The Devil's Choice
The warehouse reeked of smoke, blood, and gunpowder. Bodies lay strewn across the concrete floor, the echoes of battle fading into ragged silence.
Lucian knelt over Dante Marino, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his fists. His enemy lay broken beneath him, face mangled, shirt soaked red, but eyes still alight with that maddening spark.
"Elena, stay back," Lucian growled without looking up. His voice was a jagged blade, sharp with fury.
Elena's breath caught, her chest rising and falling as she clutched the pistol in her hand. She wanted to step closer, to stop him, but something in his aura froze her in place. This wasn't the man she kissed in stolen moments. This wasn't even the king of Naples. This was the Devil himself deciding how to end a soul.
Dante coughed blood, a crooked smile splitting his swollen lips. "Do it, Moretti. End me. Be the monster she's afraid to see."
Lucian's grip tightened around Dante's throat. His knuckles turned white. With one squeeze, one swift snap, it would be over. He could avenge Matteo. He could erase the threat looming over Elena and Isabella.
But…
Dante's earlier words burned in his mind. Naples isn't yours anymore. My men are already moving. Your empire burns tonight.
Lucian's heart pounded. If Dante wasn't lying—and Lucian knew the bastard was too smart to bluff—then killing him here was suicide. He needed answers. Names. Locations.
Lucian's rage trembled on the edge of release. His instincts screamed for blood. But his empire—their future—screamed louder.
He released Dante's throat with a snarl, shoving him back against the concrete. "No," Lucian spat. "Death is too easy for you."
Dante's laugh was wet and broken. "Merciful, Moretti? That doesn't suit you."
Lucian leaned close, his eyes like pits of fire. "I'm not sparing you. I'm keeping you alive long enough to watch me tear your empire apart, piece by piece. You'll beg for death before I'm finished."
Elena exhaled shakily, relief and dread tangling in her chest. She lowered her gun but didn't relax. Something in Lucian's tone made her realize this wasn't mercy. It was worse.
Alessandro approached, blood streaking his cheek, his gun still smoking. "Boss, the perimeter's secure. But Dante's not bluffing. We've had reports—fires at the docks, our shipment routes under attack. His network moved while he had you."
Lucian's jaw flexed, his fists clenching. "How bad?"
"Bad," Alessandro said grimly. "They've cut through half our supply lines. We'll lose millions if we don't strike back fast. And that's just the money. Men are dying out there."
Elena's stomach twisted. All she could see were faceless families mourning in the shadows of this war. And Lucian, torn apart piece by piece by the monster crouched on the floor before them.
Lucian stood slowly, towering over Dante. His voice was low, controlled, but every word dripped with fury. "Get him out of here. Bind him. Gag him. I want him locked in the cellars where even the rats don't go."
Two men stepped forward, hauling Dante up by the arms. He winced, but his grin never faltered. As they dragged him away, he turned his head toward Elena.
"You think you've saved him," Dante rasped. "But all you've done is tie yourself to his destruction. When he burns, you'll burn with him."
Elena's fingers trembled around the pistol. For a heartbeat, she almost pulled the trigger herself. But Lucian's hand found hers, steady, grounding.
"He's finished," Lucian muttered, as much to her as to himself. "I'll make sure of it."
But in his eyes, Elena saw something she hadn't before. Not fear. Not rage. Something worse. Doubt.
---
The convoy back to the Moretti mansion was silent except for the roar of engines. Elena sat beside Lucian in the back of the armored car, Isabella asleep in her lap. The child's tiny hand clutched her mother's shirt as though sensing the storm outside.
Lucian stared out the tinted window, his jaw set, his eyes shadowed. His men had dressed his wounds, but no bandage could hide the scars Dante left on his pride.
Elena's voice broke the silence. "You didn't kill him."
Lucian didn't turn. "I will. When it matters."
She studied him, her chest tightening. "And until then?"
His gaze flicked to her, dark and unreadable. "Until then, I'll dismantle him. Every man. Every business. Every secret. He'll watch his kingdom fall while he rots in a cage."
Elena swallowed. She had seen Lucian's wrath before, but this was something deeper. Something colder. It terrified her more than his violence. Because vengeance was fire—but this… this was ice.
And ice could freeze everything it touched.
---
Back at the mansion, chaos had already begun to seep through the walls. Men barked orders in the halls, phones rang off the hook, reports flooded in—trucks hijacked, warehouses burned, informants missing. Dante's words weren't just threats. They were already true.
Lucian stood in the center of his study, maps and papers spread across the table. Alessandro and the capos crowded around, their voices rising in panic.
"We've lost control of the east docks."
"Two of our safehouses are compromised."
"If this keeps up, Naples will—"
"ENOUGH!"
Lucian's roar silenced them all. His fist slammed into the table, cracking the mahogany. His eyes burned as he looked at each man in turn.
"We do not lose Naples," he snarled. "We do not bend. Not to Marino. Not to anyone. This city is ours, and anyone who thinks otherwise will choke on their own blood."
The room buzzed with grim determination. Orders were issued, men dispatched, war ignited.
Elena watched from the doorway, Isabella clinging to her skirt. Her heart ached with conflicting truths. She loved this man—the father who had shielded their daughter with his own body, the lover who whispered vows against her skin. But she also saw the devil who would burn the world for power.
And now, Dante had set that devil loose.
---
That night, when the house finally quieted, Elena found Lucian on the balcony, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the city sprawling below. His shoulders were tense, his silhouette carved against the moonlight.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him from behind. For a moment, he leaned into her warmth. But his voice was distant when he finally spoke.
"They'll come for us, Elena. Again and again. As long as Dante breathes, as long as I breathe, it will never end."
She pressed her cheek to his back. "Then end it, Lucian. Before it takes everything."
His hand covered hers, rough and warm. But he didn't answer. His silence said everything.
Because for the first time, Lucian Moretti wasn't sure if even the Devil could win this war.