Page 43 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
For now.
The next few days pass in a haze. I’m busy, incredibly so, which isn’t a bad thing, but the unrelenting tide of thoughts in my head makes it hard for me to focus. There’s a cacophony of meetings and disputes over territory. My office becomes my prison. The table is littered with maps, dossiers, and a bottle of scotch that I haven’t touched but keep pouring, the amber liquid a comfort I don’t indulge in.
The faces of my men are grim as we discuss the rival faction threatening to destabilize the delicate balance of our territories.
“They’ve hit three warehouses in the last week,” Marco growls, his hands braced against the edge of the table. My younger brother is barely containing his fury, his jaw clenched so tight I hear it pop. “We need to send a message, something that makes them regret taking a single step onto our turf.”
Adriano leans back in his chair, his face a portrait of annoyance battling with bloodlust. His grin is sharp, his eyes glittering with a cruel edge. “A message? No, we send an example. They don’t need to feel regret. They need to feel fear.”
The room hums with murmurs of agreement. These men—loyal, vicious, unrelenting—they’ve built my empire brick by bloody brick. Their solutions are predictable because this life demands brutality.
And yet...
Their voices fade into the background as my mind drifts, pulled away by a force I can’t control. I imagine a boy, small and wide-eyed, running through these very halls. But what kind of world will he inherit? One where every step he takes could be his last if the wrong person decides to strike?
“Luca.”
Marco’s voice slices through my thoughts. I blink, realizing the room has gone quiet. All eyes are on me.
I straighten, fixing them with a glare that dares them to question me. “We don’t move yet,” I say, my voice cold. “Not until we know who’s pulling the strings. This isn’t just about retaliation—it’s about precision. We strike when the time is right, and when we do, there won’t be anything left of them.”
The meeting concludes, but the weight doesn’t lift. Instead, it settles deeper into my chest, pressing against my ribs like a vice. The next day, I find myself in the gym, pounding into a heavy bag with more force than necessary. Each strike is a release, a desperate attempt to drown out the turmoil in my head. My fists ache, the skin splitting under the relentless assault, but I don’t stop.
“You’ll break your damn hand if you keep that up,” Marco says from the doorway.
I glance at him, sweat dripping into my eyes. “What do you want?”
He steps into the room, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “You’re distracted.”
“Your insight astounds me,” I retort, turning back to the bag.
Marco sighs, crossing his arms. “It’s the kid, isn’t it? You’re thinking about what it means.”
I don’t respond.
“It’s not going to change anything, Luca. This life—our life—it doesn’t stop for a family. You know that.”
His words are a punch to the gut, not because they’re wrong, but because they’re right. I keep hitting the bag until my knuckles scream, until Marco finally leaves me to my misery.
By the third day, the tension becomes unbearable. I pace my office, the map of our territories spread out before me like a battlefield. Every line, every marker, is a reminder of the violence that has built this empire.
A knock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.
“Enter.”
Dante steps in, his expression grave. “We’ve confirmed the faction is backed by the Rossi family. They’re trying to gain a foothold in the northern territories.”
I nod, though my stomach churns at the confirmation. The Rossis have been a thorn in my side for years, their ambitions always pushing them into reckless territory.
“Double the men on the warehouses,” I order. “And send a message to their inner circle—something subtle. Let them know we’re watching.”
Dante hesitates, then nods. “Understood.”
When he leaves, the silence in the room is deafening. I sink into the chair behind my desk, my hands threading through my hair. The empire is safe for now, but the gnawing question remains:how do I protect a family in a world that thrives on destruction?
That evening, I stand on the balcony outside my bedroom, the cool night air a brief reprieve. My mind is restless, caught between the empire I’ve built and the family I’m trying to imagine.
Behind me, the door creaks open. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Valentina.
