Page 26

LUCA

T he drive back to the estate feels long. Marco sits silently beside me. Sofia’s smirk, her defiant words, still echo in my head. “She’s scared, Luca,” Marco says eventually, cautiously. “You know that, right?”

“Fear is a weapon,” I reply curtly. “But it can also be a weakness.”

Marco doesn’t respond, and I don’t care to elaborate. I’ve said what needed to be said.

The road stretches ahead, dark and winding, the headlights carving through the shadows. As the silence thickens, my mind pulls me back—to the past, to lessons learned the hard way.

All of a sudden, I’m twelve years old, standing in the middle of a bloodstained warehouse. My father looms over me, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that feels like it could swallow me whole.

“Do you know what mercy gets you, Luca?” he growls, holding my chin in his iron grip. His voice is sharp, guttural, each word a hammer driving the point home.

I shake my head, the fear making my body tremble.

“It gets you dead.”

He gestures to the man kneeling on the ground, blood dripping from his nose, his hands tied behind his back. “This man betrayed the family. And what happens to those who betray us?”

“They die,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“Louder!”

“They die!”

My father lets me go and steps back, pulling the gun from his holster. He holds it out to me, the weight of it heavier than I expect. “Then do it. Show me you understand what it means to lead.”

I hesitate, my finger hovering over the trigger. The man looks up at me, his eyes pleading, his lips trembling as he mutters prayers under his breath.

“Luca,” my father snaps, “do it. Or I’ll shoot you both.”

The shot rings out before I even register pulling the trigger.

The man slumps forward, lifeless. My hands shake as I lower the gun, my chest heaving.

My father places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Good. You remember this moment, boy. Mercy is for the weak. And we are never weak.”

The memory burns like a brand. The lessons my father taught me weren’t optional; they were about survival. Violence wasn’t just the means, it was the foundation. The flashback leaves a sour taste in my mouth

Valentina will have to make peace with this life. She doesn’t have a choice. None of us do.

I don’t miss the irony of it. The same values I had once cursed my father for forcing on me are the ones that now shape my decisions, that guide every move I make. I was forged in fire, and now, I expect Valentina to walk through her own.

But the softness I’ve allowed myself—the stolen moments of peace, the rare vulnerability I’ve shown her—they’ve left cracks in the armor I’ve spent years perfecting.

I can’t afford cracks. My jaw tightens. The softness dies here.

The sleek black sedan glides through the city streets like a shark cutting through water.

I lean back in the leather seat and channel my focus to my tablet as Marco taps away on his phone beside me.

“Interesting woman, Sofia,” Marco says suddenly, his tone casual but just pointed enough to grab my attention.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, then return my gaze to the screen. “She’s trouble.”

Marco smirks, undeterred. “Most interesting women are.”

The sound of Dante shifting in the passenger seat catches my attention. His eyes flick to me in the rearview mirror, always watchful. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his amusement.

“She’s Valentina’s best friend,” I remind Marco dryly. “If you pursue her, tread carefully. She’s loyal to Valentina, but she has a penchant for rebellion. A woman like that doesn’t bend easily.”

“And yet Valentina’s here,” Marco points out, arching a brow.

“She’s here because I don’t give her a choice,” I snap, annoyed. Not that this doesn’t make me feel like shit, but what can I do about it?

Marco raises his hands in mock surrender, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a grin. “Noted, big brother.”

I return my attention to the tablet, but Marco’s words stir something uncomfortable. It’s true—Valentina is here because I’ve forced her to be. But forcing someone to stay doesn’t mean they’re truly yours.

Is she my prisoner?

I shake my head. The conversation shifts as we turn onto the highway, the cityscape melting into the industrial outskirts.

Dante clears his throat. “We need to finalize the plans for the docks,” he says, his tone all business now.

“Still running into issues with the permits?” Marco asks.

Dante nods. “The authorities are tightening their oversight. We need a way to divert attention, at least temporarily.”

“Then we bribe the inspectors or replace them,” I say without looking up. “What’s the point of controlling this city if we can’t control its pawns?”

Marco chuckles. “Always so pragmatic, Luca.”

“It’s not pragmatism,” I reply. “It’s survival.”

Dante nods in agreement. “We’ve also got interest from the eastern syndicate. They’re asking for a bigger cut if we want them to back the expansion.”

“They’re getting greedy,” Marco mutters.

“They’ll take what we give them,” I say flatly. “Remind them where the real power lies. If they want more, they can earn it by proving their loyalty.”

Marco and Dante exchange a glance but don’t argue.

The phone in my pocket buzzes, and I pull it out, glancing at the name on the screen. Enzo Moretti.

“Pull over,” I tell Dante.

I answer the call. “Enzo.”

“Luca,” comes the reply, smooth but with a hint of unease. “We have a problem.”

“Define ‘problem’,” I say irritably.

“There’s been movement in the south,” Enzo says. “The Rossi family is testing boundaries again. They’ve sent men into territory that isn’t theirs.”

“How many?”

“Enough to make a statement,” Enzo replies. “They’re not trying to stay hidden. They want us to know they’re there.”

“How do you suggest we handle it?” I ask.

Enzo pauses, his voice lowering. “Before we get to that…there’s something you should know. I’ve been looking into Antonio Russo’s death, like you asked.”

My breath slows, my fingers tightening around the phone. “And?”

