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1.
Luca Mariani POV
"Another round?" I asked, leaning over the bar, nudging the guy beside me as I flagged down the bartender walking past.
He grinned, showing a neat row of teeth. "You never stop, Luca, do you?"
I smirked, tossing a glance around the room. Party neon lights flickered, washing everything in shades of blue and purple. Smoke hung in the air, scented with cologne and cheap whiskey.
"Stop? Darling, that would require me to stop breathing," I said, tapping my glass. The ice clinked, matching the beat of the music.
"Get your hands off me!" A voice came from the far end where bodies were swirling around pressed close on the dance floor. Every inch of the place pulsed with movement, laughter and then the occasional shout of hype.
He rolled his eyes, leaning close. Typical, just like always. My hand slid to his waist, pulling him closer as he laughed against my neck.
"You're always gonna be a bad boy,’ He said with a chuckle, leaning in to give me a kiss.
I was good at this. The smiles, charm and my smooth words. A wink here and a brush there; guys never resisted for long. Though I never kept it serious or lasting because that was the beauty of it.
My gaze drifted across the club, catching a dozen sets of eyes drawn to me. I'm sure they wanted the same. I loved it. From the energy to the power. Then the way gazes lingered a little too long.
"Damn!" I exclaimed in my mind. "I love it."
And then I saw him.
Sitting alone in the corner, dark wavy hair falling messily over his forehead. He wore a rumpled white dress shirt, collar open, sleeves shoved to his elbows and a face that looked haunted yet striking. His full lips parted slightly as he stared into his half-empty glass.
I shifted in my seat, something stirring low in my gut that I didn't immediately have a name for.
"Damn. He's…"
I managed to cut the thought off before it finished.
However, I couldn't help but notice the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the subtle tension coiled in his shoulders like a man holding himself together with every piece of courage in him. I couldn't look away as I wondered what had brought him here, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world.
I don't even know why I noticed him because I normally don't notice people so I shook my head slightly and looked away, reaching for my drink. "Not again."
Then, a group of three guys approached him.
"Hey gorgeous!" I lip read buzzcut, thier leader's mouth as he leaned in too close, his hand brushing the charming guy’s arm.
Immediately, my jaw tightened. He shook his head and I couldn't make out anything he said but they didn't back off. Things started looking serious when one grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the dance floor.
His eyes flashed with anger and fear as he shouted words I couldn't hear before he yanked free, snatching a bottle from the bar. Next, it shattered against Buzzcut's head with a sharp crack, the glass scattering across the sticky floor.
"Ooh. Alright then." I smiled before realising I should probably do something.
The others lunged. I was on my feet before I thought twice about it, weaving through the crowd. I slammed into the first guy, my fist connecting with his jaw in a solid thud that sent him sprawling into a table.
"Back off," Buzzcut snarled as bottles toppled with liquid splashed everywhere and screams pierced the music. The second guy swung wildly and I ducked, driving my elbow into his gut while the whoosh sound of air expelled. The third bolted for the door, but I tripped him with a swift kick, pinning him down with a knee.
"Back the hell off," I snarled, voice cutting through the chaos with authority.
The bouncers were closing in now, so the guys scrambled away, cursing under their breaths. I straightened in relief and turned to him. He stood there, breathing hard, a few shards of glass crunching under his shoes. Then his eyes met mine; wide, grateful, a mix of adrenaline and something deeper.
"You okay?" I asked, extending a hand. His skin was flushed.
Up close, he smelled like cedar and something faintly expensive.
He nodded, taking my hand. His grip was firm and warm. "Yeah. Thanks a lot. I'm Alessandro."
"Luca." I guided him toward the exit, the cool night air hitting us as we stepped into the alley. My black sedan waited at the curb, engine still warm from the drive over. "Let me give you a ride home. Can't leave you here after that mess."
Alessandro hesitated, then slid into the passenger seat, buckling up with shaky fingers. I started the car, pulling onto the quiet side street with the city lights blurring past. Silence stretched, broken only by the hum of tires on wet asphalt. He stared out the window, arms wrapped around himself. I kept my eyes on the road.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was soft but steady. "I wasn't that drunk, you know. Just... needed to forget."
