The Mafia And The HR

“You shouldn’t even be here, Lorenzo.”

The words came sharper than he Intended. Alessandro De Luca didn’t raise his voice, he never had to. He had that kind of tone that carried, able to silence a room with just a few syllables.

Lorenzo, leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the backrest. He let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, like his brother’s scolding was nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear. “Relax, Alessandro. It’s just a meeting, not a war. I'm not here to cause any trouble.”

Alessandro’s dark eyes snapped toward him. They were colder than the whiskey in front of him. “That’s where you’re wrong. With Ricardo Cruz, every wromg word you utter, is a war and if you keep running your mouth, you’ll drag this family into one we can’t afford.”

Lorenzo lifted the heavy glass of whiskey from the table, turning it slowly in his hand. He took a slow sip before replying. “And yet, here we are. Pretending to play nice with a man who would slit our throats in our sleep if he had the chance.”

From the other end of the table, a low chuckle broke through the room. Ricardo Cruz. His hair was slicked back with streaks of gray that didn’t soften him but made him look deadly. He tapped his cigar against the ashtray, his dark eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “At least one De Luca speaks the truth.”

Alessandro’s jaw tightened, though his voice stayed controlled. “We’re here for peace, not violence.”

Peace. The word tasted foreign to Lorenzo. For decades, the De Luca family and the Cruz empire had been locked in a bloody dance of power, smuggling routes, territories and betrayals and yet, tonight, they were all pretending. Pretending the table between them was enough to erase the bodies buried beneath their feet.

Lorenzo let out a laugh. “Peace? With him?” He gestured toward Ricardo with his glass. “Come on, brother, don’t insult the both of us.”

“Watch your mouth,” Alessandro warned, his voice low.

But Lorenzo wasn’t done. He leaned forward now, elbows on the table, eyes locked on Ricardo’s. “Let’s not pretend we’re friends, Cruz. I know what you are. I know what you’ve done and you know exactly the same about us.”

Ricardo’s smirk widened, like he enjoyed the fire. “Ah, the young one has teeth. Tell me, Alessandro, is he always this reckless? Or is he just trying to impress me?”

“He’s always reckless,” Alessandro muttered, though his glare never left his brother. “Which is why he shouldn’t even be here.”

“Reckless?” Lorenzo shot back, feigning insult. “No, I'm being honest. There’s a difference.”

The table grew tense. Lorenzo could feel the heat of eyes on him and then his gaze slid to the man standing quietly behind Ricardo. Mateo Cruz. Loyal consigliere to Ricardo. 

He didn’t speak. He never did in public. He just stood there in a perfectly cut black suit. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid as stone. But it wasn’t the posture that unsettled Lorenzo, it was the eyes. Always moving, allways watching and monitoring every movement. 

When those eyes landed on him, just for a second, Lorenzo felt pinned in place. A spark cut through his chest before he could stop it.

He looked away too quickly, forcing the smirk back on his lips.

Ricardo’s hand smothered the cigar in the ashtray. His voice, when he spoke, was low and dangerous. “So the question remains, do the De Lucas have the discipline to hold a truce? Or will your reckless brother ruin it again?”

The words were meant for Alessandro, but Lorenzo’s blood boiled at being dismissed so easily.

“Careful, old man,” Lorenzo shot back, his voice carrying over the table. “If you think I’m reckless, it’s only because I’m not afraid to say what everyone else is too cowardly to admit.”

“Lorenzo,” Alessandro warned, voice like iron.

“No.” Lorenzo pushed on, eyes flashing. “Everyone here knows the truth.”

Alessandro’s patience snapped. His palm slammed against the table, making glasses jump, the sound cracking through the room. “Enough!”

But it was too late. The first gunshot tore through the room. Chaos exploded. Chairs screeched back, men shouted, glass shattered to the floor.

Another shot ripped past Lorenzo’s head, so close he felt the heat of it slice through the air. Splinters of plaster showered down as the bullet buried itself in the wall behind him.

Lorenzo ducked instinctively, his chest tight, heart pounding so loud it drowned the shouts around him. .

“Get down!” Alessandro’s voice roared from somewhere, but Lorenzo’s ears were ringing, drowning out the words.

Another shot rang and lorenzo scrambled, searching for cover, for anything…

And then a hand shoved hard against his shoulder, knocking him flat to the ground.

Lorenzo’s breath caught in his throat.

Mateo Cruz was crouched over him, body shielding his, face set with brutal focus. Another round exploded somewhere above them, and Lorenzo felt the thud of Mateo’s heartbeat against his back, steady, relentless, as if nothing could shake him.

For one wild, impossible second, Lorenzo forgot about the bullets, forgot about the families, forgot about everything except the heat of that grip on his arm and the terrifying certainty that Mateo was protecting him.

Protecting him.

It made no sense. Ricardo’s right-hand man, the loyal shadow who was supposed to hate him, why the hell would Mateo put himself between Lorenzo and a bullet?

“You….” Lorenzo’s voice came out rough, ragged. “Why?”

“Shut up,” Mateo snapped without looking at him. His voice was firm and commanding, like a soldier barking orders. “Keep your head down.”

Lorenzo wanted to argue, to demand an answer, but another bullet screamed past, too close, forcing him to bite down his words.

“Move!” Mateo barked.

And just like that, he yanked Lorenzo by the arm, dragging him across the floor. They crashed behind an overturned chair, their breaths coming in harsh bursts, the air heavy with smoke and gunpowder.

Lorenzo stared at him, his chest still pounding. “You…You just saved my life.”

Mateo’s jaw tightened. “Don’t read into it.”

“You could’ve let me die.”

“Keep your head down,” Mateo repeated, his eyes scanning the room with military precision.

Lorenzo’s mind spun. None of this made sense and yet, there it was, the fact that Mateo Cruz had chosen him, even for a second.

Alessandro’s voice cut through the haze, barking orders. His men were returning fire, shouts echoing off the walls. Ricardo was on the other side, his fury spilling into sharp commands.

But Lorenzo barely heard them. He felt Mateo’s eyes flick to him, assessing him for just for a moment. Something passed between them in that split second. Something unspoken and then it was gone, Mateo’s face hardening again, as if nothing had happened.

But it had.

Lorenzo’s heart was still racing when Alessandro grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Lorenzo muttered, though his voice shook against his will.

Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. They shifted to Mateo, still standing near him. 

“Strange,” Alessandro murmured under his breath. “Very strange.”

Lorenzo followed his brother’s gaze, his chest tightening.

Because no matter how much Mateo Cruz tried to admit what he did. Lorenzo knew the truth now.

Mateo his sworn enemy, soldier, loyal consligere of Ricardo, had just broken the one rule no one ever dared to break and Lorenzo couldn’t stop wondering why.