~PROLOGUE

"Riders on the Storm" Rob Thomas version

The door came to a screeching halt as he sat down in his cell. It wouldn't be long until his sons saved him. He was buying his time, knowing they were waiting for the perfect opportunity. And once he was out he would again reign over the family—his family, la sua familia, his legacy.

There was no more Jan. There was no more accountability to anyone; no more strings being pulled or devices hanging over his head. He relished the thought of having his organization back. Just his.

He crumpled the newspaper in his hand as he stared at it, half smirking and half saddened by his tormented friend's demise. Aro Volturi didn't feel sorry for him, because honestly he didn't feel sorry for anyone. But he did remember when once they had been the best of friends and once he was the only person he could trust in the world. Once upon a time Jan Cullen was the only person who understood him, until they both let women rip them apart and seal the end of their friendship.

Aro and Jan were practically brothers at Columbia prep. They even won tennis doubles and played basketball together. They were always inseparable, Jan and Aro, Aro and Jan. And they were tied more tightly than most best friends as they had a similar affection that they confided in one another- they both hated their fathers, hated what they had become and hated that they would have to follow in their footsteps. Together they commiserated over the hands they were dealt. Sure they were both from wealthy families and had avoided the world war unlike most their age. But it didn't matter, Aro's father was a no-good drunk who squandered most of his earnings as a made man in his uncles' organization, and Jan's father was no better in making unwise investments.

But of course once he graduated from Columbia prep he was shipped off to Philadelphia to work his way up in the organization and eventually take over his father's place. Yet, what he thought he would hate, he grew to not only accept but love, thrive on, crave. He was a leader, feared and revered among other men. His uncles had been impressed and quickly recognized that he could take over even at his ripe young age.

His cousin Vito was a hot head and in jail at every turn and his other uncle had five daughters. It wasn't before long that the uncles realized what an asset they had in young Aro. He was no longer simply rising in the ranks and hoping to become a made man. No, he was now being groomed to take over one day—as the new Don of the organization. He was a Volturi of course, and only a Volturi, with Volturi blood would ever be in charge of the expanse.

And so it began—his grooming, his preparation, his slow wield of power over the organization.

But then the uncles insisted that he must begin to look about carrying on the bloodline. Vito couldn't be trusted, his other cousin's were women and it was solely left to him. So they arranged a marriage with an old contact in Italy. The war wreaked havoc on Europe and he thought any woman would want him after coming from that. He never paid much time or attention to women, they were a nuisance really, a distraction.

Until that day in November of 1948. It was cold and rainy but the uncles insisted he meet her at the airport. He sat in waiting—impatiently—he had things to do, he was a Don in the making.

Just as he was about to huff and tell the driver to wait for her and get another ride back, his eyes caught sight of chestnut waves billowing around a perfect heart-shaped face. Her eyes were deep and dark, like a river of chocolate that he could get lost in and float away. His entire body responded to the woman before him as she stood there nervously looking around in her Sunday best—a beautiful navy wool suit that fit her petite frame perfectly. He couldn't help but admire the woman before him as she was nothing short of breathtaking.

He shook his head in a daze until he wondered, could it be her?

Could it be…Liona?

He stepped toward her and her eyes caught sight of him as he made his way. She trembled as she peered at him. He was older than her and appeared to be a very wealthy and commanding man. She could tell by the cut of his suit and the shine of his shoes that he was a man of power in this world and he shouldn't be crossed. He had a dark look in his eyes, however, she wasn't sure whether to fear or admire it.

Their eyes locked and as desire raced through his body nervousness sped through hers.

She feared him. She was sure of it after only a moment and she immediately thought the entire situation amiss.

But she took a deep breath and thought back to her father's words.

"Make me proud my dear; it's your only way out of this place." She had nodded and squeezed her father tightly as tears welled in her eyes. With one final good-bye she stepped off the platform and onto her train for Rome and eventually a flight to the United States.

She always knew her father was into something more than the shoe factory he ran in Naples. She knew they wouldn't have survived the war and the wrath of Mussolini otherwise. But she just couldn't think of her padre that way—Franco Mancini was a smart man—so smart he kept his family insulated as best he could from the outside world. Instead she fingered her pendant that he gave her at her Conferma. Her mother died when she was thirteen of the cancer and she became her father's right hand to help raise her seven younger brothers and sisters. She would miss them so, but she willed the tears away as she tried not to think about it.

