Chapter 173: Lucia's Murderer

Matteo worked in silence, his movements careful, almost reverent.

He cleaned the blood from Dante’s hands first, gently brushing away tiny shards of glass embedded in his skin. Dante didn’t flinch nor did he even seem to feel it. His eyes were fixed on nothing.

“Hold still,” Matteo murmured, wrapping a clean cloth around Dante’s palm. His own knuckles were bruised, his shoulder throbbing, but none of that mattered now.

He glanced up at Dante’s face, pale, hollow, eyes rimmed red.

“What happened?” Matteo asked quietly. “Dante… talk to me.”

Matteo didn’t push. He cleaned another cut, then another, dabbing gently at the blood streaking Dante’s arm. When he was done, he sat back, waiting for Dante to say something.

Minutes passed.

Then Dante swallowed hard. “When we were searching for anything connected to Enzo’s death…” he began, his voice hoarse, barely audible, “I found a flashdrive.”

Matteo remained stilled, listening.

“I hid it,” Dante continued. “Didn’t tell anyone. I tried to access it myself, but it wasn’t working. It was damaged.” His fingers twitched slightly. “So I sent it to Alvaro. Told him to extract whatever was inside… safely and intact.”

Dante stopped speaking.

Matteo leaned closer. “And?” he urged softly. “What was on it?”

Dante’s eyes finally focused, though they looked shattered.

“Enzo was trying to tell us something, he found out the truth that I was too blinded to see.” he said, pain seeping into every word. “It was about Luca.”

Matteo felt his chest constrict, he didn't like where the conversation was headed.

“Luca…” Dante’s voice cracked. He pressed his lips together, then forced himself to continue. “Luca had been working against us. All this time.”

Matteo’s breath left him slowly. “Luca?”

Dante nodded. “My own brother. My blood.” His hands curled into fists, the fresh bandages staining red again. “We grew up together, survived together. I trusted him with my life.”

Matteo said nothing, afraid any sound might break him further.

“I always tried to shield Luca,” Dante went on, his voice trembling now. “From the business. From the dirt. From the consequences. I took everything on myself because that’s what an older brother does.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Never—never did I think the betrayal would come from inside, from him.”

His eyes glistened again. “I found out weeks ago,” Dante admitted quietly. “That he was the leader of the Marino gang.”

Matteo’s head snapped up. “Weeks ago? Why didn't you say something?”

Dante nodded, shame flickering across his face. “I didn’t tell anyone. I kept making excuses for him. Telling myself there had to be a reason, that maybe he was being forced, that maybe he was protecting something.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want to believe my own brother could be my enemy.”

“I convinced myself I was wrong,” he said. “Because thinking badly of him felt worse than being blind.”

Matteo reached out then, placing a firm hand on Dante’s shoulder. “You loved him,” he said quietly. “That doesn’t make you weak.”

Dante let out a shaky exhale, tears finally spilling freely again. “It makes me a fool,” he whispered.

“No,” Matteo replied, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest. “It makes you human.”

Dante closed his eyes, his head bowing forward as the weight of everything finally crushed down on him. “There’s more,” he said, his voice barely holding together.

Matteo stiffened. He could already feel it, that whatever came next would be worse. Still, he nodded. “Go on.”

Dante opened his eyes slowly. They were wet, bloodshot.

“From the file… I found out Luca wasn’t just involved,” he continued. “He was working closely with De Luca. Feeding them information, our movements, weak points.” A hollow laugh escaped him.

“Every time we dodged a hit, every time something went wrong, it wasn’t bad luck.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened. “Luca?” he whispered, disbelief flooding his face.

Dante nodded once. “My own house was leaking.”

He paused, dragging a hand down his face, smearing blood across his skin without caring.

“And Valentina…” he added quietly. “She’s in on it too. That one didn’t surprise me.” His lips twisted. “She’s always wanted power more than loyalty.”

Matteo swallowed hard. “Dante…”

“But none of that,” Dante said suddenly, his voice breaking, “none of that compares to what hurt the most.”

Matteo felt his heart drop.

Dante looked at him then, as if begging him to carry some of the weight. “Lucia,” Dante mentioned the name.

Matteo’s breath hitched. “Lucia?” he echoed, barely audible. “Our Lucia?”

Dante nodded again, slower this time. His shoulders trembled.

“She found out,” he said. “She pieced everything together. She confronted him.” His voice cracked completely. “And he killed her.”

Matteo’s world tilted.

“No,” he whispered. “No… Luca wouldn’t—”

“He did,” Dante cut in, pain sharp and raw. “He killed her because she knew the truth. Because she wouldn’t keep quiet.”

Lucia. The girl who had grown up in their halls. Who laughed too loudly, who braided their hair when they were kids, who was more sister than cousin.

Matteo staggered back a step, as if struck.

“Oh God…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This—this doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Dante said bitterly. “Greed always does.”

Matteo shook his head, eyes burning. “I don’t understand. Luca adored her. He—”

“He adored power more,” Dante interrupted.

Silence crashed down between them.

Matteo opened his mouth, closed it again. His throat worked as he tried to find words that didn’t exist.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted hoarsely. “This is… Dante, this is too much.”

Dante let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“My own blood,” he said brokenly. “My younger brother. Did this to me.” His fists clenched, knuckles white. “All for what, Matteo? What does he want that I couldn’t give him?”

His voice rose, trembling with anguish.

“What did I even do to him?” Dante demanded, eyes glistening. “I protected him. Covered for him. Took bullets meant for him. I gave him everything.”

Matteo stepped closer, pain etched deeply into his face.

“You didn’t fail him,” he said firmly. “He chose this.”

Dante shook his head violently. “I raised him after our parents died. I became his shield. His excuse. His escape.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And this is how he repaid me.”

Matteo’s chest ached as he watched Dante unravel.

“I don’t know how to process this,” Matteo confessed. “Enzo. Luca. Lucia…” He exhaled shakily. “It feels like everything we knew is a lie.”

Dante sank back against the couch, exhausted beyond words.

“It is,” he said quietly. “And now I have to live with knowing that the people I loved most were the ones sharpening the knife.”

Matteo said nothing. There was nothing to say.