The train to Naples rattled like bones.
Enzo Marino sat alone by the window, one arm resting on a duffel bag that held everything he owned—three shirts, a notebook, the broken fountain pen Elena had once given him, and his mother's rosary.
The countryside disappeared behind him like a dying memory. Ahead stretched the city, vast and humming, a beast with steel teeth and golden eyes. Naples was not Monteverde. It didn't care who your father was. It didn't care if you were a murderer, a dreamer, or both.
It only cared if you could survive it.
The moment Enzo stepped off the platform, the weight of the world hit him like the humid city air. He had no money. No friends. No roof over his head. But he had a plan—and a name that no one yet feared.
That first night, he slept on the street, his back against the side of an abandoned building. Rats scurried nearby. Somewhere down the alley, a man was beaten for reasons Enzo didn't ask. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. Hunger was familiar.
The second night, he stole bread from a market stall. No one caught him. No one even noticed him.
But on the third night, something changed.
He ran into Marco DeLuca—his distant cousin from his mother's side. Marco was older, loud, and wore cheap cologne like armor. He looked at Enzo with shock and suspicion.
"What the hell are you doing in Naples?"
"Looking for a job," Enzo said.
Marco laughed. "Like hell you'll find one looking like a ghost."
Still, Marco took him in. A one-room flat above a butcher shop. Smelled like blood and onions. But it was warm. It was a start.
---
By day, Enzo cleaned butcher floors. By night, he studied—history books borrowed from Marco's friend at the university. He read about Roman emperors, Sicilian revolts, and the rise and fall of every man who dared build something bigger than himself.
He also watched people: how deals were made, how money moved, how fear worked like currency.
Girls flirted with him in the market. He was handsome—his face sharp, his body lean from labor, his eyes that held too many stories. But Enzo kept his distance. His heart was already married to the past.
Then came an invitation: a cousin's engagement party.
And that's where he saw her again.
Not Elena.
But Lucia—his relative's daughter, quiet and graceful, her laughter as delicate as a string of pearls. He'd seen her years ago in Monteverde, just a girl then. Now, she was a woman.
She offered him a glass of wine, smiling.
"You've changed," she said.
"So have you," he replied.
Lucia was safe, respectable, and close enough to his world that marriage would be practical.
But she wasn't Elena.
Still, for the first time since his mother's death, Enzo allowed himself to think:
Maybe I can have a different life.
---
That thought didn't last long.
Because money breeds enemies, and progress breeds envy.
And Enzo Marino was rising—too fast for some to stomach.
---