The next day, Luca went to the cellar and saw Viet, weak and barely breathing, leaning against Mattheo's arms. Rage burned in his eyes.
"Who told you to release him?!" Luca shouted, glaring at his men. They froze in fear.
"You can't keep him locked here forever. He'll die," Mattheo answered, holding Viet tighter.
"He disobeyed me, I—" Luca started, but Mattheo cut him off.
"Sometimes I wonder if you still have blood in your veins," Mattheo said angrily. "You remind me of our father… you're just like him. A monster."
Luca smirked. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm worse. But I'm not our father. I'll never be him."
Mattheo gave a bitter laugh. "You think it's fun? Killing people, hurting the weak? Tell me, is it entertainment to you?"
"I don't hurt the innocent. I punish those who deserve it," Luca said coldly.
"I don't see that," Mattheo shot back. He stood, lifting Viet carefully in his arms. "Viet is done with this mafia life. He loves singing. I'm taking him abroad, far from you. Because I won't let you kill my brother."
"I barely touched him," Luca argued.
Mattheo looked at him with disgust. "You almost killed him, you psycho." He pushed past Luca, carrying Viet out. Luca stood there, fists clenched, watching his brother leave. His men shifted nervously.
"What are you staring at?!" Luca roared. The men lowered their heads, trembling. Luca stormed away.
---
Later that night
In his study, Luca sat drinking and smoking. His eyes were red, his laughter hollow. "I'm a monster," he whispered, then laughed louder as tears ran down his face.
Drunk, he staggered to Mia's room. He pushed the door open and crawled onto her bed. Mia froze in fear, her body shaking.
"What… what are you doing?" she asked softly.
"Mia…" his voice was rough, heavy with alcohol. His face came close to hers. She could smell the strong drink on his breath. He pulled her by the waist. "Don't resist me tonight."
He pressed his lips against hers, but Mia bit him in panic. His hand struck her cheek.
"Don't you dare resist me!" he growled. His hands gripped her wrists, holding them above her head. His kisses were rough, then softer, confusing her with both cruelty and strange gentleness.
Suddenly, he froze. His hand had brushed her thigh, and he pulled back when he felt the wet warmth. Looking down, he saw blood.
A twisted smile formed on his face. "Piccola… you're bleeding." He lifted his fingers, stained red, and stared at them. Then, slowly, he touched them to his lips and tasted. His smile grew darker. "Sweet," he whispered.
Mia's eyes widened in horror. She pulled the blanket around her trembling body.
Without a word, Luca walked to his closet, pulled out a pack of pads, and tossed it at her. "Go wash up. Or I'll do it for you."
Mia ran to the bathroom in tears. After some time, she returned, cleaned, holding the blanket tight around her. Luca stood by the window, smoking, his back to her. The alcohol seemed to be fading, but his darkness remained.
"Go lie down," he ordered.
Mia hesitated, terrified. Was he still going to touch her?
He turned, noticing her fear. His eyes narrowed. "I don't share my bed with a bleeding woman," he said bluntly. "Go. Lie down."
Mia quickly obeyed and slipped into the bed. Luca walked toward her slowly, bending down so his face was close.
"If I see a single blood stain on my blanket," he whispered coldly, "the punishment will be unbearable. Understand?"
Mia nodded quickly, too afraid to speak. Luca straightened, his expression unreadable, then walked out, leaving her trembling in silence.
---
The next morning, Luca pushed open Mia's door without knocking. His eyes went straight to the bed, and there it was—red stains on his white blanket. His jaw tightened, but instead of shouting, a crooked smile spread across his lips.
"Well, well, piccola," he said slowly, his voice low and sharp. "Look what you've done to my bed."
Mia froze where she stood, her hands shaking as she tried to hide behind the blanket she had wrapped around herself. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.
Luca stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, pretending to inspect her like she was guilty of some great crime.
"You think I enjoy cleaning up after little girls who can't control themselves?" he asked, his tone mocking but soft enough to make her heart race. "This blanket is worth more than you."
Her eyes filled with tears, and she whispered, "I'm sorry…"
Luca chuckled darkly, tilting his head. "Sorry won't wash the stain away. Maybe I should make you clean it with your own hands. Would you like that, Mia?"
She shook her head quickly, trembling.
He smirked, brushing his fingers against her cheek, making her flinch. "Relax. I'm only teasing… for now." His eyes lingered on hers, cold and dangerous. "But remember, piccola… next time, there won't be mercy."
He straightened, turned toward the door, then glanced back at her with that same cruel smirk. "Don't bleed on my things again."
Then he left, his footsteps fading down the hall, leaving Mia standing in silence, clutching the blanket to her chest, her body still shaking.