Late winter night.
Every window of the Belloni estate wore heavy drapes.
Up on the hill,
the old stone walls held the smell of sea salt,
cigarette smoke… and a history stained with blood.
Luca sat alone in his study.
Half a bottle of whiskey on the desk.
A single crystal glass beside it.
Next to the fountain pen—an envelope.
Inside: the signed contract for today's first major deal, and
confirmation of funds wired to the new account.
He raised the glass.
Took a slow sip.
Still under his father Alessandro's shadow, yes.
But this—his first win—
had run through the mafia network under his own name.
Money the world would never see.
Power the world would never name.
Secrets only he knew.
The door opened without a knock.
A trace of jasmine and musk slipped in first—Bianca's scent.
"Don't I get to congratulate you?"
She leaned against the doorframe,
black velvet slip under a thin cardigan.
Sharp shoulders.
Eyes darker, holding an unsteady flame.
Luca set his glass down.
"What brings you here at this hour."
She crossed the room without answering.
"Mateo said… this was your day."
She took his glass, drank from it.
Her fingers brushed his hand.
"Such a big win, and you're hiding in here alone.
Even between… family, a toast's only polite."
He took the glass back.
Rolled the word low.
"Family?"
Set the glass down.
"We've seen too much for that name to fit."
Her smile barely reached her eyes.
"Exactly. I know who you are. I know what you want.
And… none of it scares me."
She stood, closing the gap between them.
The soft sweep of her dress against her knees stirred the air.
"I want to see what you have now.
And if that seat beside yours still empty—"
Her hand came to his shoulder.
"No one else belongs there but me."
Luca shut his eyes.
Her scent. Her warmth.
That line he should never cross… stepping closer.
And he—
He'd already worked out how to cross it, a long time ago.