The silence in the office stretched between us like a blade poised at my throat. My father—Don De Luca—watched me with the calm of a man who held all the power in the room. Ten years ago, I had walked into this office as his son. Now, I stood before him as something else.
A man he had betrayed.
A man ready to burn down everything he built.
"You did what was best for the family?" I repeated, my voice low, controlled, but laced with an edge that could cut through steel.
Don De Luca exhaled through his nose, fingers steepling on the desk. "Yes, Adonis. And I would do it again."
I didn't move, but something inside me snapped.
I had spent a decade in prison, rotting in a cage for a crime I didn't commit, all so this man could cement his alliance with the Giovanni crime family. My life was the currency he traded.
And now, he sat there, unbothered.
I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You threw me to the wolves to protect your empire."
Don De Luca's gaze didn't waver. "And look at you now. Stronger. Smarter. Hardened." He gestured at me. "You survived, figlio mio. More than that, you thrived."
Figlio mio. My son.
I wanted to rip that word from his throat.
"You don't get to call me that," I said coldly. "Not after what you did."
Something flickered in his expression—too fast for me to read. Regret? No. De Luca men didn't feel regret.
He reached for his whiskey glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. "You think this world runs on fairness, Adonis? On loyalty?" He set the glass down with a soft clink. "It runs on power. And sacrifices must be made to maintain it."
I laughed, the sound hollow. "Sacrifices? That's what you call it?"
"You weren't ready to take the reins back then." His voice was smooth, calculated. "You were reckless. Emotional. You had to be—tempered."
I clenched my jaw, forcing my hands to stay loose at my sides. I wouldn't let him get to me. Not now.
"You sent me to rot in prison," I said. "You left me to die."
"And yet," Don De Luca said, "here you are. Alive. Free. And angrier than ever."
I let the anger settle, turning to ice in my veins. "Why now?"
He raised an eyebrow.
I gestured around us. "You could've left me in there. Could've let me rot. But instead, you had my sentence cut short. You pulled strings. Why?"
My father leaned back in his chair, studying me. For the first time since I walked in, he hesitated.
Good.
That meant there was something he wasn't telling me.
"Because I need you," he admitted finally.
I scoffed. "You need me?"
"A storm is coming, Adonis. A war." His expression darkened. "The Giovannis—they aren't satisfied with what we gave them. They want more."
Of course, they did. The mafia never stopped taking.
"And let me guess," I said. "You want me to clean up your mess?"
He didn't deny it.
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face. This wasn't just about me anymore. It never was. My father's sins had left a trail of blood across Milan. He had made enemies in the underworld—enemies that were now circling like vultures.
And he expected me to fight his battles.
Not a chance in hell.
"You must be delusional," I said, shaking my head. "You think I'm just going to fall in line? That after everything, I'd help you?"
Don De Luca sighed, reaching into his desk drawer. He pulled out a folder and slid it across the polished wood toward me.
I didn't move.
"What is this?"
"Your future," he said simply.
I clenched my jaw but grabbed the folder anyway. Flipping it open, my eyes skimmed the contents. Names. Addresses. Photographs.
And then—
I froze.
A single name jumped out at me.
Juliet Moretti.
A woman. A cop. Dark hair, sharp eyes. Beautiful. Deadly.
And tied to my past in ways I didn't yet understand.
I lifted my gaze. "Who is she?"
My father's lips curled into a knowing smile. "She's looking for answers about her parents' deaths." He leaned forward. "And she thinks those answers lead to us."
My blood ran cold.
Moretti. I knew that name. Two cops murdered a decade ago. Brutal. Unsolved.
And now, their daughter was hunting for the truth.
Don De Luca's voice was calm, deliberate. "You need to deal with her, Adonis. Before she becomes a problem."
I stared at the photograph in my hand.
Juliet Moretti.
The name felt like a warning. A promise.
I didn't believe in fate, but something about this felt inevitable.
I closed the folder, my decision made.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.