Chapter 2
2
LUCIANO POV
The laughter and clinking glasses from the dining room feel distant as I close the study door behind me. My world is made of decisions no one else wants to make. Tonight’s dinner plays through my mind like a series of chess moves—each word calculated, each silence measured. But Aurora’s defiance... Dio , her fire burns through every careful plan.
My jaw clenches, the muscle ticking with tension. The memory of her challenging gaze sends an unwanted heat through my veins, my carefully maintained restraint fraying at the edges. I force my breathing to steady, but my heartbeat refuses to obey.
I cross to my desk, fingers trailing over the polished mahogany. Everything here speaks of order: files arranged with military precision, pen perfectly aligned. The crystal decanter catches lamplight like blood.
Tonight’s dinner wasn’t just about Aurora’s defiance—the Rossi threat lurks beneath every calculated move. My phone buzzes again: another warning from our street contacts. Three of our men disappeared last week. The timing of Aurora’s questions couldn’t be worse.
Control is currency in our world. Yet one glimpse of those fierce eyes across the dinner table, and my carefully maintained barriers threaten to crack.
“You can’t keep hiding things from her forever,” Enzo had said earlier, his usual smirk replaced with rare seriousness.
“We do what’s necessary,” I’d replied, the words tasting bitter. “She’s safer not knowing.”
Safer . The word echoes as I pour myself two fingers of scotch. The amber liquid catches the light like her eyes when she’s angry. I shouldn’t notice these things. Shouldn’t catalog the way she holds herself with such pride, even surrounded by her brothers’ suffocating protection. Shouldn’t remember how the moonlight painted her skin silver in the garden.
My fingers tremble against the crystal stem, and I force them still, just as I force down the surge of emotions threatening to break through my walls. The scotch burns, but not enough to erase the image of her defiant stance, the way her presence makes my carefully constructed world tilt on its axis.
“Cazzo,” I mutter, downing the scotch in one burning swallow.
The crystal makes a sharp sound as I set it down too hard, my control slipping for a moment.
My phone buzzes—Dominic’s name lighting up the screen. “Yes?”
“The Rossi situation needs handling. Tonight.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Always the same response. Always the same role.
“And Luciano?” His voice carries that edge I’ve learned to recognize. “Keep an eye on Aurora. She’s asking questions we can’t afford to answer.”
The call ends, leaving me with the weight of unspoken orders. Keep her safe. Keep her contained. Keep her in the dark.
Through the window, I spot her in the garden again, pacing like a caged tiger. The sight stirs something I’ve kept buried since Maria’s death—a hunger for more than duty and control. For warmth. For life.
I pull out the worn photograph from my wallet. Maria smiles up at me, frozen in time.
The edges are worn smooth from years of touching, like worry beads marking my guilt. Maria’s smile holds secrets now—warnings I should have seen. Aurora’s laugh earlier had echoed with that same musical quality, the similarity striking me almost physically painfully. Two women, both fierce in their own ways, both representing everything I can’t afford to want.
“Mi dispiace, amore,” I whisper. Five years, and the guilt still cuts fresh. I couldn’t protect her. I won’t fail again.
The garden calls to me. Outside, the cool night air offers a brief respite from the mansion’s suffocating politics. Aurora’s scent lingers here—flowers and rebellion. She’d stood so close earlier, challenge blazing in her eyes. The memory of her nearness makes my hands clench, my willpower slipping as forbidden images flash through my mind. I force them back, but the ache in my chest remains.
Even now, I feel the phantom warmth of her nearness, the slight tremble in her breath when I’d moved closer. Dangerous territory for a man who’s sworn to protect her. Even more dangerous for one who wants to possess her.
“I’d rather burn than suffocate,” she’d said. The words haunt me.
“Dangerous thoughts, fratello .”
I turn sharply. Enzo leans against a column, cigarette smoke curling around him like mist. His ability to move silently rivals mine.
“Just getting some air.”
“Sure.” He takes a long drag. “Nothing to do with our little rebel princess?”
“Watch it, Enzo.”
“Hey, I get it. She’s beautiful, passionate...” His smile turns knowing. “Forbidden.”
“There’s nothing to get.” My voice carries a warning even Enzo won’t ignore.
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying—she’s not Maria. And you’re allowed to live again.”
“I have responsibilities.”
“To the family? Or to a ghost?”
The question follows me home, echoing through my mind as I ride the elevator to my penthouse. The space greets me with familiar emptiness—clean lines, minimal furnishings, everything in its place. No room for chaos. No space for warmth.
I pour another scotch, letting the city lights hypnotize me through expansive windows. Chicago spreads out below, a maze of shadows and artificial stars. Somewhere out there, the Rossis are moving pieces on a board I can’t fully see. And Aurora... Cristo , I need to stop thinking about her.
The city lights blur as exhaustion creeps in, but something keeps me on edge. Years of survival have taught me to trust these instincts—the prickle at the back of my neck, the subtle shift in the air that precedes danger. Tonight feels different. Wrong.
The phone buzzes, cutting through my thoughts. Nearly midnight—calls at this hour are rarely good news.
