The storm had ended by dawn, but the city did not feel cleansed. The sky was heavy, thick with the smell of rain and gasoline. Luca walked the marble halls of the Moretti estate in silence, his footsteps echoing like gunshots. The house felt alive, as though every shadow watched him, every chandelier carried the weight of judgment.
The whispers had already begun
He could hear them when he passed the servants, the faint lowering of voices, the stolen glances. They knew. Somehow, they always knew. In houses like this, blood carried a scent that no amount of rain could wash away.
He had killed a man for Dante.
And now he was marked.
The great hall was filled with captains that morning. Men who wore their power like tailored suits, who spoke with the arrogance of those who believed themselves untouchable. Their voices were sharp, their words sharper.
Luca stood near the wall, silent, watching. He was no captain, no officer. He was Dante's shadow, his stray, his test. Yet every man in the room looked at him as though he were a serpent coiled in their midst.
At the head of the long table sat Dante.
He was calm, his expression unreadable, his hands folded loosely before him. He had not slept, but he looked untouchable, as though time itself bent to his will. His presence filled the room like smoke, suffocating, beautiful, terrifying.
"The matter is closed," Dante said finally, his voice smooth, commanding. "Carlo was a traitor. His betrayal is finished."
Murmurs rippled through the room. One of the older captains, Salvatore, cleared his throat. His voice was low, heavy with disapproval. "With respect, Boss… Carlo had been loyal for years. Some would say he deserved a trial. A chance to defend himself."
Dante's gaze slid to him, sharp as a knife. "A traitor deserves nothing but silence."
"And yet," Salvatore pressed, his eyes flicking toward Luca, "you let a boy pull the trigger. A boy who is not one of us. A boy who walked into this house from nowhere, and already his hands are red with family blood."
All eyes turned. The room was heavy with suspicion, with resentment.
Luca's spine stiffened, but he said nothing. He knew the trap in speaking too soon.
Dante leaned back in his chair, his gaze sliding to Luca. "Do you hear them, Stray?"
"Yes, Boss," Luca said, his voice steady.
"Then answer them."
The room was silent. Dozens of eyes bore into him.
Luca stepped forward slowly, letting his gaze sweep across the captains. His pulse thundered in his chest, but his voice was calm, deliberate.
"Carlo shouted when he should have whispered," Luca said. "He hid when he should have been loyal. If a man like that breathes too long, he poisons the family from within. I did what your hesitation would not. I cut the cancer before it spread."
A murmur of approval rose from some, but not all. Salvatore's scowl deepened.
"And what are you, boy?" Salvatore spat. "You call yourself surgeon, yet you are nothing but Dante's whore. His toy. Do you think we don't see what you do behind locked doors?"
The words hit like a blow. The captains stirred, some smirking, some shifting uncomfortably. The accusation was not new, but to speak it aloud in this hall was a challenge.
Luca's jaw tightened. His instinct was to strike, to spill blood here and now. But he forced himself still. His gaze flicked to Dante.
Dante did not move. He only watched. Waiting. Testing.
Luca drew a slow breath. His voice was low, dangerous. "Call me what you want. Whore. Toy. Stray. But remember this when the time came to put a bullet in Carlo's skull, it was not you. It was me. You can sneer, but I did what none of you dared. That makes me more part of this family than your cowardice ever will."
The silence was sharp as broken glass.
Then Dante laughed. A soft, velvet sound that filled the room and bent it to his will.
"Well said, Stray," Dante murmured. His gaze cut to Salvatore. "And you, old dog—remember your place. My choices are not yours to question."
Salvatore's mouth twisted, but he said nothing more.
The meeting dissolved soon after, but the echoes of it lingered long in Luca's chest.
That night, Dante found him alone on the balcony, the city stretched like a kingdom below them. The air smelled of rain and smoke.
"You spoke well," Dante said softly, stepping close, his hand brushing the railing. "Too well."
Luca turned his gaze to him. "You wanted me to prove myself. I did."
Dante's smile was faint, dangerous. "And in doing so, you made enemies. Do you think Salvatore will forget the way you humiliated him?"
"I don't care," Luca said, his voice sharp. "If he wants to call me a whore, let him. He doesn't know what it means to belong to you."
Dante's eyes burned. His hand slid to Luca's throat, tilting his head back just enough to remind him of power.
"And do you?" Dante whispered.
Luca's breath trembled, but his voice was steady. "Every night you mark me. Every day you test me. Yes, I know what it means."
Dante kissed him then hard, bruising, claiming. It was not tenderness but possession, not comfort but command. Luca yielded, not because he was weak, but because every surrender carved him deeper into Dante's world.
When Dante pulled back, his gaze was sharp, unreadable.
"Good," he murmured. "Then you will remember this. Loyalty is proven in silence. If they whisper, let them. If they sneer, ignore them. But if they move against you, you strike first. No hesitation. No mercy."
Luca nodded, his pulse racing. "Yes, Boss."
But as the night deepened, Luca could not silence the echo of Salvatore's words.
Whore. Toy. Stray.
He had killed for Dante. He had silenced a traitor. He had stood before captains and claimed his place. Yet still, he was not one of them.
Still, he was an outsider.
And in the shadows of the Moretti estate, betrayal was not a matter of if. It was a matter of when.