The Counterstrike
Naples bled that night.
From the penthouse balcony, Elena could see the faint glow of fire on the horizon, the city lights swallowed by smoke and chaos. Sirens wailed in the distance, mingling with the hum of engines and the echo of gunfire that seemed to roll through the streets like a storm.
Lucian had promised her once that this city was his. Now, as she held Isabella against her chest, she wondered if it was slipping through his fingers.
"Stay inside," he had told her.
But staying inside felt like waiting to drown.
---
In the study below, Lucian stood like a general at war. Maps sprawled across the table, red pins marking Dante's strongholds, blue pins for his own. Too many red pins now.
"Hit the docks first," Lucian ordered, voice cold, controlled. "Cut off his shipments. If he can't move product, he bleeds money. And money is loyalty."
Alessandro nodded, scribbling notes. "And the warehouses?"
"Burn them."
The capos exchanged glances but said nothing. Lucian's word was law, and tonight, his law was fire.
One of the younger lieutenants cleared his throat nervously. "Boss, if we retaliate this hard, the police—"
Lucian's glare cut him down before the sentence finished. "The police will look the other way. They always do."
He straightened, slamming his palm against the map. "Dante thinks he can take Naples? He doesn't understand. Naples isn't a prize. It's a grave. And I'll make sure he lies in it."
---
Elena listened from the doorway, her stomach tightening. Every word was steel, every order another step into the abyss. She wanted to pull him back, to remind him of the man who had cradled Isabella's tiny body only hours ago, whispering vows through bloodied lips.
But the man downstairs wasn't that Lucian. He was the Devil in command.
"Elena," Alessandro said softly when he noticed her in the shadows. "You shouldn't be here."
She shook her head, stepping forward. "And leave him like this? No. If I don't stand here, he won't remember why he's fighting at all."
Alessandro's gaze softened, pity flickering in his eyes before he turned back to his work.
---
By midnight, the war machine was in motion.
Convoys of black SUVs rolled through the streets, men in masks and bulletproof vests spilling out like soldiers marching to execution. Explosives were loaded into crates, silencers fitted to guns. Naples was about to burn, and its king had lit the match.
Lucian led from the front. No one dared argue. He moved like a predator reborn, the weight of chains and bruises forgotten. His fury gave him strength, his obsession gave him purpose.
At the east docks, the first strike fell.
The night air was split by explosions as Dante's warehouses went up in flames, fire licking the sky, smoke thick enough to blot out the moon. Men screamed as gunfire erupted, bodies dropping into the black water with heavy splashes.
Lucian was everywhere at once. His gun barked, his blade flashed, his fists broke bone. He killed without hesitation, without mercy. Every shot was vengeance. Every corpse a warning.
Alessandro shouted over the chaos. "Boss, we've secured the shipment routes!"
Lucian didn't answer. He was already moving, already hunting. His eyes searched for Dante in every shadow, his mind consumed with one thought: make him suffer.
---
Back at the mansion, Elena couldn't sleep.
She paced the bedroom with Isabella restless in her arms. Every explosion she heard in the distance made her flinch. Every silence that followed made her fear the worst.
She whispered softly into her daughter's hair, as much to comfort herself as the child. "Your father is strong. He'll come back. He has to."
But the truth gnawed at her. Each time Lucian left, he returned more broken, more hollow. She had saved him once, pulled him back from death with her own hands. But who would save him from the darkness eating him alive?
Her heart knew the answer. No one. Not even her.
---
Hours later, when the engines finally roared back up the driveway, Elena ran to the foyer.
Lucian strode in first, his shirt stained with blood, his knuckles raw, smoke still clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes flicked to her briefly, but he didn't stop. He walked straight past her, straight past Isabella's outstretched arms, and disappeared into the study.
Elena froze, her chest aching. Isabella whimpered, confused.
"Papa?"
But he didn't answer.
---
In the study, Lucian poured himself a drink, his hand shaking for the first time all night. The whiskey burned down his throat, but it didn't wash away the images. Fire. Screams. Men begging for mercy he never gave.
Dante's network had taken a hit, but the war was far from over. And in the silence that followed, the weight of what he'd unleashed pressed against him like a coffin lid.
"Boss," Alessandro said quietly from the doorway. "We lost fifteen men. Two capos are dead. Dante will retaliate by morning."
Lucian didn't flinch. He poured another drink. "Let him come."
But his voice cracked on the last word.
---
Later that night, Elena found him alone.
He sat in the dark, the city glowing faintly through the glass wall. His hands were still stained with blood he hadn't bothered to wash.
She approached slowly, her heart breaking with every step. "Lucian," she whispered. "Look at me."
His gaze lifted, hollow and burning all at once.
"You don't understand," he rasped. "Every man I kill, every fire I light—it's still not enough. Dante is always one step ahead. He's tearing everything apart faster than I can stop it. If I fall, Elena… you and Isabella…"
His voice cracked, and for the first time, the Devil sounded like a man on the edge of breaking.
Elena cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Then don't fall. You told me once you'd burn the world before you let anyone touch us. I don't need the world, Lucian. I just need you. Alive. With us."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—hope, love, fear. But then he pulled away, rising to his feet, his mask sliding back into place.
"I can't stop," he said, his voice like steel. "Not until Dante Marino is ash at my feet."
Elena's tears slipped silently down her cheeks. She knew then that she hadn't saved him. She had only given him a reason to fight harder, to destroy more.
And she wondered how much of him would be left by the time the war was done.