The first rays of dawn spilled over the De Luca estate, touching the stone walls with a soft light that felt almost dishonest. The house looked peaceful, but inside its heart beat with treachery. Every whisper in the corridor carried the weight of betrayal; every echo reminded Lorenzo that his empire was starting to fracture.
Lucia had not slept. Her hands trembled as she packed a small bag inside her room. She had made her choice—one she hated herself for. Marco's message still burned in her mind: He suspects you. Move before nightfall.
She had known both cousins since they were boys. She had wiped Lorenzo's tears when his father first put a gun in his hand. But loyalty meant survival, and Marco had promised her protection in exchange for silence. Protection—for her son, hidden far from this house of wolves. That was the price she could not refuse.
When she stepped into the corridor, she nearly collided with Isabella.
"Lucia?" Isabella's voice carried confusion. "It's early. Where are you going with a bag?"
Lucia forced a smile. "Just… errands for the kitchen, my dear. You should rest."
Isabella frowned. "You're shaking."
Before Lucia could answer, Lorenzo's voice cut through the air from behind.
"Leave the bag."
Lucia froze. He stood at the end of the corridor, unshaven, eyes dark from sleeplessness. He had been waiting.
"You were going somewhere?" he asked quietly.
She clutched the bag tighter. "Lorenzo, I swear—"
"Open it."
When she hesitated, Isabella gently reached forward, unzipping the bag. Inside lay stacks of euros, two passports, and a sealed letter bearing the De Luca crest. The letter that had gone missing from Lorenzo's desk the night before.
Isabella gasped. "You were going to take it to Marco."
Lucia's knees weakened. "I didn't want to! He said—he said he'd hurt my son if I didn't!"
Lorenzo stepped closer, his voice soft but cold. "You could have come to me."
"And watch another innocent die for your pride?" she whispered. "You think mercy keeps people safe? No, Lorenzo. Fear does. Just like your father taught you."
He stopped a breath away from her, his silence more dangerous than anger. Finally, he took the letter from her hand.
"Go," he said. "Before I remember who I'm supposed to be."
Lucia's eyes filled with tears. "You're not your father," she whispered. "That's why you'll lose."
She turned and ran down the hall. Lorenzo didn't stop her. The sound of her footsteps faded until it was swallowed by the house.
Isabella watched him, torn between relief and sorrow. "You let her go."
"She's already gone," he said. "The moment she chose fear."
---
In the city, Marco waited in a dimly lit café, his coat collar turned up against the morning rain. When Lucia finally appeared, breathless and pale, he smiled with satisfaction.
"Right on time," he said. "Did you bring it?"
Lucia placed the letter on the table. "He knows. You have to protect my son, Marco. You promised."
He glanced at the envelope, then at her. "Of course."
His tone was smooth—too smooth.
Lucia hesitated. "You swear it?"
"I swear you'll never have to worry again."
He rose, giving a small nod to the man standing by the door. A heartbeat later, Lucia felt the sting of a needle at her neck. Her body went rigid; her vision blurred. She tried to speak, but only silence escaped.
Marco caught her before she fell, lowering her gently into the chair. "You were right about one thing," he murmured. "Fear does keep people safe—just not you."
He walked out into the rain, leaving her behind, her eyes open but unseeing.
---
Back at the mansion, Isabella stood by the window in Lorenzo's office. "You did the right thing," she said softly.
He didn't answer. His thoughts were far away—lost somewhere between guilt and fury.
"Marco's making his move," he said finally. "Lucia was only the first crack."
"Then what now?"
He turned toward her. "Now I stop pretending to be merciful."
There was no rage in his voice, only resolve. Isabella saw it—the coldness returning, the mask he wore before he met her.
"Don't lose yourself again," she pleaded.
He looked at her for a long moment. "Sometimes, Isabella, the only way to win is to become the monster they already believe you are."
---
That night, thunder rolled over the city like an omen. Lorenzo arrived at one of the family warehouses with a convoy of cars. Inside, his men had gathered—faces pale, voices low. The betrayal had spread faster than rumor; half the organization no longer knew whom to follow.
Lorenzo stepped onto the platform overlooking the room. His voice cut through the storm outside.
"Someone in this family thinks they can sell us to our enemies," he said. "Someone who's forgotten what loyalty costs."
No one spoke. No one dared.
He held up the stolen letter, now torn open. "This is Marco's signature. His seal. His deal with the Barzini syndicate to divide what our fathers built."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"From tonight," Lorenzo continued, "there are no cousins. No brothers. Only sides. Choose wisely."
He tossed the letter into the fire barrel beside him. Flames licked the air, reflecting in his eyes like the rebirth of something long dormant.
---
Marco watched the fire from a television screen in his penthouse hours later. The broadcast caught only fragments—an explosion, men shouting, the emblem of the De Luca family burning. He smiled faintly, swirling the glass in his hand.
"So it begins," he murmured.
His lieutenant frowned. "He's gaining sympathy, boss. The men think you went too far."
Marco looked at him. "Let them think what they want. In this game, the first to bleed is the first to lose."
---
At the estate, Isabella couldn't sleep. The storm outside echoed the chaos inside her heart. She walked the corridors until she found herself before Lorenzo's study. The door was half-open, light spilling into the hall.
Inside, Lorenzo sat at his desk, staring at a faded photograph—him and Marco as boys, their fathers behind them, all wearing the same proud smirk.
Isabella stepped in quietly. "You miss him," she said.
He didn't look up. "I miss who we used to be. Before power taught us what love can't fix."
She approached, her voice steady. "You still have something worth fighting for. Your heart. Your name. Me."
For the first time in days, his expression softened. He reached for her hand—not as a leader, but as a man and made her sit on his lap.
"I made a promise to protect you," he said. "But I can't protect you from this war."
"Then let me stand beside you in it," she replied.
"How's it feel, Isabella? Are you comfortable sitting on my lap?"
"Y-Yes" I whispered back."I-It's very comfortable"I wiggled my butt backward,this time laying my pvssy directly on top of where his bon er was.
It felt so good as l imagined what it'd feel like to actually have him fvck my pvssy.
"Well, that's not fair. Because I'm not comfortable at all like this, baby."
"W-What do you mean?"
"Can't ya feel it? Can't ya tell how uncomfortable l am?"He jerked his hips forward,thrusting his raging erection against my bvtt.
"M-Maybe you should take it off then," I whispered. "lt's not a good idea to leave it
constricted like that."
"Oh? What do ya know about it?"
"J-Just rumors mmmmh nothing."
Lorenzo looked into her eyes, seeing a reflection of everything he feared to lose. And for the first time, he didn't push it away.
---
By dawn, word had spread through the underworld: the De Luca family had split. Half followed Lorenzo, half followed Marco. Bloodlines had become borders.
From that day forward, the war was no longer whispered. It had a name, a purpose, and a price.
And somewhere, high above the sleeping city, thunder rolled again—an echo of the blood yet to be spilled.