A Dance with the Devil

Betrayal wasn't a single event. It was a slow, creeping thing, a sickness that spread long before the knife ever met the skin.

And Luca was starting to realize—he'd been sick for a long time.

—

The club was chaos. Gunfire echoed through the darkness, screams cutting through the pounding bass of the music. Luca moved on instinct, yanking Sofia down as bullets shattered the glass behind them.

Henry was already firing back, his movements precise.

Dominic Salvatore had vanished.

Of course he had.

Luca grit his teeth and grabbed Sofia's arm, pulling her toward the back exit. Henry covered them as they moved, taking down two men in sharp, controlled bursts.

They pushed through the emergency exit and spilled into the alley.

Silence.

The only sound was the distant thrum of the city.

Luca turned to Henry. "Car?"

"Three blocks down."

Luca nodded. "Move."

They sprinted. Their footsteps echoed against the wet pavement, adrenaline pumping through their veins. Luca didn't stop running until they were inside the black SUV, doors slamming shut behind them.

Sofia exhaled, checking her sidearm. "That wasn't just a warning."

"No," Luca agreed, staring out the window. "That was a statement."

Dante Salvatore wasn't just back.

He was hunting.

—

By the time they reached the safe house, Luca had a plan.

It was reckless. Dangerous.

But so was Salvatore.

Henry slammed a fresh magazine into his gun. "We need to hit him first."

Luca shook his head. "No."

Sofia frowned. "No?"

"We're not attacking blind." Luca leaned forward, his voice ice-cold. "We find out what he wants first."

Silence.

Then Henry exhaled sharply. "And how do you plan to do that?"

Luca smirked. "We invite him to talk."

Sofia arched a brow. "You think he'll just show up for a meeting?"

Luca's smirk widened. "Oh, he will."

Because Luca DeLuca never played fair.

—

The invitation was sent within the hour.

A single message, delivered through the right channels.

"Dinner. Midnight. No weapons."

The location? The most expensive rooftop restaurant in the city.

If Salvatore wanted to play games, Luca would set the board.

—

Midnight came fast.

Luca sat at a private table, a glass of whiskey in hand. The restaurant was nearly empty, save for a few scattered patrons who had no idea they were in the middle of a war.

Then, footsteps.

Luca looked up.

Dante Salvatore walked in like he owned the place.

He was older now, but the air of control around him hadn't faded. His suit was crisp, his dark eyes unreadable.

He sat across from Luca, smiling.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic."

Luca took a slow sip of whiskey. "Takes one to know one."

Dante chuckled. "So. You invited me. I assume this is where you demand answers."

Luca set his glass down. "No."

Dante tilted his head. "No?"

Luca leaned forward, his voice smooth as silk.

"I already know the answer."

Dante smirked. "Oh? And what answer is that?"

Luca exhaled. "You're not just back."

He met Dante's gaze, cold and sharp.

"You never left."

Dante's smirk widened.

And in that moment, Luca knew—

He had just walked into the real game.

—

Next Chapter: The Devil's Gambit – Luca realizes Dante has been orchestrating everything for years. But the real question is: What does he want?