Ice

In the comfort of his office, amidst the cold and unwelcoming atmosphere of La Vega group of companies, its towering skyline piercing through New York, Luciano buried himself in contract documents that needed approval and the constant chime of emails demanding his attention.

He spent nearly all his time there; one could say the office was more of a home than the grand Vega mansion. Despite its army of servants, lavish bedrooms, and private study, the mansion offered him no comfort.

He had little use for the servants, and even less for the emptiness that echoed through its halls.

He leaned back in his leather chair, fingers drumming lightly against the polished mahogany desk. His tie sat slightly loosened, his dark eyes fixed on the cascade of figures glowing on the screen.

The door opened with a gentle knock. “Sir,” Mr Grad said with a calm voice, he entered, tall and neatly pressed as always, his clipboard tucked beneath one arm. He had been Luciano’s assistant for seven years, long enough to understand that business came first, second and last in this man’s life.

“Speak,” Luciano said without lifting his gaze.

“Quarterly reports from the Hong Kong division just came in. revenue exceeded projections by twelve percent. However, there’s unrest with our partners in Berlin, supply chain delays, and they’re pressing for renegotiations.”

Luciano’s hand stilled. He raised his eyes, sharp and unreadable.

“Renegotiations are weakness. Tell Berlin if they cannot uphold their end, there’re many others in line waiting for the opportunity they have.

This company is not a charity.”

“Yes, sir.” Mr Grad adjusted his glasses, unbothered by the sharpness in Luciano’s tone. He had heard worse.

At the time when he was just a newly employed assistant, Mr Grad had survived. That seems to be the only way to exist

Just then, Luciano’s phone buzzed against the table. The screen lit up, Mamma.

For the briefest second, something flickered across his face, a tightening at the jaw, a faint exhale before he picked it up.

“Yes, mum,” he said, his voice clipped.

“My son,” came the warm, melodic voice of Mrs. De La Vega.

She always spoke as though she were blessing him.

“I have news for you, good news.”

Luciano pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve arranged a date for you, a lovely girl from a good family.

She’s well-educated, polite, and her parents are dear friends of ours.

I know you’ve been, how do I put this mildly, strongly against the idea of marriage, but this is important.”

A heavy silence stretched before he answered.

“Mother, we’ve had this conversation too many times. I am not interested in marriage, not now, not ever.”

“Not ever?” she repeated, her voice breaking. “Luciano, do you think I am blind you spend every hour of your life buried in that office, you eat alone, you sleep alone, you live as though death were already your companion. Is this what your father built for you? An empire with no heir, no warmth and certainly no life?”

His fingers tightened around the phone. “This again…” his tone was steel. “Marriage is not a strategy I need.”

“Marriage is not a strategy, figlio mio,” she insisted. “It is about family, about love, and about the chance to live fully while you can.”

Luciano’s eyes hardened. “Enough, I’m traveling to China at the end of the week. I have no time for dinner dates or arranged introductions.”

“Luciano…”

“I’ll speak to you later, mother.” He cut the call, dropping the phone flat against the desk.

A muscle in his jaw pulsed, but otherwise his expression remained carved from the stone.

Across the room, Mr. Grad did not flinch. He had learned long ago not to. Luciano De La Vega was not a man you worked for I’d you craved warmth or casual friendliness.

He was a storm wrapped in an expensive suit, brilliant, demanding, and impatient with mediocrity.

Most assistants never lasted more than three months. Some left in tears, others in fury. A few left with their careers shattered, But no Grad.

He had been with Luciano for seven years, a record nobody had come close to breaking. And though others whispered that he had simply learned how to bend, the truth was far more complicated.

Grad remembered the first day vividly. He had been thirty-three then, recently dismissed from a promising corporate position after a scandal he hadn’t caused but couldn’t outrun.

His career was in ashes, his wife had left, and his pride was all but gone. When he saw the assistant posting for Vega Group, he almost didn’t apply. Everyone knew Luciano chewed through staff like paper.

But desperation has its own logic. The interview lasted ten minutes; Luciano had sat across the table, his gaze sharp enough to slice bone.

“Why should I hire a man who couldn’t hold his last job?” he asked, with no sugar coating.

Grad, too exhausted for pretenses, had replied evenly, “Because I have nothing left to lose. That makes me loyal than anyone else you’ll find.”

Luciano studied him in silence for a long moment before murmuring, “At least you’re honest. That’s rare.”

And just like that the job was his.

What began as survival turned into something else. Grad watched as others came and went, burned by Luciano’s impossible standards, yet he stayed.

Not because Luciano was easy to serve, he was not. He was arrogant, curt, and often cruel in the way men who carry too much responsibility can be.

But Grad saw more. He noticed the faintest wince when Luciano pressed a hand against his chest after long meetings.

He caught the rare, restless nights when the CEO remained at his desk until dawn, staring like a haunted by ghosts.

He noticed how Luciano recoiled from emotional conversations, how he dismissed love as weakness but lingered on photos of his late father when he thought no one was watching.

Grad never spoke of these observations. That was the unspoken agreement between then, Luciano did not pretend, and Grad did not pry. Over time, trust settled between them, not the easy trust of friendship, but the hard-earned respect of two men who understood each other’s silences.

So now, when the call with Mrs. De La Vega ended, and tension crackled in the air, Grad did not offer sympathy. He merely shifted the clipboard in his hand and asked, “Shall I prepare the Beijing contracts for review tonight, sir?”

Luciano glanced at him, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he gave the smallest of nods that, between them was enough.

Half an hour later, as he tried to bury himself back in numbers, his phone rang again. This time, the caller ID read; Zio Rafael.

Luciano almost ignored it, but ignoring Rafael was like ignoring the beating of one’s heart, impossible and foolish. With a reassigned breath, he answered.

“Luciano,” came the deep familiar voice, with authority and affection. “Your mother has spoken to me, she is worried and when she worries, I worry.”

“I don’t need an intervention, uncle,” Luciano replied, weary.

“You’re damn right, you don’t, and you need more than an intervention.” Rafael said calmly. “You need to wake up, I watched your father die building this empire, and I swore you would not walk the same lonely roads. You cannot carry everything alone, Luciano. One day, this weight will break you.”

“Uncle I have no time for marriage. You of all people know that.” He said in quietly.

Rafael sighed, heavy with understanding. “Listen to me, isolation will kill you faster than illness ever will. You think pushing people away makes you strong, but it only makes you brittle. One blow and you will shatter.”

Luciano closed his eyes briefly, leaning back in his chair. He hated when Rafael spoke like this, like he could see through the armor Luciano had spent years building.

“You need a wife, a partner, someone who can stand beside you. Not for the company, but fir you. Because my boy, when the empire is silent and the lights go out, you will find that money cannot hold your hand. Power cannot steady your heartbeat. And loneliness is the cruelest inheritance a man can leave behind,”

The words lingered long after the call ended.