As she stood before the man then, she tried to do the same. Something in her body was screaming at her that it was all a mistake, but the way he looked at her made her hope that someday she would feel the same way.

Aro extended his hand and offered it to her as her espresso brown eyes worried in anticipation. At the instant touch he was completely consumed by her and she was terrified all the same. But then it didn't matter. She was there in America with no way to turn back.

Of course it followed that in the short time she met his family and was swept into his lavish lifestyle she tried to love or at least care for the man. Yet, he was obsessive and possessive with her. He watched her every move by his guards, the other wives and his watchmen, and she knew. She knew with time, even after the first few months, she would never escape.

As soon as she became his wife and played the role of his perfect other half, it became all the more apparent just the type of man Aro Volturi was. It was apparent from his business dealings and the men who came through their doors that she supposedly never saw or heard.

But Liona could see them all in her mind—all of the black suits that came through their door at all hours of the day and night. She tried to turn a blind eye, tried to become the woman he expected, but her heart just couldn't commit to it. She didn't love him and after only months of marriage and the few times she displeased him, she knew she never could. The suits would come and the whispers would begin as the smoke from their cigars snaked out from under the door.

Yet she was Italian and the one thing they didn't know was that Aro's office was connected with her bedroom through a vent. She could hear their chatter and their discussions late into the evening. She could hear Jan, that loathsome, evil man. And she could hear their discussions of things beyond compare.

But, one man in particular was very troubling. Aro called him the Spaniard but he had a strange accent, almost as if he wasn't Spanish at all. He spoke of "il distruttore" and "la sua giaguari" and the fact that his men followed him blindly and without question. She never could catch his name though. He was the most secretive, coming only in the middle of the night so that she only knew his voice.

She listened intently, trying to determine just what her husband was to these men. She would never forget that night, the one that confirmed Aro's status in the underworld. The title the men bestowed upon him as more than a usual amount gathered in his lair.

Don.

Come Capone.

And with that she knew the kind of family she married into. She knew her father had connections that she never thought imaginable. And she knew…she had to escape. She began her diaries and writings of every man who passed through his door. Even if she couldn't speak the language, even if she couldn't always understand, she understood enough.

Enough to know they were murderers, enough to know they were evil disgusting gun-runners, and rapists and dealers of the black market. Enough to know without a doubt that her father had been one of them as well.

So not knowing what else to do with the information, she began to write. She kept it all in her diaries, their voices, their looks, their languages, their discussions. Everything.

Knowing one day it would enable her freedom.

She just had to wait. She had to outlast Aro's anger that she hadn't produced him a son. She had to pretend to love him in the same way that he obsessively devoured her in every presence. She had to endure the back of his hand when he came home drunk or took from her the most precious of her as he pleased.

So she endured and she listened, and watched, and wrote, and waited.

Until that fateful day, the day when she heard them talking. Aro and the Spaniard as well as Jan and several other of his compadres. It was once again the middle of the night, but they were discussing a murder. And this time it wasn't just of one of the opposing families or of a low level man who turned.

No, this was of a high-ranking official. A "representative" as they said. She didn't know much about politics or America but she knew this was a prominent man.

Yet the next day, she went on as though nothing ever happened. She went to the club to lunch with the other wives in the Chanel suit Aro insisted she wore. As she sat she mulled over the new facts. She hadn't slept a wink the night before. Luckily the other wives spoke Italian so she could understand them, but when she wanted to daze she could tune them out when they switched to English, which she wasn't fluent in yet, and talked of shopping and manicures and hairstyles of the time. It was her only time out, away from their fortified mansion and away from Aro—her brief lunches and her short stints to run a few errands.

That day, she couldn't help but notice a man sitting at the table next to them. He was by himself, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the paper. It was very unlike someone to read the newspaper at lunch, she thought, but he looked as though he was perfectly content. She couldn't help but take in his dark hair and rugged chin. He was fit, she could see through his tailored suit, and looked as though he belonged in one of those Hollywood movies rather than at the uppity club outside Philadelphia.

Her breath caught as she looked at him and she couldn't explain her reaction, she only knew one thing.

He was simply dazzling.

