Chapter 13 – The Real Enemy

Luciano's jaw tightened as Alessandro's words echoed through the abandoned warehouse. The air between them was heavy—thick with unspoken history, distrust, and the tension of men who'd both survived too much to believe in anything easily.

"Start talking," Luciano said coldly. "No riddles."

Alessandro's gaze was sharp, calculating. "You killed Giovanni. Good. But that was child's play. The man who truly controls the strings... he's still out there."

"Who?" Luciano demanded.

"Victor Moretti," Alessandro replied, his voice dropping to a growl. "The real king. The man behind every cartel deal, every arms shipment, every politician in a corrupt pocket. He's been operating from the shadows long before either of us knew how deep this world goes."

Luciano's eyes narrowed. The name wasn't unfamiliar. Whispers. Ghost stories told among old mafia circles. Men who disappeared overnight. Entire families wiped out without a trace. It always ended the same—Moretti's name buried beneath layers of silence.

"I thought he was dead," Luciano said quietly.

"No," Alessandro's lip curled. "He's very much alive. And now that you've upset the balance by killing Giovanni... you're on his radar."

Luciano stepped closer, voice ice. "Why tell me this? Why now?"

"Because I want him dead just as much as you do," Alessandro said, stepping forward. "He destroyed my family. Burned my legacy to the ground. And you... you're the only one ruthless enough, dangerous enough, to stand a chance against him."

Luciano's fists clenched. "And what's your angle?"

"I give you his location. His operations. His weaknesses. You take him down. And in return... I take back what's left of the Romano legacy."

A long, loaded silence passed between them.

Luciano stared him down. "Why should I trust you?"

Alessandro's grin was sharp, almost feral. "You shouldn't."

Luciano chuckled darkly. "Fair enough."

A phone buzzed in Alessandro's pocket. He checked it, frowned. "We don't have time. Your name's already on a bullet list. Moretti's men are moving."

"How soon?" Luciano asked.

"Soon enough that if you go home now, you won't find walls standing," Alessandro answered.

Luciano's mind snapped into gear. "Ariana."

He turned on his heel, sprinting toward the exit.

As he jumped into his car, fingers trembling slightly for the first time in years, his phone buzzed again.

A message.

No words.

Just a live video feed.

Ariana. Tied to a chair. Bruised. A hand pressed to her mouth. Fear in her eyes.

A voice from the video sneered. "Come alone, De Luca. Or watch her die screaming."

Luciano's knuckles went white against the steering wheel.

This wasn't a warning.

This was war.

And this time... it was personal.