Cracks in the Crown
The mansion was cloaked in silence, though the stench of gunpowder and blood still lingered. Servants whispered in corners, guards tightened their patrols, but everyone avoided the grand hall. The marble floor had been scrubbed clean, yet the stain of Matteo's blood felt burned into the stone.
Elena stood at the doorway, her hands trembling as she watched Lucian.
He hadn't moved for hours. He sat in Matteo's chair at the head of the long table, his gun still resting beside him, his eyes fixed on nothing. The firelight flickered against his face, casting deep shadows that made him look like a man carved out of grief and rage.
Elena swallowed hard before stepping forward. "Lucian…"
His eyes flicked toward her—cold, unreadable. Then he looked away again.
"You should be with Isabella," he muttered. His voice was hoarse, as though scraped raw by the weight of everything he'd done.
"I put her to bed," Elena whispered. She hesitated, then added, "She asked for you."
Lucian's jaw tightened. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. "I can't."
"Lucian—"
"I said I can't!" he barked, slamming his fist against the wood. The sound made Elena flinch. His eyes darted to her, and for a flicker of a moment, remorse crossed his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
He pushed away from the chair and stalked across the room, pacing like a caged beast.
"Matteo was my brother," he said, his tone sharp, each word cutting him as deeply as it cut her. "We bled together. We killed together. He saved my life more times than I can count." He spun toward her, his eyes blazing. "And I put a bullet in his chest."
Elena's heart ached. She stepped closer, her voice steady even though she was trembling inside. "You didn't kill Matteo. Dante did. He poisoned him, twisted him. That's who deserves your rage."
Lucian's laugh was bitter. "Rage? Rage is all I have left. Rage is what keeps me breathing."
He reached for the decanter of whiskey on the table, pouring himself a glass with shaking hands. He downed it in one swallow, then poured another.
Elena watched him, dread curling in her stomach. This wasn't just grief—it was the beginning of a spiral.
"You can't drown this in alcohol," she said softly.
He glared at her over the rim of his glass. "And what would you have me do, Elena? Pray? Sleep? Pretend my best friend isn't rotting in the ground because I pulled the trigger?"
She stepped closer, her voice breaking. "I'd have you remember why you're fighting. Me. Isabella. The family you still have."
Lucian's gaze softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again as he turned away. "Family. Everyone I love dies, Elena. My father. Matteo. If you stay close to me, you'll join them."
Elena's breath caught. She wanted to scream at him, to shake him until he understood that pushing her away wouldn't save her. But before she could speak, the door opened.
Matteo's absence was a gaping wound, but his duties hadn't disappeared. Alessandro, one of Lucian's capos, entered hesitantly.
"Boss," Alessandro said, bowing his head. "We've intercepted intel from Dante's men."
Lucian stiffened. "What is it?"
Alessandro exchanged a nervous glance with Elena before answering. "Dante is moving against the docks tonight. He wants to choke your shipments, cut your supply lines. If we don't stop him, we'll lose everything we've built."
Lucian's eyes gleamed with the fire Elena feared most. "Then we'll bleed him dry before he touches a single crate."
He grabbed his gun and strode toward the door, his soldiers falling into step behind him.
Elena's pulse quickened. "Lucian, wait!"
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"Don't go like this," she pleaded. "Not with your head clouded. Not with your heart broken. You'll make a mistake—"
Lucian looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "The only mistake I've made is letting Dante breathe this long."
And then he was gone.
---
The docks were a battlefield.
Lucian arrived with his men under cover of night, but Dante's forces were already waiting. Bullets ripped through the air as soon as Lucian stepped onto the concrete.
"Ambush!" one of his soldiers shouted before a spray of gunfire cut him down.
Lucian dove for cover, his teeth gritted, his gun blazing in return. Men screamed and fell, crates splintered, the water ran red.
Through the chaos, Lucian spotted him.
Dante Marino. Standing atop a stack of shipping containers, a cruel smile on his lips, watching the bloodbath like a king amused by the suffering of peasants.
Lucian's blood boiled. He surged forward, cutting down anyone in his path. Bullets grazed his arm, tore into his side, but he didn't slow. His eyes were locked on Dante.
But Dante was already retreating, slipping into the shadows.
Lucian cursed, chasing after him through the maze of containers.
Their footsteps echoed. Their shadows danced. The war had narrowed to two men.
Finally, Dante's voice rang out, mocking, taunting. "You killed your brother, Lucian. I didn't have to lift a finger. You're destroying yourself!"
Lucian roared, firing blindly into the dark. "Show yourself, coward!"
A single shot answered him, ricocheting off the steel inches from his head. Dante's laugh followed.
"You can't win, Moretti. Not against me. Not against yourself."
Lucian's chest heaved, fury and grief colliding until he could barely see straight. His finger tightened on the trigger—
And then a sharp pain exploded at the back of his skull.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When Lucian opened his eyes, he wasn't at the docks anymore. His wrists were bound, his body slumped against a chair. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
Across from him sat Dante, calm and collected, a glass of wine in hand.
"Ah," Dante said with a satisfied smile. "The king finally kneels."
Lucian strained against the ropes, his teeth bared. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."
Dante's smile widened. "Oh, I will. But not yet. First, I want you to watch as I take everything you swore to protect."
Lucian's heart lurched. Elena. Isabella.
He pulled against the ropes with renewed fury, but Dante only leaned closer, his whisper venomous.
"Your empire is ashes, your brother is dead, and soon your family will be mine. Tell me, Lucian Moretti—was the crown worth the cost?"