Liona couldn't take her eyes off of him and once he glanced up to see her, his penetrating blue eyes pierced into hers, she had no choice but to look away. But not before she could see the softness in his face, the caring behind his debonair exterior.

She slipped back into the conversation, trying not to look at the man or notice her breath quicken or her pulse racing beneath her skin.

What was this feeling? Surely she had never felt it before and surely not just because of the look of a man.

But every day for the next month as she lunched, she noticed he was there. Either in his navy or his pinstripe suits so perfectly tailored to his sharp frame. Liona tried to pay attention, tried to converse with the wives, but she couldn't help the draw to the man. To a man whom she'd never spoken to, didn't know his name and shouldn't even be looking at. Aro would surely make her pay if he found out about that.

Yet one day she excused herself to use the restroom, simply hoping to have some reprieve from her stifling life, the constant watch of Aro or his men or the wives. And as she stepped down the hallway to splash some water on her face and collect herself she could feel a presence.

"Mrs. Volturi isn't it?" A smooth voice asked behind her and she turned to look at him. Now that he was beside her and not seated she could see how powerful and truly magnificent he was.

"Si…Um…yes." She sputtered.

"Liona perhaps?" He asked then.

She nodded again and he extended his hand. And as hers met his and his lips kissed the back of it, a spark of electricity raced through her body and she felt as though she was set aflame. His eyes widened at the same time hers did and it was at that moment she knew she was forever changed.

And so it began, from one simple meeting in the hallway, to secret lunches with her new friend "Patricia" that she fabricated to get away from Aro and the wives. She would take longer to get her hair done, or go "shopping" only to meet him at his place.

She made sure she wasn't followed, always taking a back entrance or a quick escape. But she couldn't stay away from him. And as he slowly revealed himself and she the same, she came to grow close to him, to admire him and to desire him in a way she had never wanted another man.

Then one day he laid it all on the line for her. It was three months after they met. He was FBI, he knew who she was because he had been investigating her husband. With her diligent study of English the last few months, she was becoming better and better and she could understand his fear in telling her.

But she had to ensure him that she didn't love Aro, she wouldn't rat him out and instead, she wanted an escape. As the next few months progressed she came to love him, she was sure of it. Patrick was her only light in the dark world she entered when she came to the United States. So when he proposed the idea of faking her death, she wanted nothing more than to go along with it. And then he confessed that he shouldn't be so involved, but he was in love with her, and if she wanted him, he would come with her as well.

She stood speechless, unbelieving that a man so wonderful as him could feel the same way about her. She was a mere immigrant, the wife of a disgusting evil man. How could he want her?

But he did. And so she went and she never looked back.

Until she realized not long after her escape that she had finally bore a child to Aro. After all the trials and tribulations, after all of the heartache, she was pregnant. But it was a child she was determined he would never meet. The child wasn't bore of love and devotion, it was bore of power and greed and she would never let her child be exposed to that. Patrick agreed and agreed that he would claim the child as his own. He set up their cover, all the while careful to make sure Aro would never find her.

And he never did. He never found her even though she was only in New York, not far from him and not far from his evil friend Jan.

Of all the suits, of all the men other than the Spaniard she hated him the most. For as much as she despised Aro, she feared and loathed Jan for the power he had over her life when she was with him. She knew of Aro and Jan's fallout over Seraphina. And yet, once she escaped, she never thought of Jan or Aro or Seraphina again.

But Aro did. And Aro thought of Liona every day for the rest of his life from when he found out about her tragic "death."

He could still remember the phone call to her father Franco. When he notified Franco, he was devastated. He knew the family's old contacts in Italy were still fruitful. Even though Franco was beside himself over Liona's death, Aro reconnected the ties for the family. Eventually Franco's eldest son became a made man and soon enough he had his own stronghold in the Naples contingent. The 50s and 60s proved fruitful for the black market as the technology of the times made it much easier to ship and smuggle the drugs and weapons they brought in. Yet the Feds weren't as advanced as the crime families and the Volturis were always one step ahead.

But as his organization became more powerful and he ran more drugs and guns and black market product than he could have ever imagined, he never truly had control. He had the silent partner he always had to contend with. Really he was a silent dictator, ordering Aro in ways he never could have imagined. And Aro knew it was all his own fault. He knew he would never escape the hold Jan had on him.

