Chapter 149: The Making Of The Don

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[Lorenzo Castelli]

The scar beside the man’s mouth was unmistakable, and for one suspended moment, the room faded away, replaced by memories of blood, restraints, and his mother’s final words.

He could still hear the wet sound of the knife sinking into her neck, still see the blood pouring across the blue dress, still feel the hot spray of his own blood as the same man had carved open his chest.

Lorenzo went as still as a corpse as his hearts started beating rapidly.

No, no, no, no!

Frederick stepped closer and handed Lorenzo a knife.

"You watched how he killed your mother," he said. "Do the same to him."

Lorenzo stared at the blade.

He had imagined confronting this man countless times, usually in the quiet hours when anger was his only tool against nightmares, but actually standing before him felt different from anything he had prepared for.

He didn’t want to kill anyone.

He wanted his mother back and to relive an afternoon when Matteo had complained about losing a game and Isotta had laughed, holding a stuffed rabbit against her stomach.

But neither wish could come true.

"I... Father...I can’t–" Lorenzo stuttered, "This won’t bring Mamma back–"

Frederick’s voice turned hard as Lorenzo hesitated.

"If you can’t kill those who threaten your family and loved ones, you will spend your life watching them die!"

Lorenzo searched his father’s face, hoping for some sign that these words were meant to terrify him rather than teach him, but Frederick’s expression remained unwavering.

"DO IT NOW!"

At fourteen, Lorenzo still hoped his father could show him how to survive in this world without becoming part of its cruelty.

Instead, Frederick was offering him a lesson that had already cost their family everything.

With trembling hands, Lorenzo stepped forward.

The man looked up at him, eyes wide with sudden recognition and fear.

"You," the leader whispered. "The quiet one... the...the boy who tried to bargain."

Lorenzo said nothing.

He drove the knife into the man’s neck the same way the man had driven it into his mother’s.

The blade sank deep. Hot blood immediately soaked his hand. The man made a wet, choking sound and tried to double over, but the guards held him upright.

Lorenzo twisted the knife, feeling the resistance of muscle and the sudden give as it tore deeper. Blood poured over his fingers in thick, warm streams.

The man’s eyes locked on his, full of panic and pain, exactly the way his mother’s had been in those final seconds.

Lorenzo pulled the knife free and stabbed again, higher this time, closer to the heart. The second thrust was harder, messier.

The man gurgled, blood spilling from his mouth, and his body jerked violently before going still.

When he finally stepped away, his hands shook so violently he nearly dropped the knife, staring at the blood dripping from the blade as if it belonged to someone else.

That night, he took his first human life.

In the years that followed, he accompanied his father to meetings that ended in executions, learned to spot betrayal before it could become dangerous, and eventually began carrying out punishments without needing Frederick’s oversight.

The underworld gave him a name that traveled beyond just his reputation, calling him The Castelli Executioner, and men who once mocked the quiet boy in the mansion learned to fear the man he had become.

Lorenzo never corrected them.

Fear was useful, and unlike love, it didn’t require him to trust anyone.

Years later, after the family had moved away from Italy and settled in their current country, Frederick told him he wouldn’t inherit the Don title until he found a wife or else it would go to Dante.

Lorenzo viewed this condition as an unnecessary complication; he’d spent years mastering the management of an empire and couldn’t understand why marriage should be a benchmark for leadership.

"An heir must know the responsibilities of family-building," Frederick explained.

"I understand responsibility."

"You grasp security, strategy, and punishment. That’s not the same, son."

Lorenzo disliked that implication, mostly because he feared Frederick had pinpointed a weakness he’d been trying to hide.

Still, he accepted the condition, set on becoming Don and gaining the authority he believed he needed to protect the family.

The first two females Omegas selected for him were just as unhappy with their arrangements as he was with the entire process.

When he discovered both were pressured into marriages they didn’t want, he quietly arranged for them to leave the country and pursue their own lives under different identities.

Helping them disappear to the point no one knew if they were still alive or if he had simply killed them like the monster everyone said he was.

He sought nothing in return, nor did he reveal what he had done.

Lorenzo understood what it meant for others to determine the path of your future, and while he had become ruthless in matters concerning the organization, he never developed a taste for forcing someone to remain where they didn’t want to be.

He just hadn’t realized how challenging it would be to uphold that belief when his own feelings were on the line.

Then Alex Sinclair entered his life.

Their marriage began as a bargain, a practical solution that met Frederick’s requirement while giving Alex the freedom his situation had denied him.

Not to mention the sweet, sweet seventy million.

Lorenzo thought he could fulfill his obligations without letting the marriage interfere with his carefully constructed life, a charmingly naive belief considering that Alex seemed intent on challenging every sensible choice he made.

Alex refused to be intimidated into silence, responded to questions with an honesty that occasionally bordered on self-sabotage, and had a knack for making sarcastic remarks in situations where most would prefer to safeguard their lives.

He was also kind to the staff, protective of those with less power, and brave in ways Lorenzo struggled to comprehend, because Alex could be scared of something but still refuse to allow that fear to dictate his choices.

Gradually, Lorenzo found himself anticipating their arguments, listening for Alex’s footsteps, and noticing even the smallest shifts in his expression.

Alex became the most important person to him, the one whose absence could turn a successful day into an unpleasant experience, and the first person since Isotta who seemed willing to look past the dangers surrounding him without denying they existed.

That realization terrified him.

For years, he had thought that protecting someone meant anticipating every threat, controlling every variable, and eliminating every possible risk.

With Alex, he began to see that protection could turn into another form of imprisonment if he didn’t allow room for the person he claimed to love.

It was a tough lesson, made even tougher by the fact that Alex had the stubbornness of several generations of Sinclair ancestors and appeared completely unfazed by Lorenzo’s reputation.

One evening, he found himself watching Alex sleep, an expression of quiet trust on his face as he rested, unburdened by the arguments that marked their days.

The scars beneath Lorenzo’s shirt had mostly faded into pale lines, but he could still recall the boy who believed if he tried hard enough, he could save everyone he loved.

He’d become powerful, feared, and almost impossible to catch off guard, yet none of those accomplishments had brought his mother back or erased the helplessness of that night.

Alex couldn’t be shielded from every hardship, and Lorenzo couldn’t promise that nothing would ever hurt him, no matter how many guards he employed or how many enemies he eliminated from existence.

For the first time, however, he began to wonder if love required something harder than control.

Maybe it meant standing by someone without dictating every step they took, providing safety while allowing for independence, and trusting them enough to let them stay by choice.

Lorenzo reached out and gently brushed a stray hair from Alex’s forehead, watching as Alex shifted in his sleep with a murmured word before settling back against the pillow.

A faint smile crept onto Lorenzo’s face.

He had spent most of his life learning to command people, yet the man beside him could unravel his composure with a single sarcastic remark about his cooking.

It was frustrating.

But it was also, Lorenzo was starting to realize, the closest thing to peace he had felt since his mother died.

For once, he didn’t try to control the future or calculate every possible danger lurking beyond the bedroom door.

Instead, he chose to stay beside Alex in the stillness of the night, holding on to the fragile realization that loving someone didn’t mean he could guarantee their safety forever.

It meant he would keep choosing them, even when fear whispered that letting them make their own choices was the most perilous thing he could do.