First Blood
The Marino estate on the outskirts of Milan slept under velvet skies, its manicured gardens glowing in silver moonlight. Guards patrolled lazily, unbothered. The Marinos believed their name was untouchable.
They had forgotten what it meant to be hunted by the Devil.
Lucian's convoy slid in like shadows. Engines off. No headlights. Just silence, broken only by the click of safeties coming off.
Marco crouched beside him, eyes sharp. "You sure about this? First strike like this… it'll declare open war."
Lucian's lips curled in a dangerous smile. "Good. Let them know who they're playing with."
---
The assault began.
Gunfire cracked like thunder. Guards dropped before alarms could even scream. Lucian moved like death itself, black suit drenched in shadow, blade flashing as he slit throats faster than bullets could fly.
Within minutes, the garden was a graveyard. His men stormed the villa, flames licking at the curtains as chaos tore through the luxurious halls.
Lucian kicked open the study doors, dragging out one of Dante's cousins by the collar. The man was trembling, blood dripping from a split lip.
"Where is Dante?" Lucian growled, pressing a pistol to his temple.
The cousin stammered. "N-not here. He knew you'd come. He—he left—"
Lucian's gun fired. The man's body hit the ground, lifeless.
His eyes burned with cold fury. "Then I'll burn everything he leaves behind until he has no choice but to face me."
The villa went up in flames as Lucian and his men vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but smoke and corpses.
---
Meanwhile…
In Rome, Dante Marino sat in a dimly lit dining hall, flanked by his brothers and advisors. The reports had already reached him. The Moretti devil had struck.
Dante didn't flinch. He poured himself wine with deliberate calm, the red liquid glinting like blood under the chandelier.
"So, the beast bares his fangs," Dante mused, sipping. "Good. It saves me the trouble of luring him out."
One of his men leaned forward nervously. "Boss, with respect, Lucian Moretti is not like the others. He won't stop. He'll kill every Marino he touches."
Dante's smile was sharp, wolfish. "Then let him kill. Every move he makes only draws him deeper into my web."
He leaned back, eyes glinting with cold fire.
"Because while he's burning down my houses…" he glanced at a photo on the table—Elena and Isabella, taken from afar. "…I'll be reaching for his heart."