“Mr. Vitale?” The security desk’s voice is hesitant. “There’s someone here claiming to be your brother.”
Ice slides down my spine. “My brother?”
“Yes, sir. Alessandro Vitale.”
The name sends a shockwave through me. Alessandro. Five years of questions rush back—the missing shipments, the leaked routes, the way rival families always seemed one step ahead of us. Dominic and I had traced the betrayals back to him, watching our golden boy sell out his own blood piece by piece. But before we could confront him, he’d disappeared in that Rossi raid. Dead, we’d thought. Or wanted to believe.
“Sir?”
My mind races through possibilities. Had we been wrong about his betrayal? Or worse—had we been right, and now he’s back to finish what he started? The memory of his last night surfaces—the way he’d smiled when I mentioned the upcoming shipment to the docks, how that same cargo ended up in Rossi hands hours later.
“Description?”
“Tall, dark hair, expensive suit. Has a scar above his right eyebrow. Says it’s urgent.”
The scar. Only family would know about that childhood accident. The irony burns—that same scar came from him taking a punch meant for me when we were kids. Now here he is, the brother I couldn’t save. Or maybe the brother who never wanted saving.
“ Merda .” I grip the phone tighter. “Send him up.”
I move to the bar, pouring a second glass. My hand doesn’t shake—I won’t allow it. The elevator’s soft hum counts down the moments, each second heavy with all of my questions.
Alessandro is supposed to be dead, killed in a Rossi raid that took three of our men and fractured our alliances. I’d mourned him, raged at his loss. But questions lingered—questions that surfaced again after Maria’s death. Questions I’d buried because they led nowhere.
Ding .
The doors slide open. Time stops.
Alessandro steps out, exactly as I remember and completely changed. The same devastating charm in his smile, but his eyes... they’re colder now. Harder.
“ Ciao, big brother.” His voice carries that familiar musical lilt. “Miss me?”
“You’re dead.” The words come out flat.
He laughs, the sound both warm and chilling. “Clearly not.” He moves into my space with fluid grace, taking in the penthouse. “Nice place. Very you.”
“Why now?”
“What, no hug? No ‘welcome back from the dead’ ?” He picks up the scotch I poured, examining it in the light. “Single malt. You always did have expensive taste.”
“Cut the bullshit, Alessandro. Five years of silence, and you show up now?”
His smile shifts, something darker bleeding through.
“Maybe I missed my family. Maybe I heard interesting rumors.” He takes a slow sip. “Maybe I wanted to meet my new sister-in-law. Oh wait—there isn’t one. Still carrying that torch for Maria, fratello ?”
Images flash through my mind—Maria’s last morning, the scent of her perfume still lingering in our bedroom, the way she’d hesitated before leaving. Now Aurora carries that same hesitation sometimes, that same look of knowing too much and too little. The parallel makes my blood run cold.
My hands curl into fists. “You don’t say her name.”
“No?” He sets down the glass, all pretense dropping. “Then let’s talk about Aurora Salvatore instead. Beautiful girl. Spirited. Not really your usual type, but then again?—“
His casual mention of her name carries hidden thorns. There’s calculation in his eyes, a predatory awareness that makes my protective instincts surge. He’s always been skilled at finding weaknesses, and somehow he’s identified mine before I’ve fully admitted it to myself.
I move before thinking, grabbing his collar. “Stay away from her.”
His grin widens. “There he is. The real Luciano.” He doesn’t resist my grip. “We have so much to catch up on, brother. Starting with what really happened the night Maria died.”
The words hit like ice water. I release him, stepping back. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you don’t know?” His eyes glitter with malice. “That’s going to make this so much more interesting.” He straightens his jacket with casual elegance. “Family secrets have a way of destroying everything they touch. Just ask Aurora about her mother.”
He pulls out his phone, showing me a photograph that stops my breath—Maria, on the day she died, outside the Rossi compound. “Your wife, her mother... patterns repeat, fratello . How many more women need to die before you see the truth?”
“Get out.”
“I’m hurt.” He moves to the elevator, pausing at the threshold. “But don’t worry, I’ll be around. There’s a storm coming, Luciano. Better decide which side you’re on before it hits.”
The doors close on his smile, leaving me alone with questions that taste like ash. I grab my phone, dialing Dominic’s number.
“He’s alive.” The words feel foreign on my tongue. “Alessandro’s alive. And he knows something about Maria.”
Silence stretches across the line. Finally, Dominic speaks, his voice grave. “Lock down the estate. No one in or out without my approval.” A pause. “Especially Aurora.”
The call ends. I stare at the city lights, Alessandro’s words echoing in my head. Family secrets have a way of destroying everything they touch.
The scotch glass shatters in my grip, amber liquid mixing with blood. In our world, the dead don’t stay buried. And ghosts... ghosts have a way of dragging every careful plan into chaos.
I look down at my bleeding hand, watching red droplets fall on the imported marble. Control is an illusion. And the storm? It’s already here.
In the reflection of the window, I catch a glimpse of movement in the building across the street—a shadow where there shouldn’t be one. Alessandro’s return isn’t just about family secrets. He’s declaring war, and Aurora... Aurora might be his first target.