The Billion Dollar Marriage (TKBT-1)

Prologue

Prologue

Amidst a thick, swirling fog, his silhouette spun gracefully around his foot, bent his knees, and leaped into the air, launching the ball from the heel of his hand toward the basket ten feet away. Years of practiced footwork made the shot seem effortless.

It might seem like just a basketball, but it had been his loyal companion, guiding him through every stage of his life. It had witnessed his blood, sweat, and tears, but it also fueled his drive and determination to keep moving forward.

The fog threatened to swallow it, shrouding it in the encroaching darkness. As the temperature dropped, the hair on his arms bristled in response. His warrior's physique seemed to demand action, eager to fight for its true purpose.

It was a dangerous and forbidden game—a tug of war between what he wanted and what was expected of him. A war he vehemently dreamt of fighting but knew would be his suicide mission.

He was cautioned not to get attached, warned not to let it become a weakness, and ordered to remain ever aware of the legacy that awaited him. The call of this legacy had echoed behind his ears since his first breath, gripped the trigger on his first birthday, and taught him to load, fire, and eject by his fifth birthday.

The rest of his birthdays blurred into a series of introductions and indoctrinations into the workings of weaponry: handguns, revolvers, rifles, and machine guns—all marvels of the arms industry designed to confront the orb that sought to claim its rightful place.

From an early age, the decision was clear: be strong, be cunning, be ruthless, for weapons would be both your savior and your doom. In a world that was as cutthroat as it was paradoxical, survival meant choosing between trading your hand for a firearm or your heart for a bullet. This was no place for a round, spherical basketball, but rather for the resolve of a man who embraced the compelling fear of his enemies.

On the outdoor court, Anton Rhodolfo Knight stood, staring at the hoop just out of reach because he couldn't move. His legs were bound to the pavement, his duty and honor cementing him to his responsibilities.

With his eyes closed, he envisioned a vibrant, illuminated court, the roar of enthusiastic fans, his teammates dribbling and passing the ball, and himself making that decisive shot—the one that would take him to the Big Leagues. But the crack of a gunshot shattered his youthful dream, jolting him awake to the harsh, bloody reality.

You aren't meant to be a plaything. You are meant to make the world your plaything.

For his grandfather and father, sports had been a plaything—a thing for entertainment, not for salvation.

Anton's upcoming game was supposed to be his salvation. It was the game the scouts had been watching closely because he was in it, because he was the one they wanted—his coach had made that clear. But Father would prefer to put a bullet in him than let him pursue a career in basketball. Yet Father would never dirty his hands with the blood of his firstborn; instead, he would use the famiglia to coerce him.

Born to be a protector, a mastermind, and the heir to a dynasty that would arm itself to protect what needed protecting.

"Famiglia vuol dire tutto." His mother had whispered this every night before he fell asleep. He had memorized it, drilled it into his mind, and let the words flow through his veins.

"Family means everything." His father's grim voice had echoed this sentiment, a reminder of the duty and honor passed down through generations.

The gate of the basketball court creaked open, foreshadowing the cage that lay ahead. Turning, he faced his younger brother. The despair in his brother's eyes shattered any illusions, causing Anton to grip the basketball even tighter. Then his younger brother spoke the words that sealed his fate.

"He needs you."

Once again, his body was prepared for an attack, muscles humming with the decade-old call. But he knew he could no longer pursue both paths. He had to choose one and leave the other behind.

Slowly and bitterly, his grip loosened, and the ball fell to the pavement with an ominous thump.

He strode forward, embracing his fate and his dynasty, taking his place in the world—and leaving behind a dream, an identity, a part of himself.

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