The message lingered on Luciano's screen longer than necessary.
> "We know what you're doing, De Luca. Back off... or bleed."
A threat, subtle as a sledgehammer.
But instead of fear, Luciano felt something else—amusement.
"In my first life, I ignored the first warning. This time... I answer."
He typed back with cold precision.
> "You'll need more than words to make me bleed."
A few seconds passed. No reply. Cowards.
Luciano leaned back, fingers drumming the glass desk. Whoever sent it was either Petrov's men, Giovanni's network, or both. No matter which, the fact they were rattled meant one thing—the moves he made were working.
The snake pit was stirring. Good. Let them.
---
The Dinner – Old Friends, New Agendas
That evening, as the sky darkened into a velvet sheet speckled with stars, Luciano arrived at Ristorante Palermo, a high-end mafia-friendly restaurant known for quiet deals and quieter killings.
Waiting at a private corner table was Marco Moretti—his most loyal bodyguard in his previous life, and the only man who took a bullet for him... twice.
"Luciano," Marco stood, surprised but smiling. "Long time. You look... sharp."
Luciano smirked, gripping his shoulder. "You too, old friend."
Marco hadn't yet been recruited into his inner circle in this timeline. But Luciano wouldn't make that mistake twice.
"Glad you called," Marco continued, signaling for wine. "Didn't expect you to notice someone like me."
Luciano's eyes sharpened. "I notice everything now."
Marco chuckled but shifted in his seat. "So... this is business?"
"Straight to it." Luciano's smile faded. "I need men. Loyal ones. Quiet. Skilled."
Marco raised a brow. "Quiet... as in?"
Luciano's eyes didn't waver. "I'm rebuilding my house. From the inside out. There are rats in the walls."
Silence settled.
Then Marco grinned, wide and wolfish. "About time someone cleaned this mess."
---
An Unseen Threat
As they dined, two men watched from a nearby rooftop.
Binoculars focused on Luciano's table.
"That's him. Confirmed," one whispered. "Do we move now?"
The second shook his head. "Not yet. Orders were to watch... for now. But he's getting too bold. Petrov won't wait forever."
They melted back into the shadows, unseen.
---
Back at the Penthouse – A Twist Appears
Luciano stepped into his penthouse just past midnight. The moment he locked the door, a voice startled him.
"You don't check your security cameras, do you?"
He spun, drawing his pistol instantly—only to pause.
There, sitting calmly on his leather sofa, was Isabella De Luca, his younger sister.
"Relax, brother," she smirked, swirling a glass of his whiskey. "It's me."
Luciano lowered the gun, heart rate steadying but suspicion rising. "How the hell did you get in here?"
She shrugged. "Same way I always do when you're too distracted. You still hide the spare key in the flower pot, genius."
Despite himself, a chuckle escaped. "I should move it."
"You should." She stood, walking over, her confident heels echoing on the marble floor. "I heard about Dario Conti. Word travels fast."
Luciano's face darkened. "And?"
"Just wanted to know... are you cleaning house... or declaring war?"
Luciano stared into her sharp hazel eyes. In his first life, Isabella had been caught in the crossfire—an innocent, underestimated, until the day she was gunned down.
Not this time.
"Both," he said simply.
Isabella grinned. "Good. About damn time."
---
Morning Comes – A Storm Brews
The next day dawned with tension thick in the air.
Ariana stepped into the office earlier than expected, files clutched in her arms. Her presence was... unexpected, but not unwelcome.
"Mr. De Lu— I mean... Luciano," she corrected quickly, cheeks pink.
He glanced up from his laptop, allowing the smallest of smiles. "Ariana. Early."
"I found... more," she said quietly, placing the files on his desk. "The offshore trails don't end where we thought. There's another shell account. And this one... isn't just money laundering."
Luciano sat straighter. "Explain."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's connected to a private security firm registered in Moscow. One of Petrov's fronts."
Luciano's hands clenched into fists.
So Giovanni wasn't just skimming. He was funneling funds to Petrov's mercenaries. Preparing for something bigger.
Luciano stood, the leather chair scraping back. "You've done well."
Ariana blinked. "Is... is that a good 'well' or a dangerous 'well'?"
"Both," Luciano answered, grabbing his jacket. "Come."
Her eyes widened. "What? Where?"
"You're part of this now, whether you like it or not." He opened the door, motioning. "Time to see what real danger looks like."
---
The Streets Aren't Safe Anymore
As they exited the building, a black SUV rolled up.
Luciano's instincts screamed.
"Get down!" he shouted, grabbing Ariana.
Gunshots rang out—windows shattered—bullets tearing through the air.
Luciano dragged Ariana behind a marble pillar, pulling his Glock. He fired back—two clean shots—one hitting the driver. The SUV swerved, crashing into a streetlight.
Two masked men jumped out, spraying bullets.
Luciano was already moving. Precision. Efficiency.
Two more shots. Two more bodies dropped.
Silence.
Ariana sat trembling behind him, her hands clutched to her chest, breathing ragged.
Luciano holstered his gun, offering her his hand. "Welcome to my world."