Chapter 3

The Confession of a Capo

Lucien leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of dark wine. His eyes never left Alexei, who still sat on the other side of the table looking confused, hands tight together as if ready to bolt.

“Eat,” Lucien finally said after a long pouse, a command dressed as suggestion.

Alexei hesitated, then reached for his plate. Meat, bread, olives, cheese—things he hadn’t tasted in months. He swallowed hard and forced himself to eat, though Lucien's strong words still eating at his stomach.

“You still look at food as if it’s going to vanish, Lucien said smiling.”

“It usually does.”

Lucien’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not in my house, not anymore.”

The boy ate, quiet, at the man looking closer from him. Lucien looked too wealthy to be anything other than dangerous. His black shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a chain shining in his chest. His hands were rough, tapped lightly against the wine glass.

Finally, Lucien set it down. “You’re wondering who I am. Why I stopped those bastards from roasting you alive.”

Alexei swallowed. “Yes, i... I was a bit surprised, sir.”

Lucien smiled, call me Lucien, Capo or better still The Don. Ok sir... The Don, he stammered. “I am Capo Lucien Delacroix, my full name. Lord and Don of this city’s underworld. Every politician you’ll ever see on the news? I own them. Every business that looks untouchable? They pay me. The police that dragged you into alleys before? They salute me when I walk past.”

The words sting strange on Alexei's face, and Alexei froze with bread halfway to his mouth.

“You’re… Mafia... Maria?” He asked.

Lucien’s lips curved into a cold smile. “The mafia is too small a word. I am the law they don’t write down. The chaos they pay to control. I don’t just live in this underworld—I rule it. I'm the Mafia Don.”

Alexei dropped the bread, fingers trembling. He wanted to run, but the memory of the mob’s fire burned in his head. The truth was bitter: outside, he’d be ash. Inside, he was alive.

Lucien studied him like a hawk watching prey. “Do you know why I saved you?”

Alexei shook his head.

“Because I saw something,” Lucien said, tapping his temple. “You didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. You didn’t plead for mercy like the rest of them. You just stared at death as if you’d already shaken its hand. That kind of fire belongs here—with me.”

Alexei’s breath quickened. “You… you want me to be part of this?”

Lucien smirked. “Not yet. First, you’ll watch. You’ll learn. This world feeds the strong and buries the weak. If you survive it, you’ll never have to steal scraps again.”

Silence swallowed the room. Alexei’s chest heaving fast. He remembered Russia. His parents’ screams. The cold nights of hunger. The mob laughing as they poured gasoline on him.

Strength. Power. Survival.

“Why me, why now?” Alexei whispered.

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “Because the city will eat you alive anyway. Better to let me teach you how to bite first.”

That night, Lucien gave Alexei an office on the second floor. It was larger than any place he had ever known—silk sheets, polished floors, a balcony overlooking Brussels’ glowing streets. He sat on the couch, still trembling, the taste of meat and olives lingering on his tongue.

But sleep didn’t come. His mind spun. Mafia. Capo. Don and Power?

And the way Lucien’s eyes had burned into him, like fire and claim at the same time.

The next morning came with a footsteps from the main building. A knock on the door.

“Up,” Lucien’s voice cut through.

Alexei pulled on a shirt too big for him and opened the door. Lucien stood there, dressed in a tailored suit, every inch of him radiating authority.

“Follow me.”

They descended into the mansion’s underground chambers. Metal doors, thick concrete walls, the air carrying the scent of gunpowder. Men with tattoos and scars saluted Lucien as he passed, their respect was like a knife to his throat.

Alexei kept close, trying not to tremble.

Lucien led him into a vast room. Weapons lined the walls—guns, knives, even swords. In the center, a table with maps and files. Men whispered over names of politicians and businessmen.

“This,” Lucien pointed, spreading his hands, “is my empire.”

Alexei stared, wide-eyed.

Lucien turned to him, his eyes were wet. “This is what puts food on my table. I make money in ways the world pretends not to see. Blackmail, contracts, blood. Politicians need rivals gone? I remove them. Rivals want secrets? I steal them. Everyone pays me, or they fall.”

He picked up a knife, twirling it effortlessly before driving it into the wooden table.

“This is what I was raised into. Capo of the Delacroix line. My father died for this throne, and I took it before the city could bury me with him. That is why I’m rich. That is why I eat while others starve.”

Alexei flinched at the slam of the knife. His chest thudded hard.

Lucien’s voice dropped, dangerous. “But the price is blood. Always blood. Remember that, Alexei. Every meal you just ate, every sheet you’ll sleep on, the expensive office—it is soaked in it all.”

The boy’s stomach churned. He remembered the mob. He remembered stealing bread from old women, running from guards. He remembered what it meant to kill, even in small ways, for survival.

His lips trembled. “And… and if I don’t want this life?”

Lucien smirked. “Then walk out that door. I won’t stop you. But the mob will find you. The police will beat you. Hunger will kill you. Out there, you are prey. In here, you can be a predator.”

Alexei’s fists clenched. His entire body shook with the memory of flames and laughter. Prey! Predator?

Lucien leaned closer, he a whisper to his ears. “So tell me, Alexei… which one do you want to be?” He asked.

Hours later, Alexei sat looking at the training hall. A pistol lay on the table in front of him. Beside it, a knife. His reflection stared back in the steel.

Lucien’s words still hunting him.

Better to bite first.

He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the knife. His grip was awkward, but something inside him sparked. A hunger, different from food.

Behind him, Lucien’s voice rang out suddenly. “Good choice.”

Alexei spun, startled. Lucien stood at the doorway, arms folded, watching him like a shadow.

“You’ll learn to use it,” Lucien said. “And when you do, the city will finally fear you, learn the hard way, my boy.”

Alexei’s chest breath fell, the knife still trembling in his hand.

Lucien stepped closer, eyes glinting. “This is only the beginning.”

That night, Lucien gathered his men for a meeting. Alexei was made to stand beside him, silent, observing. Files spread around the table, each with photographs of powerful men—judges, council members, businessmen.

Lucien tapped one photo. “This one owes us money. He thinks he can run to the police. By tomorrow, his career is gone.”

The men nodded.

Lucien tapped another. “This one keeps secrets about me. Secrets he’s fucking stupid to write down. Alexei—”

The boy stiffened.

“You’ll be the shadow that finds them. Very quiet and invisible. You will slip where no man dares, because no one sees a boy until it’s too late.”

Alexei’s breathing stopped. His chest hammered. He wanted to say no—but part of him burned at the chance to matter.

Lucien’s hand came down on his shoulder, commanding. “With me, you will rise. Without me, you will rot. Remember that.”

Alexei met his eyes. For the first time, he didn’t look away.

And Lucien smiled, dangerously.

The night deepened, the city outside busy noising around like it didn’t know who truly ruled it.

Alexei lay awake every damn night. He remembered his parents, Russia, the mob and now Lucien, with his empire of blood and secrets.

His hands shook. His heart raced.

But inside the whole truth, fear and something else stirred at him.

Not just survival. Not just hunger.

Something he couldn’t yet name.

Something that made Lucien’s words ring in his ears like a vow.

This is only the beginning.

And Alexei wasn’t sure if he wanted it to end.