Luca's POV
I paced the warehouse floor, boot clicking beneath flickering lights, the air thick with mildew and unease. Every second ticked I my skull. Don Alessandro was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.
He never ran late. Not without a reason. Not unless something was wrong.
And that dam call earlier? It was from him? It was his number. But his voice sounded damn to cocky, I knew he was up to no good.
my gut twists. I didn't wait, I snapped orders like a machine—rounded up the car, signaled for the chopper. And I activate the tracker on his phone, I watched the red dot move slowly across the city map until it stopped at a goddamn cemetery. Of course.
My phone buzzed in my coat. I paid no heed to it. As dread itched beneath my skin. Not because I thought Alessandro was dead. Hell no. That bastard didn't die easily. He was too wicked for heaven, too stubborn for hell.
As we landed, the helicopter near the cemetery perimeter, the stench of iron and rot hit me before my boot touched ground. I gave out instructions on the comm, soldiers rounding up the cemetery for a search.
"East side," my comment crackled. "Two cars. four bodies."
I moved like a ghost, gun drawn, the coppery scent of blood hitting me before I even saw them.
The driver was the first I saw—one of ours. His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky.
The other three... unfamiliar.
I crouched beside them, studying their Black tactical gear, silencer still screwed on thier weapons. Precision, Professional killers.
My attention was snagged on a symbol inked into the neck of the man nearest me.
A tattoo. A faded ink. Coiled like viper around his throat. My blood ran cold. The Bratva.
This wasn't a random hit. This was a message.
I didn't need further confirmation. The missing money transfer. The stolen shipment. Now an ambush. Lose ends where starting to form a noose.
The Russians were making a move. But it's no longer hidden.
My phone buzzed again. For the second time. Annoyed, I yanked it out of my coat.
Lucia.
The name cracked something in me. I hadn't heard it in months. Was she back?
I answered, voice clipped. "Lucia," it wasn't the time for emotions. "What's going on? I couldn't reach Alessandro." Her voice tensed. But controlled.
"He's in danger. We lost contact. Last ping was near the cemetery."
"What?" Sounding shocked.
"We're sweeping the area. Two cars, four bodies, no sign of him. Wait, I think we found him. But he looks injured."
Then I hung up. There was still work to do.
"Cut these bastards up," I barked to my men. "Send the pieces to the Bratva. Gift wrapped with a message."
"What message?" one asked.
I turned, voice ice. "War's coming."
We loaded Alessandro onto the chopper. He's body slumped, but that glint in his eye—hell, I had seen it before. He looked like he had just walked out of hell.
His lips stretched into an eerie grin. "Luca," he rasped. "The Russians want to fuck with me."
He laughed. "They'll regret it."
If I wasn't used to him, I'd have pissed myself.
"I already sent them a gift. Bratva men, minced and bagged. Courtesy of you."
His smile widened. "Good man."
we touched down on the penthouse roof just after midnight. The wind howled off the edge of the building.
As we carried him inside. The place smelled like antiseptic already—our in-house medics stood waiting.
They moved fast, cutting away his shirt, cleaning the wound, checking vitals. I stayed close, gun ready. You never know who might follow a blood trail home.
Then the elevator dinged.
I lifted my weapon automatically, but the moment I saw her, my hand dropped.
Lucia. She stepped out, her grey eyes locking with mine. That cool, emotionless stare I knew too well. But even now, she was breathtaking. Her honey-brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her body graceful in that assassin way of hers—calm and lethal.
"Luca."
"Lucia."
That was it.
She brushed past like I wasn't there, beelining for Alessandro's side. I saw her cold mask crack for just a second as she touched his hand.
"What the hell happened?" she whispered.
He cracked one eye open. " Missed me."
"You're bleeding like a struck pig." She snapped
"Not the worst I've had," Don replied, taking a chug of his whiskey.
I turned away. They needed that moment. But I couldn't afford to stand still. Not now.
I stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and made the calls. Mobilizing our soldiers from Naples and Palermo.
This wasn't some hit. This was a declaration.
They targeted Alessandro. The mafia king.
The Russians wanted a war?
They just bought themselves a massacre.
Behind me, I heard Alessandro refuse the pain meds. "Just Whiskey," he demanded.
"You're insane," Lucia hissed.
He just smirked, downing the bottle they handed him.
I let their voices fade into the background, staring out at the city. We had a traitor amongst us. Someone who had tipped them off. And it was Someone close.
My mind started spinning through names. Allies. Soldiers. Staff. Everyone was a suspect. Then my thoughts went back to that Bratva tattoo. I'd seen it before. Once. Years ago.
On a man we'd left buried. Or so we thought.
I clenched my jaw. "They're rising from the ashes." Lucia stepped beside me silently, her arms crossed.
"I warned him," she said. "They've been testing our boundaries for months. But he wouldn't pull the trigger."
"He will now."
She looked at me then. Really looked. Her eyes softened slightly.
"You okay?"
I laughed without humor. "No. But I'll manage."
She gave a faint nod, then looked back at Alessandro. He was passed out. And bandaged, but he still clung to his whiskey bottle. That bastard. Hell couldn't hold him.
And if the Russians wanted to knock on the Devil's door...
I'd be the one holding it open.