Page 1 of Blood, Bones, and the Bratva Bogeyman
Prologue
Thepowerfulaurasofthe four masked figures traveling down the dimly lit corridor towards me add an ominous edge to the already dangerous vibe these meetings always hold.
We’re the heads of the five most powerful mafia families in the world. Our bloodlines have been around for thousands of years, living in the daylight and thriving in the shadows. We survive in the dark, dreary depths of societies that would love nothing more than to lock us up for the crimes we’ve committed. The same citizens we protect are the very ones who would come for us with pitchforks if they knew the true secrets of who we are. Enemies would sever our heads and place them on a pike to prove to the world how tough they are. Once we’re flash-bonded with our chosen, they’d never stand a chance against us.
Secrets are our life-force. They’re the bonds we’ve forged and the ones we continue to create. Each relationship we build ensures the continuity of our existence.
Before our great-great grandfathers created Venatori Nocturnus, we were enemies. Families pitted against families, each trying to stay at the top of the food chain. Meaninglessblood feuds claimed many lives. Brothers, wives, mothers, fathers, children—all casualties of a war that would never have a true victor.
The loss of so many of our own was a wound that ached, but from the ashes of that tragedy, a powerful alliance among five families arose.
The sound of boots landing in harmonizing steps pulls me from my thoughts.
Their hooded robes sweep against the floor as they close the distance between us. Our identities remain hidden for the moment as they come to a stop in front of me. We bow our heads in greeting before turning to the stone wall before us.
I step up to the thick silver box off to the side and pull my glove back enough for the heel of my palm to be exposed. Then I press it against the hole in the middle of the box. There’s a small prick as the needle jabs into my skin before retreating to process my blood. The system will search for the special markers within the cells that we were each born with. The ones that indicate we’re something other—something human, yet more. Our elders put our blood into the system at birth, securing our place in the secret organization. Our DNA is unable to be cloned for nefarious purposes. A breakdown in the cells happens when they’re no longer flowing through our bodies.
After the light flashes green, I step away so the others can confirm their identity.
The stone wall groans as it slides back to reveal a sealed titanium door. The first lock disengages once we’re all cleared, and a small slot on the door glides back to reveal five keyholes. We pull them from our necks and place them in their respective slots, then turn them clockwise simultaneously. A unique design and an irreplicable embedded chip distinguish each key from its owner.
The last lock disengages, and the door slides open with a quiet hiss, revealing the enormous room inside.
Sanctum.
Stepping inside, we make our way to stand behind our place at the round table. We wait for the door to lock behind us before we start our last round of verifications. The modulated tones of the voice boxes inside our skeleton masks keep our voices as hidden as our faces.
“Bugimen,” I say.
Bogeyman.
“Il fantasma.”
The Ghost.
Battista Tersigni. Head of the Cosa Nostra.
“An naomh.”
The Saint.
Tiernan Fitzpatrick. Head of the Irish Mob and one-third of The Irish Trinity.
“The Jackal.”
Kingston Blackwell. Head of The Firm.
“El Pacificador.”
The Peacemaker.
Ignacio Zaragoza. Head of the Mexican Cartel.
After confirming our identities, we pull back our hoods and unstrap our masks.
The four faces of the men I’ve grown up with in this underground organization stare back at me, each with a rare smile on their face.
“You have finally found your flash bonded, no?” Battista confirms proudly.