He paused again, his fingers twisting the hem of his shirt. "Went to my fiancé's place tonight. Nico. It's his birthday, and our wedding's in two days—" I exhaled sharply at the revelation.
"I planned a surprise for just us, private. I made cupcakes, there were lights, the whole thing. But when I got there..." He was already sniffling.
I glanced over, keeping my eyes on the road but listening hard as his words tumbled out.
"The door was unlocked. I heard noises… soft moans actually, then thuds. Thought maybe he had the TV on. But when I pushed the bedroom door open, there he was."
"With a woman. On our bed, fucking like animals. He was thrusting into her so hard the headboard banged the wall, her legs were locked around him, screaming his name."
"And he just… he just kept going. He didn't stop or notice my presence until the cupcakes hit the floor."
His voice cracked on the last word. My hands gripped the wheel tighter as I pulled over into a deserted lot behind a row of shuttered shops.
"Jesus, Alessandro. That's... I'm sorry."
He turned to me, eyes glistening and the dam broke. Tears spilled down his cheeks, silent at first, then wrenching sobs that shook his whole body. I quickly unbuckled, reaching over to pull him into a hug across the console. He buried his face in my shoulder, his warmth seeping through my shirt while his hands clutched my back.
"It's okay," I murmured, one arm around him, the other resting at his back. "Let it out."
"It's gonna be alright."
In the shift, his hand slipped lower, accidentally brushing against the front of my jeans. I froze.
*What the—*
My body responded before my brain caught up, a heat I hadn't expected and couldn't immediately explain. I'd been wound up since the club; the fight, the adrenaline, the strange pull I'd felt since I first noticed him and now…
“Shit. Shit.”
Something stirred unmistakably. I stiffened, jaw locking, staring straight ahead.
"Luca—" His voice cracked as he gasped, pulling back sharply, eyes wide as his gaze dropped.
Matteo Rossi POVShe has rearranged the dining table.I notice it the moment I walk in. The chairs are slightly closer together than I keep them and there's a centrepiece I don't own — small yellow flowers in a glass of water — sitting in the middle like it grew there overnight.My mother does this. Arrives and quietly makes spaces hers without announcing it. By the end of two weeks the apartment will feel completely different and when she leaves it will feel wrong again for at least a month.I don't say anything about the flowers."You're late," she says from the kitchen."I said two.""It's four past.""That's not late.""In this family four minutes is late." She appears in the doorway with a dish towel over her shoulder. Looks at my jacket. "Take that off. You're not at the office."I take the jacket off.Alessandro is already at the table. He looks up when I sit and there's something in his face today that wasn't there yesterday. Something sitting behind his eyes that he's carryin
Matteo Rossi POV"Talk."Marco sets two folders on my desk without sitting down. He never sits down in my office unless I tell him to. Seven years and that hasn't changed."Luca Mariani returned to Milan yesterday morning," he says. "Met Alessandro for lunch at the apartment. Left at four."I look at the folder. Don't open it yet."And Alessandro.""He had a visitor this morning. Enzo Bianchi. Thirty minutes. Then he left for his office." A pause. "He also received a message from an unknown number two days ago. Same number that sent the photograph to Naples."I look up. "You've been tracking the number.""Since Naples yes." Marco's expression doesn't change. "It's a clean sim. Untraceable through normal channels. But the location pings put it in Milan's second district consistently." He opens the second folder. Slides it across. "Which is where this man has been staying since Tuesday."I look at the photograph.Young. Dark haired. The easy relaxed posture of someone who has spent year
22. Alessandro Rossi POV"He called you?""Texted." Enzo drops into the chair across from my desk without being invited which is standard Enzo. He has never once in the years I've known him waited to be invited anywhere. "This morning. Said he'd been trying to reach Luca but couldn't get through. Wanted to know if I had another number."I put my pen down. "What did you tell him.""That I didn't." He folds his arms. "Which is true. But Alessandro." He leans forward. "This guy knows things. When I met him at Settimo he knew about the engagement. About Nico. About the timing of everything. That's not casual knowledge.""People talk.""Not like that." Enzo shakes his head. "It was specific. The kind of specific that comes from research not gossip." He looks at me steadily. "I don't like him.""You don't like anyone new.""I don't like anyone new for good reason." He points at me. "Exhibit A sitting right behind that desk."I look at him."Luca said the same thing," I say. "That Damiano i