It was all his fault for taking away Jan's precious Seraphina.

He never loved Sera, he just ran out of options as he aged. Sera was a whore to say it kindly. But Jan was in love with her for some reason. It happened the first year in Philadelphia, long before Liona and long before his life as a don really took place.

He thought he would prove a point by showing his friend how much she didn't care that she would even sleep with him. Of course it all backfired, and Jan turned vindictive, cruel and most of all relentless in his revenge on Aro. He held him under his thumb for the rest of his life. And a part of him was saddened that he knew he created the monster of a man. Jan married cold heartless Sasha and it forever fractured their friendship. Even once Liona came and Sera was no longer in the picture, it still didn't matter.

But then Liona died and everything went to hell. He didn't care about anything anymore. He drank himself into a stupor countless nights on end. The uncles became worried that the family would never continue. Until one night Sera showed up on his doorstep with her two young boys in hand, her young boys sired by his worthless cousin Vito who was again in jail. She asked him for a place to stay, saying she could give him what he needed as they held Volturi blood and he her. They had both been through torment the last few years.

So he took her up on her offer and began to live the lie. He remarried and treated the boys as if they were his. They never had any other kids. In reality, it was Aro who had difficulty fathering children, something he learned decades later. He was humbled to find out it wasn't his precious Liona's fault for not giving him a child, it was likely his.

Aro sighed in relief and frustration. Soon, soon, he kept telling himself as he sat in his cell, his mind racing with the events of the last sixty years.

He looked down again at the paper, seeing the picture of Jan as well as his son and family across the spread. He had heard of the interviews that Carlisle did, he knew how they didn't have any part in it—of course he always had. Nevertheless he couldn't help but notice the one picture that was missing from the spread.

Edward and his precious Bella and the sacred child that they now surely had. There was mere mention of the pair and the grandchild, but no picture in the spread. He wanted more than anything to see her, he had never actually seen her in person but he saw her picture. He knew it from the moment Phil Dwyer handed it over that she came from his precious Liona. She was practically an exact replica of his long lost wife. And when he saw the picture he was at once enraged, shattered, elated and speechless at the same time. Staring back at him in all her dark eyes and creamy pale skin had been his precious Liona's flesh.

He knew she had never died, deep into the pits of his dark soul he always knew his Liona was out there somewhere and the picture hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. It brought his years of torment and longing to a raging head. He was outraged that he had not found her before and demanded to know where and how Phil Dwyer, the no good gambler, washed-up baseball star, of all people, had this picture. The foolish bettor was hardly a threat, he was simply another cog in the wheel of the organization, but he had no idea the gem he stumbled upon. Then to find out it was his step-daughter made Aro all the more shocked by the revelation. Here she was not only alive and well, but Liona had likely been right under his fingertips all these years.

But before he could act on it, the Feds began closing in. He sent his "sons" off to his old contact in Venezuela and his men snuck them into Brazil. Johan was no longer as powerful either as he had joined the prison not long after Aro. Then he found out the unthinkable had happened, he and Liona had created a child. He had a biological son, against all science and wisdom, and the girl in the picture staring back at him had not just been Liona's granddaughter, but his as well.

But by then it was too late, Jan tightened the noose around his neck and had him right where he wanted him. He couldn't risk sending someone to speak with his long lost son or grandson, yet he knew he had to protect them at all costs from the claws of Jan Cullen.

Still, he vowed, one day, one day he would meet her and he would look into the eyes of one of the two true flesh and blood he had on this planet. Even if her assassin husband threatened him to the ends of the earth, he would meet her just to see her face once again. He knew of Edward's protectiveness, he knew he was as relentless as his grandfather, albeit in an entirely different realm and for different reasons. But he didn't fear him, if anything he wished him luck in protecting his long lost granddaughter and great-grandchild. But it didn't change that he would be out, sooner rather than later, and he would meet her if it was the last thing he did.

Aro closed the paper and sat back in his cell. He would bide his time. He would wait patiently, and eventually he would be out again. And this time he would truly be free. He would be free of Jan and free of the Draconis and free of the Buxton group men as well. He didn't care if he had to do it in hiding; he didn't care if he was the silent don the next time around. No, he would simply rise back to power and reclaim his place in the underworld. He would reign over his family and the Volturi would rise again.

XXXX