New York hadn't changed.
Same flashing lights. Same lies in tailored suits. Same shadows filled with ghosts that whispered his name.
Luciano walked into the city like a man reborn from fire. The scars on his body no longer a secret—just a warning.
He had nothing left to lose… except Grace.
And that made him more dangerous than ever.
---
Midnight.
He stood outside the old church on East 47th—the place where it all started. Where he first swore loyalty to the Moretti family. Where his cousin Dante had crowned himself king while digging graves for the loyal.
Inside waited betrayal.
And Luciano wasn't walking in to talk.
He was walking in to end it.
---
The doors creaked open.
Four men flanked Dante at the altar. Gold rings. Gold guns. Empty hearts.
Luciano didn't blink. "Didn't expect you to hide in God's house, cousin."
Dante stood, slow and smug. "God left this city a long time ago."
Luciano smiled coldly. "Then you won't mind dying in his house."
Gunfire erupted. It was chaos. Metal. Blood. Stone splintering.
Luciano didn't miss.
Three men dropped.
The fourth tackled him—but he was ready. A knife slid out from under his sleeve, finding flesh. The man screamed. Luciano didn't.
Then it was just him and Dante.
---
"You're a ghost," Dante spat, backing toward the altar. "I made the world believe you were dead."
"You made me believe it."
A pause.
"You always thought you were the better man," Dante said. "But you're not. You're just more violent."
Luciano tilted his head. "Violence saved your life once, remember? The night you tried to slit your wrists and I took the blame for the blood?"
Dante flinched.
"Yeah," Luciano said. "I remember too."
Dante raised his gun—but he was too slow.
Luciano shot him through the shoulder.
The king fell.
---
One week later.
The cabin was quiet.
Grace was planting herbs behind the shed. Trying not to look at the spots where blood once soaked the soil. Trying not to check her phone for messages that hadn't come.
Then… she heard it.
A car.
Her breath caught.
She turned—and there he was.
Luciano.
Bruised. Worn. Alive.
And in his eyes? Something new.
Peace. And her.
---
"You came back," she breathed.
He stepped out of the car slowly, his voice hoarse. "Told you I would."
She ran to him, colliding into his chest.
He held her like a man who knew what it meant to lose everything—and just got a second chance.
"I killed my cousin," he whispered.
"I figured."
"I'm not a good man, Grace."
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.
"Good men don't survive in your world. But maybe a sinner with something to live for can."
He kissed her like it was a vow.
And for once, he wasn't running from the past.
He was choosing the future.
With her.
---