The rain fell hard over Milan, washing blood into the gutters.
A man knelt in the alley, his hands tied behind his back, his expensive suit torn and soaked. His muffled sobs mixed with the roar of thunder.
Luca D'Angelis didn't beg. He watched. His dark eyes, cold as the steel pressed against his temple, studied every face in the circle of men surrounding him. Men who once swore loyalty to his father. Men who now dragged him here to die.
The capo leaned in close, his breath stinking of cigar smoke.
"You should've stayed in exile, ragazzo. Forgotten sons don't get second chances."
The gun cocked.
But Luca smiled.
The world thought the D'Angelis heir had been buried with his disgraced name years ago. Tonight, he returned not as the boy they betrayed—but as the man who had learned to survive where mercy doesn't exist.
The shot rang out. One man fell. Not Luca.
Chaos erupted—screams, muzzle flashes, blood spraying across the alley walls. A storm of vengeance broke loose, and in the darkness, Luca carved his way out like a ghost risen from the grave.
When the smoke cleared, he stood alone among the bodies. Breathing hard. Covered in blood that wasn't his.
The city thought it was free of him.
The mafia thought they had erased him.
But they forgot one thing.
The son they buried… has come back to claim everything.