Luca Mariani POVMilan smells different from Naples.Naples smells like salt and old stone and something fried coming from somewhere always. Milan smells like money and rain and the particular ambition of a city that never fully sleeps and never fully wakes up either.I stand outside my apartment building with my bag and breathe it in and try to decide how I feel about being back.I feel nothing clean. That's the honest answer.I go inside.***The apartment is exactly how I left it. Which is obvious because nobody else has a key and I've been gone two weeks but there's still something strange about walking back into your own space and finding it waiting exactly where you put it.I drop the bag. Sit on the bed.Naples was real. My mother's hand on my face. Sofia's food container smell cutting through the ward air. My father's heavy breathing in that warehouse room while I changed his clothes and tried not to think too hard about what his life has become.That was real.This is also re
Damiano Romano POV"Talk to me about the brother.""Matteo Rossi." Lorenzo's voice comes through the phone even and unbothered. "What about him.""Everything in this file." I drop it on the hotel bed and walk to the window. Milan at night does what Milan always does — looks expensive and indifferent. "You told me Alessandro. You told me Luca. You didn't tell me the full weight of what Matteo Rossi actually means in this city.""Does it change anything.""It changes how carefully I move."A pause. Then: "Move carefully then."He hangs up.I stand at the window with the dead call in my hand and look at the city and think about the photograph in that file. Matteo Rossi at forty feet looking like he owns the air around him. Which he probably does.I've dealt with dangerous men before. Not this particular kind. The kind that has a name the city knows without needing to say it twice.I put the phone down and get dressed.***The bar Enzo drinks at after work is called Settimo. Ground floor
19. .Luca Mariani's Pov. The corridor outside the ward smells like every hospital corridor in every city. That particular mix of cleaning fluid and recycled air that I have apparently decided is just part of my life now.I lean against the wall. Phone to my ear.It rings twice."Luca."Alessandro's voice comes through immediately and something about hearing it after two weeks of avoiding it does something unexpected to my chest. Not guilt exactly. More complicated than guilt."Hey," I say.A pause. Short. He's deciding where to start."Where are you," he says."Naples. Hospital. My mother's session runs another forty minutes.""How is she.""Stable." I look at the window at the end of the corridor. Naples afternoon light sitting heavy and golden on the rooftops outside. "She's stable.""Good." Another pause. Longer this time. "Luca I went to your apartment."I close my eyes briefly. "I know.""The door—""I know Alessandro."Silence."Did he threaten you," he says. Quiet. Direct. N
Luca Mariani POVI feel the floor cold underneath me and because I've been sitting here long enough to feel it through my clothes.My hands have stopped shaking which is something. I press the back of my head against the wall and stare at the ceiling and breathe the way you breathe when your body i
Luca Mariani POVThe dialysis ward smells like antiseptic and I hate this smell. I've hated it for two years and I hate it the same amount every single time.My mother is in the third bed from the window. She looks smaller than last week. She always looks smaller than last week. Her eyes find me th
Luca’s Pov.I sat at the edge of my bed drinking the bottle of Belvedere I found in the kitchen cabinet. I needed to calm myself from the afternoon indulgence, being a bit tipsy I could only think of the very simple fact that Matteo Rossi can go to hell.I pour two fingers. Drink it standing.Pour
Matteo Rossi POVI go very still.It's Luca. No mistaking it. The curve of his neck, the way his dark hair falls just so over his forehead when he's focused. He's shirtless, skin pale under the vanity lights, muscles shifting as he adjusts something on the counter—a bottle of oil, maybe, or lotion.







