The Face of the Traitor
The mansion was no longer a home. It was a fortress under siege, and within its walls paranoia spread like wildfire. Guards were questioned, servants were pulled aside, and every whisper sounded like treachery waiting to bloom.
Lucian had not slept. His eyes were sharp, bloodshot from nights without rest, his movements taut with fury barely contained.
Elena watched him from the corner of the room as he paced. He had called every capo, every soldier loyal to him, into the great hall. They stood in tense silence, eyes down, as Lucian's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Someone in this house is feeding Dante information," Lucian declared, his tone low and deadly. "I have buried too many of my men this week. I will not bury another."
A ripple of unease moved through the crowd.
"If you are guilty," Lucian continued, "understand this: there is no hole deep enough to hide from me. No ocean wide enough. I will find you. And when I do—" He snapped his fingers. Matteo and two guards dragged forward a trembling man, one of the lower-ranked soldiers. Blood already stained his shirt from a beating.
Lucian didn't blink. "This is what happens to rats."
He raised his gun and fired. The sound cracked through the hall. The man crumpled. Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.
Elena flinched, her stomach lurching. Isabella, thank God, had been kept upstairs.
Lucian holstered his gun, his voice calm as death. "Find me the real one. Now."
---
That night, Elena couldn't stay still. She wandered the halls, her nerves frayed. The brutality she had just witnessed burned in her mind.
She stumbled upon Matteo in the armory, cleaning his weapon with mechanical precision.
"Lucian's losing himself," she whispered.
Matteo looked up, his face grim. "He's not losing himself, Elena. He's becoming what he always feared: his father."
Elena swallowed hard. "Then help me stop him."
Matteo's jaw tightened. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "There's something you should know… but I can't say it here. Too many ears." He glanced around, shadows flickering across his face. "Stay close to Isabella tonight. Lock your door."
Before she could question him, Lucian's voice echoed down the hall, summoning Matteo back.
Elena's heart hammered. Something was coming.
---
Hours later, a scream split the silence of the mansion.
Elena bolted upright, clutching Isabella. Heavy footsteps thundered outside her door. Then Lucian burst in, his gun drawn, his eyes wild.
"Elena, stay here," he ordered. "Don't open this door for anyone."
"Lucian—"
But he was gone before she could finish.
She pressed Isabella to her chest, her own breath shaking. Then she heard it—gunfire, echoing through the mansion like war drums.
Minutes crawled by like hours until finally, the gunfire ceased. The door flung open again, and Lucian stood there, chest heaving, blood spattered across his shirt.
His eyes were colder than she had ever seen.
"We found the traitor," he said flatly.
---
In the grand hall, bodies were strewn across the floor, soldiers injured, others groaning. At the center stood Matteo, his face pale but his eyes defiant, two guards restraining him.
Elena's breath caught. "No…"
Lucian stepped forward, fury radiating from him. "Matteo. My brother in all but blood. The man I trusted with my life. And you sold me out to Dante."
Matteo didn't struggle. His gaze flicked to Elena, then back to Lucian. "I did what I had to."
"You betrayed me!" Lucian roared, his voice breaking for the first time.
Matteo's lip curled. "Betrayal? You've already betrayed yourself, Lucian. You think you're fighting Dante, but you've become him. Every man you kill, every order you give, every drop of blood you spill—you're not a savior. You're a tyrant."
Lucian's hand shook on the gun, his chest heaving.
Elena rushed forward. "Lucian, wait—"
"Why, Matteo?" Lucian demanded, his voice raw. "Why him? Why Dante?"
Matteo's eyes softened, and for a moment, Elena saw the man who had once been Lucian's shadow, his confidant, his brother-in-arms.
"Because Dante offered me something you never could," Matteo said quietly. "A chance to be free from your crown of blood. To walk away before the empire consumed us all."
Lucian froze. His rage faltered into something else—grief.
Elena's heart clenched. She could see it tearing Lucian apart, the choice between vengeance and the last shred of family he had left.
Matteo lifted his chin. "Do it, brother. Pull the trigger. End it. But when you look in the mirror tomorrow, remember—it was me who reminded you of the man you once were."
The hall held its breath.
Lucian's finger hovered over the trigger, sweat beading at his temple.
Then—BANG.
Elena gasped, clutching Isabella tighter as smoke curled from the barrel of Lucian's gun.
Matteo collapsed, his blood pooling across the marble. His final breath left his lips as his eyes closed forever.
The silence was unbearable.
Lucian stood over the body, his gun trembling in his hand, his face carved in stone. Then he dropped to his knees beside Matteo, his chest heaving with silent agony.
Elena moved toward him slowly, her voice soft and broken. "Lucian…"
But he didn't hear her. His hand was already stained with the blood of his brother, and in his eyes, something had shattered.
Something that might never be whole again.
---
Far away, Dante Marino received the news with a dark smile.
"Perfect," he murmured, sipping his wine. "The king has slain his own knight. And now, he stands alone."