Luciano stared out over the Palermo skyline, the city now eerily quiet in the aftermath of Giovanni's death. Power shifted fast in this world. Like wolves sensing weakness, the remaining factions had gone silent—not out of fear, but because they were waiting. Waiting to see whether the king would stumble... or if they should kneel.
His reflection stared back at him through the glass window—sharp suit, cold eyes, a man carved from ambition and violence. Yet something had changed. Something was different now.
Behind him, soft footsteps echoed.
Ariana stepped into the room, hair damp from the shower, wearing one of his shirts that hung loosely against her skin. Her bare legs peeked out from beneath the hem, and for a brief moment, Luciano's hardened mind slipped. She was chaos and calm wrapped in silk. And he was utterly addicted.
"You're thinking too loud," she murmured, walking up to him.
His hand slid around her waist, pulling her against him without looking. "Can't help it."
"You should try," she whispered, pressing her face to his back. "It's over... Giovanni's gone."
Luciano sighed, fingers tightening slightly. "It's never over, Ariana. Cutting off one head just makes room for another."
She turned him gently to face her, hands sliding up his chest. "You can't fight shadows all your life."
"Maybe," he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear, "but shadows are all I've ever known."
Before she could answer, his phone buzzed.
A message.
No name. No number. Just coordinates.
And three words that set his blood cold.
> "Come. Alone. Urgent."
His fingers tightened on the phone.
Ariana noticed. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he lied smoothly, tucking the phone into his pocket. "Just business."
Her brows pulled together, sensing the shift in him. "Luciano..."
His thumb traced her cheek. "I'll be back soon."
Ariana grabbed his wrist before he pulled away. "Promise me."
His jaw tensed. "I promise."
He kissed her forehead—soft, lingering—then turned toward the door, his mind already calculating the hundred ways this could be a trap.
And yet... he was still going.
The address led him to the outskirts of the city. An abandoned factory, crumbling brick, steel beams rusted with time. The place reeked of set-ups and bad decisions. Yet Luciano stepped inside, gun tucked under his jacket, every sense sharpened.
The main floor was empty. Except for one figure.
A man stood there, tall, dressed in all black, face shadowed beneath a low-brim hat.
Luciano's fingers hovered over his holster. "If you've brought me here to die... you should've brought more men."
The man chuckled—a low, dark sound. "Relax, De Luca. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be bleeding."
"Then talk."
The man stepped forward, finally letting the light hit his face.
Luciano's eyes narrowed.
"You," he growled.
It was Alessandro Romano. Valentina's older brother. Presumed dead. Years ago.
But no corpse ever surfaced.
"I'm supposed to believe you're alive?" Luciano asked coldly.
"Believe it." Alessandro lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. "And believe this... Giovanni was never your biggest threat."
Luciano's fingers curled into fists. "Then who?"
Alessandro's eyes darkened. "There's someone else. Someone bigger. Giovanni was just a pawn... just like Petrov... just like Grimaldi. You've been fighting the wrong war."
Luciano's voice dropped. "Then tell me who."
Alessandro flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot.
"I will... but it comes with a price."
Luciano's stare sharpened. "Everything has a price."
"Good," Alessandro smirked. "Because this one... is going to cost you everything."