Chapter 2 Talks With My Father
Fiorella
It was the way my father had referred to murder during breakfast, like he had just read yesterday's headlines.
"The De Lucases are ascending," he announced, slicing through his steak with a casualness that should have intimidated me. "And with Lorenzo's murder, they’ve gotten stronger. Nobody believed Rafael would survive the coma, but since he has, they won't stop for anything.".
I shook my espresso, watching the dark liquid froth as I digested his words. "Lorenzo deserved to die."
"Of course he did." My father didn't even look up as he reached for his wine glass. Yes, wine. At breakfast. That was how he started his day—red meat, black coffee, and a glass of the finest red. Alessandro D'Angelo.
My father.
“But the De Luca brothers are dangerous, Fiorella." He finally lifted his gaze, dark and unreadable. "Dangerous than ever before."
I settled back in my chair, folding one leg over the other. "And that's making you anxious because…?"
He set his knife down. "Because the most dangerous thing worse than a dangerous enemy is a more dangerous ally.".
I allowed that to hang there between us, the gravity of his words settling in like a stone.
I had anticipated this conversation. I had seen the way my father's mind had operated over the past few weeks, strategising every move the De Lucases made. From killing Lorenzo, to destroying the foes who had tried to kill Rafael's wife. Even after Rafael had been in a coma, his brother Rocco had torn through their foes mercilessly, with no compassion.
Now Rafael was alive. And conscious. And the De Lucases were way more untouchable than ever.
My father wanted an alliance.
But alliances in this world were created in blood and betrayal. And trusting a De Luca?
That was like doing business with the devil.
"You think they'd attack us?" I asked.
"I think they'd slit our throats if it ever became convenient for them." He sipped his wine, eyes glinting above the rim of his glass. "Which is why we need to make sure they never do."
My fingers tapped on the porcelain of my coffee cup. "And how do you propose we do that?"
He smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "You."
The atmosphere shifted.
I stilled. My grip on the cup tightened. "Me?"
"You're my heir, Fiorella. My successor. You've lived your whole life showing you belong here, that you're something more than a daughter. This is your chance to show it again."
I released a slow breath, ignoring the way my heart accelerated. "What do you want me to do?"
"Sit with them. Work with them. Show them we are not enemies, but allies."
"You expect me to sit with Rocco De Luca and act like I trust the man?"
"I want you to make him trust you first."
A snort of laughter escaped my lips. "Rocco De Luca doesn't trust anyone."
"So you better try to make him."
I gazed at my father, questioning whether he really believed this was a good idea, or if this was a test of some sort. Because I knew the things about Rocco.
Everyone did.
The second De Luca brother. The enforcer. The one who didn't mind spilling blood.
If Rafael was the face of the De Luca empire, Rocco was its dagger.
A man without conscience or doubt.
"I don't like it," I admitted.
"I don't care if you like it," my dad said flatly. "I care if you get it done."
I clenched my jaw, but I didn't argue. He had set his mind on it.
And so, I had to set mine.
Because moving into the world of De Lucas was moving into a den of lions.
And I wasn't sure if I'd be a hunter…
Or the hunted.
We were having a conversation in his study later in the evening and he mentioned the De Lucas again.
"The De Lucas are getting stronger."
My father's voice was suave, but I felt the blade below.
I leaned back in my chair, watching him sip his whiskey, every movement calculated. My father never showed his hand, never said anything without thinking it through. He was always a step ahead, always playing the long game.
"Lorenzo's death, the attempt on Rafael's wife… all that was supposed to shatter them only made them stronger. They destroyed their enemies without hesitation."
"And now?" I asked, drumming fingers against my armrest.
"Now, they're unpredictable." His eyes grew cloudy. "And that makes them dangerous."
I breathed slowly, letting the words fall into place. We both knew what he was going to say before he said it because he already mentioned it this morning.
"An alliance."
"It's the smartest move." He placed his glass down. "War is coming, Fiorella. I can feel it in my bones. And when it does, we don't want to be on the wrong side of the battlefield."
"And if they won't have us?"
A slow smile pulled at his lips. "Then we help them understand that not having us isn't an option."
It always had been. Power and strategy, blood and control. A game that I had learned how to play from the age at which I was able to hold a gun.
"Where's the meeting?" I asked.
"At a club. Neutral territory."
I smiled. "There's nothing neutral about the De Lucases."
"No," he agreed. "But you'll get them to listen."
"And Rocco?"
His smile spread wider. "Rocco will be there."
Of course he would.
The second of the De Luca brothers. The one they whispered about in the backstreets, the one whose very name sent men scattering for shelter.
Rocco was the kind of man who didn't even bother to hide his fangs. He didn't reign like Rafael, he devoured. And in contrast to his brother, he didn't need a throne. He was content perched on a pile of dead bodies.
I had never laid eyes on him, but I had encountered him. Seen him across rooms at parties, his shadowy presence on the edge. He talked only as required, never grinned except with a cold, sinister curve.
The kind of man who caused his foes to disappear into thin air.
"Okay," I said, standing up. "I'll go."
My father looked at me, something enigmatic on his face. Then he nodded. "Be careful, Fiorella. The De Lucases don't play by the rules."
I smiled. "Neither do I."