Chapter 52

Chapter 52
LUCA'S POV

SILENCE.

For a moment, it seemed like the air stood still… a suffocating silence stretched across the room, thick like fog before a storm. Yet within that silence, there were words, unspoken but loud, heavy with meaning. And I heard them. I understood the message that silence held.

The Moretti Mafias hadn’t engaged in a full-scale battle in a long time. We’d lived in the shadow of our legacy, feeding off the fear our name once commanded, keeping peace by reputation alone. So this sudden shift, this fire blazing from me, Luca Moretti, the calm one, the one who was always calculated and never quick to anger, this shook them.

They hadn’t expected me to be the one standing here today, voice steely and cold, demanding that the guns be fetched. No tantrum. No shouting. Just decisive, absolute command. That kind of fury carried more weight than chaos ever could.

I could see it in their eyes, the quiet disbelief, the subtle glances they exchanged when they thought I wouldn’t notice. Hidden glares, furrowed brows, clenched jaws. They didn’t speak, but their faces betrayed them. Doubt. Uncertainty. Some even had fear etched into their features. It wasn't loud, but it was there…and it enraged me.

Moretti. The name. The legacy. The empire was built through decades of blood and sacrifice. It wasn’t just a name tossed around on the streets, it was carved into the underworld like fire through steel. That name was supposed to mean something. But a name didn’t hold power just by existing. No, names were nothing without action. Without teeth. Without fire. And if my men, the pillars of the Moretti Mafias, couldn't rise up and embody that legacy… If they faltered at the thought of war… If they hesitated at the scent of blood…

Then we were already doomed.

But not on my watch.

No. The name wouldn't fall. Not while it was in my hands. Never.

"Boss..." a voice called out, breaking the tension like a needle to a balloon.

It was one of the men standing just beside me, tall and wiry with eyes that darted nervously between me and the rest of the room.

My gaze shifted to him slowly. I arched one brow, the gesture sharp, deliberate. It said go on, without needing words.

He hesitated, his head slightly bowed in respect, or was it fear?

"Boss… no offense but I gotta ask you..." he began, voice low, hesitant.

I said nothing, but the weight of my silence pushed him to continue.

"Sir… are you sure about this? What if it wasn't Sandro?" he mumbled the question like a confession, his tone almost apologetic.

And just like that, rage erupted in me like a dormant volcano being woken with a jolt. My blood simmered, my jaw tightened, and my fingers twitched, itching to reach for the gun at my side. At that moment, I could've ended him…right there. For questioning me. For doubting me. For daring to speak Sandro’s name in defense.

But I didn’t.

I forced myself to stop. Breathe, and think.

No. That wasn’t the kind of boss I wanted to become.

I didn’t build this family just to turn around and slaughter it with my own hands. I didn’t command men just to watch them fall because I couldn’t control my own temper. I wasn’t going to be that monster.

"Hmm..." I exhaled sharply, pushing back the fury that clawed at my chest. I nodded once, lips pressed into a line, and then turned, climbing back up the short steps of the podium.

“Gather round, fellas,” I muttered coolly, readjusting the sleeves of my dark tailored jacket, the fabric shifting as I squared my shoulders.

They moved. Slowly at first, then with more purpose. The sound of footsteps echoed across the concrete floor as they formed a loose semicircle before me. Some still avoided my gaze, but I could feel the shift, the anticipation brewing, the nerves mixing with something else. Pride, loyalty, and maybe even courage.

I cleared my throat, the sound quiet but firm.

“I don’t want to believe that anyone here is scared,” I began, my voice low but unmistakably strong.

A chorus of low mumbles followed—denials, affirmations. Men stiffened, nodding as they exchanged looks. Denying fear even if their guts twisted with it.

The corner of my lips twitched. A small, knowing smile. Good. They were still Moretti men after all.

“For one, for all,” I said calmly, raising my hand.

“For one, for all!” they echoed, louder now. Stronger. It was a chant, yet more of a promise.

The sound of guns cocking cracked through the room like thunder. Metal slid, clicked, snapped into place. They were ready. We were ready.

I stepped down from the podium. One of my men, younger but bold, dropped to one knee, his hand raised, offering a box toward me like it was sacred.

I looked down at it and smiled, genuine, and unfiltered. My heart thrummed in my chest as I reached out and flipped the lid open.

"Voila..." I breathed, voice laced with admiration.

Inside, side by side lay two red-gold shotguns. Gleaming. Immaculate. Perfect.

They weren’t just weapons. They were legacy. Passed down through generations of Moretti blood, each leader touching them, using them, protecting the family name with them. And now, they were in my hands.

My fingers brushed the metal, the cold surface sending a thrill down my spine. I didn’t need confirmation. I didn’t need validation. These guns were proof enough. I was the Moretti throne.

“Arrange the vehicles. We leave in a few minutes,” I said without looking up, the command smooth, final.

Then I turned and walked away, returning to my office. As the heavy door shut behind me, I locked it with a satisfying click and leaned back against it.

I closed my eyes.

“Luca, are you making the right decision?” I asked myself aloud, the silence of the room wrapping around me.

It wasn’t just a question. It was a whisper of doubt, soft but persistent.

But I didn’t let it linger.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong,” I muttered to myself. My voice was flat, resolute. “My confrontation with Sandro has been long withheld. This was inevitable. If it’s now, then so be it.”

With that, I pushed away from the door, grabbed my jacket, and strode out.

Outside, my men were assembled, lined, and ready. Each face was different, but the expression was the same: focused, hardened, loyal. Fear had been replaced by determination.

The thrill that surged through me was unlike anything I’d felt in years. I could feel the blood in my veins pulsing faster, a devilish smirk tugging at my lips.

“Alright… let’s move,” I said and jumped into the matte-black Jeep Wrangler.

Engines roared to life like beasts being stirred. A convoy of black SUVs followed behind as we pulled out from the base, tires screeching lightly against the gravel.

I looked around at the men in the vehicle with me. Not one of them looked shaken. Not one wavered. These were the ones who matched my energy. The ones who stood, not just for me, but for Moretti.

I slammed my foot on the gas.

Right! Let the world know.

The Moretti Mafia wasn’t dead.

We were just getting started.