“It wasn’t just gambling debts, Luca,” Enzo says grimly. “Antonio was helping us. For years. He fed us information on the Rossis, kept us ahead of their moves. His debts were real, but that wasn’t why he was killed. The Rossis found out what he was doing.”

The revelation strikes like a hammer to my chest. Antonio Russo—a man I’d dismissed as weak and self-serving—had been working for us, and he paid the ultimate price for it. “Why didn’t we know this sooner?” I ask, my voice deadly quiet.

“They covered their tracks well,” Enzo admits. “And let’s be honest, no one looked too deeply. Everyone assumed it was the debts.”

Anger flares hot and fast, twisting through me. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to think clearly. Antonio’s death wasn’t just a loss, it was a message. A strike against the Salvatore family, one that I obviously failed to see.

“Do the Rossis know I’m aware of this?”

“No,” Enzo says. “Not yet.”

“Good,” I reply. “Keep it that way. We’ll use that to our advantage when the time comes.”

“What about Valentina?” Enzo asks carefully.

“What about her?” I say, though my mind is already racing.

“She’s his daughter, Luca. If she finds out…”

“She won’t,” I cut him off. “Not until I decide what to do with this information.”

Another pause. Then Enzo says, “Understood.”

I hang up.

“What’s the news?” Marco asks, watching me carefully.

“The Rossis are testing us again,” I say flatly.

“Anything else?” Marco’s voice drops, his tone wary.

“No.”

Dante propels us through the night toward home.

At last, we reach the estate, its towering facade bathed in the stark, icy glow of the security lights.

As the engine idles, I remain seated for a moment, gripping the door handle.

My reflection stares back at me in the tinted window—sharp lines, dark eyes, and a tense jaw.

The man in the glass looks more like my father than I care to admit.

“Luca?” Dante turns to glance at me from the front seat, his expression carefully neutral. He knows better than to press, but I can sense his unease.

“I’m fine,” I say curtly, pushing the door open and stepping out.

The cold air bites at my face as I adjust my jacket, the weight of the past hour settling on my shoulders like an iron shroud. Antonio Russo’s loyalty complicates everything. But none of it matters as much as the woman waiting inside that house.

My chest tightens at the thought of her. The way her fire matches mine, her sharp tongue, her refusal to bend, it drives me mad. And yet, it pulls me in like nothing else ever has. But her defiance? Her repeated attempts to run? That ends tonight.

I stride toward the massive oak doors, Marco falling into step beside me.

“Dante,” I say over my shoulder. “Have the guards double-check the perimeter tonight. I want no surprises.”

“Understood,” Dante replies, already on his phone as he walks away.

Marco doesn’t leave, though. He matches my pace, his gaze flicking to my face. “You’re quiet.”

I glance at him. “And you’re nosy.”

His grin is fleeting but genuine. “Family trait.”

The corners of my mouth twitch, but I force the reaction down. Now is not the time for levity.

We step into the grand hall, the warmth of the estate doing little to thaw the cold knot in my chest. The chandeliers above cast long, glittering shadows, and the faint murmur of staff echoes from somewhere down the hall.

I stop, my shoes scuffing against the polished floor. “Leave me, Marco.”

He hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Go,” I repeat.

With a shrug, he walks off, his footsteps fading into the distance. Alone now, I square my shoulders and ascend the sweeping staircase. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of my anger and frustration building with every moment.

When I reach the door to the study, I don’t knock. It’s my house, my kingdom, and I don’t need permission to enter. I push the door open, the hinges creaking softly.

The room is dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the dark wood paneling. Valentina is sitting in one of the leather armchairs by the window, her legs tucked beneath her, a book open on her lap. She looks up as I enter, her expression guarded.

“Enjoying your alone time?” I ask, my voice colder than I intend.

Her lips press into a thin line. “If you’re here to lecture me again, save it.”

I take a step closer, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. “You think this is a game, Valentina? Running from me? From this life?”

“I think it’s my life,” she snaps, standing up and setting the book aside. “And I should have a say in how I live it.”

Damn this woman and damn how livid she makes me. “You had a choice before you married me. Now, your choices affect more than just you.”

Her hand drifts to her stomach almost unconsciously, and my eyes follow the motion.

The reminder of what’s at stake douses my rage.

“You’re carrying my child,” I say, my voice dropping.

“You think I’ll let you endanger them? Run to some fantasy of freedom while leaving behind the only protection they’ll ever have? ”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t back down. “Protection? You call this protection? A life surrounded by violence, by men who would kill us both if they thought it would serve their purposes?”

I step closer, so close I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat. “Yes. Because I know this world, and I control it. No one touches what’s mine without paying the price.”

The words hang between us.

“You don’t get it,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “This isn’t about control. It’s about the life we’ll give our child. I don’t want them growing up in fear, Luca.”

“And I don’t want them growing up weak,” I counter, my voice like steel. “They’ll have everything—power, protection, a legacy. You can’t take that from them, Valentina.”

Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, the fire in her eyes falters. But then she squares her shoulders, lifting her chin.

“And if I can’t do this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You will,” I say, stepping back toward the door. “Because there’s no other option.”

Without waiting for her response, I turn and leave, closing the door behind me.

But somehow, as I walk down the hall, her words linger, gnawing at the edges of my mind. For the first time in years, a crack splits through my iron resolve, and a cold and unwelcome feeling seeps in.

It’s a while before I can put a name to it. Doubt .