Novels by Eliza D

Two days.The city didn’t stop moving for him. The streets still buzzed with scooters, vendors still shouted about fresh bread and fish, and church bells still rang at noon. But for Mateo, every second ticked like a countdown.Ricardo’s deadline.Kill Lorenzo, or prove himself useless.The weight of that choice sat heavily in his chest as he walked through the narrow alleys toward the warehouse on Via Ferrante. The place Ricardo used for his “tests.” The place where loyalty was measured in blood.Mateo’s boots crunched over gravel. His coat was heavy, his knife hidden at his belt, his gun tucked at the back of his jeans. He knew tonight would decide his life.Inside the warehouse, men were already waiting. Ricardo sat on a wooden chair like a king on a throne, cigar smoke swirling around him. His dark eyes cut straight to Mateo the second he walked in.“You’re late,” Ricardo said, voice low but sharp.Mateo bowed his head slightly. “Traffic.”Ricardo’s lips twitched into something clo

Two nights. That was all Ricardo had given him. Two nights to put Lorenzo's blood on his hands, or drown in it himself.Matteo sat alone in his apartment, the lights off, the blinds drawn. A single cigarette glowed between his fingers, the smoke curling in the air. The silence pressed heavy, broken only by the faint hum of a neighbor’s radio through the thin walls.He had thought, at first, that sleep might make the uneasiness go away. But it hadn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lorenzo.Lorenzo on the pier, his reckless grin even with a gun pointed at his head. He certainly was stupid to be joking around when something serious was going on. It was as if he was careless with his life.Lorenzo’s voice snapping, “Get off me, I don’t need saving.”Lorenzo’s eyes, bright, wild but alive, locking with his when the bullet missed by inches.Mateo ground the cigarette into the ashtray, his jaw tight.He shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not like this. Not when that same man’s name was

The café was silent, except for the soft hiss of burning tobacco. Smoke curled from Ricardo’s cigarette, wrapping around him like a veil. His black eyes didn’t blink, neither did they soften. They watched Mateo the way a hawk watched a mouse, steady, patient, already knowing the ending.Mateo kept his head bowed, but he could feel the weight of that stare pressing into him. Every muscle in his body was tight, but his face stayed calm. He had learned long ago that panic only dug the grave faster.Ricardo took another slow sip of espresso. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but it carried a threat in every word.“Mi hijo,” he said softly, “you’ve always been the one I trusted. When others failed me, you stood tall. When others lied, you stayed loyal. That is why I ask you again…” his eyes narrowed, they were dark and piercing. “who do you serve?”Mateo lifted his gaze just enough to meet his. “You, señor. Always you.”Ricardo tilted his head, studying him. “Always me.” He repeated the w

The click echoed. Both Lorenzo and Mateo turned fast, instincts snapping to survival. A man stepped out of the shadows, pistol raised, steady as though he had been waiting for this moment. His face was hidden under a cap, his stance sharp and controlled. He wasn't some street thug. He was a damn professional.“De Luca,” the stranger said, his voice flat, touched with a northern accent. “Ricardo sends his regards.”The name cut through the air. Ricardo. How could he had found out?Lorenzo’s blood turned cold. But Mateo was already shifting. One wrong move and it would be over.Lorenzo forced a smirk back onto his face, even as his heart raced. “Tell Ricardo if he wants me dead, he should try it himself.”The gunman’s lip curled. “Orders don’t work that way.”He shifted the gun. Not at Lorenzo but at Mateo.Something inside Lorenzo snapped.“Down!” Lorenzo roared, slamming his shoulder into Mateo’s chest just as the shot cracked through the night. The bullet ripped into the hood of Lore

“Careful, Lorenzo. You’re slipping.”The voice came from the courtyard as Lorenzo stepped back into the palazzo. He froze, fingers brushing the knife at his belt. Then he caught the tone. It was soft. Isabella. His older sister. She moved out from under the olive trees. Her hair was pinned up neatly, lips painted red, eyes glittering with secrets. Isabella De Luca always looked like she was playing a game only she knew the rules to.“You’re out late,” she said, tilting her head. “And you smell weird.Tell me, little brother, what exactly have you been doing?”Lorenzo slid on his usual smirk, pulling the mask over his face. “Walking. Since when do I need your blessing to take a breath?”“Walking,” she repeated, tasting the word like wine. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Funny. I thought I saw you talking.”His chest tightened. She couldn’t know, not for sure. “To who?” he asked, too fast.Her smile deepened. “Does it matter? You’ve always been reckless. But this…” her eyes narrowed

The night was too quiet. Lorenzo slipped out of the palazzo under the cover of darkness, a cigarette between his lips, jacket hanging loose over his shoulder. He told Alessandro he needed air. What he really needed was space.Space from the heavy weight of family loyalty. Space from the cold look in his brother’s eyes. Space from the ghost of his father that still lingered in the halls. And most of all, space from the memory that clung to him like a second skin, Mateo’s hand pulling him out of the line of fire.But space was cruel.The old port was nearly empty at this hour. The streets were slick with sea spray, lamps throwing long shadows across the stones. Lorenzo leaned against the hood of his car, flicking ash into the dark, when he heard it, footsteps. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.“I knew you’d come,” Lorenzo said, smoke curling from his lips.A figure stepped from the shadows. Mateo Cruz. Black suit, no tie His eyes caught the streetlight, dark, unreadable “You shouldn