hurried nods as they retreated into the shadows. Alone at last, I pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the mansion, stepping into the darkened foyer.

The air inside was thick, heavy with the scent of leather, stone, and the faintest trace of blood. My steps echoed off the marble floors, the sound bouncing through the grand halls adorned with artifacts from my homeland. Sicilian tapestries, dark wooden furniture, and ancient relics that had belonged to my ancestors. The Barones had ruled Sicily long before I ever came to New York. Our legacy was etched in blood ties, and I had no intention of breaking that tradition.

The chandelier above me cast a dim light, its crystals flickering with a cold, almost ethereal glow. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting and shifting as I moved deeper into the mansion. This place was alive with the energy I had built over the years—the energy of fear, of death lurking just behind the curtain. It was delicious, as always, and I breathed deeply.

However, something was wrong. A foreign scent, unfamiliar to me.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers brushing the edge of the gun holstered under my jacket. My demon stirred beneath the surface, the darkness in me sensing a shift. The beast was always close, but tonight, it prowled restlessly, seeking the source of the invasion.

I moved down the hall, my footsteps slower now, more deliberate. The mansion felt colder, the walls pressing in around me as I made my way toward my children’s rooms. Something inside me tightened, the tension winding through my muscles like a coiled snake.

I stopped in front of Liliana’s door, pushing it open gently. My daughter’s small figure was curled up in her bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a halo around her dark curls. I watched her sleep for a moment, the tightness in my chest easing, if only slightly. She was safe. She was mine. And no one would ever take her from me. Not while I lived.

I closed the door softly, continuing down the hall to Marco’s room. My son, still so young, was also asleep in his crib. His tiny fists were clenched, his breaths steady and slow. I stared at him for a long moment, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on my shoulders. Marco was the heir to my empire, my bloodline. He would inherit everything I had built—everything I had killed for.

But first, I had to ensure his future was secure. That meant eliminating threats, no matter how small.

Silence followed me as I made my way to the master bedroom, a sense of dread creeping into the edges of my consciousness. The house felt wrong, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. And I knew, deep down, that the wrongness was centered in that room…My room.

I stopped outside the door, my fingers tightening around the metal handle. I heard the sounds before I opened it. Soft moans, muffled gasps, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together. The sound turned my stomach, not with rage, but with a cold, calculating clarity.

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