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The Weight of Choice

Author: RAJI
last update Last Updated: 2025-08-24 23:15:38

Luca’s POV

I never wanted to see him like this.

Not Dante. Not Moretti.

Not the man who haunted my every waking thought like a shadow too heavy to shake. I had imagined him in many ways — untouchable, cruel, untamed. I had even imagined him broken, on his knees, bloodied beneath my hands in some future where I finally took back the power he stole.

But I had never imagined him like this.

Collapsed on a rain-slick street. Pale. Bleeding. His breath rattling like a man already halfway into the grave.

The first thought that hit me wasn’t pity. It was triumph.

This is it. He’s finished.

The city had done to him what I could not. Matteo’s ghosts, or fate itself, had carved him open and left him for dead. All I had to do was walk away. Leave him in the gutter where he belonged. And for the first time in years, I’d be free.

No more sleepless nights. No more obsession. No more Dante Moretti.

I could already picture it — his empire crumbling without him, his enemies closing in, Mira finally bre
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  • Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss   Between the Pulse and the Blade

    (Luca’s POV)I hadn’t realized how close we’d come until the silence after the fight pressed itself against my ears like a scream I couldn’t escape. My knuckles were split, blood drying into a black crust across the creases of my hands, and my chest heaved with the hollow ache of too much adrenaline too fast. The stench of gunpowder and copper clung to the air, an invisible shroud that told me we’d survived but only just.And then there was him.Dante.Wounded, stubborn, silent. Sitting across from me like a shadow carved from glass and fire. I’d seen him bleed, seen him falter for half a breath, and something in me had cracked wide open. When I reached for him—when I pressed my hand against his side to staunch the bleeding, when his breath stuttered against my cheek—I hadn’t been thinking like an enemy. Or even like a man protecting an ally.No. I’d been thinking like someone standing too close to a flame he knew would burn him alive, and still leaning closer.The memory kept looping

  • Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss   The Weight of His Hands

    (Dante’s POV)I’ve been cut before. Shot. Broken. Tortured. I know what pain is, what it tastes like, what it teaches. Pain is order. It reminds you of what matters and strips away the rest.But tonight—this pain is different.Not because of Matteo’s blade, not because of the blood soaking my ribs, not even because the fever pulls my thoughts into shadows.No.It’s because of him.Because every time I flinch, Luca is there. Every time I shift, his eyes follow. He paces like a caged animal, but when I stagger, when I let weakness flicker across my face, he comes closer.And every time he does, I feel it—that current that neither of us will name.I test it once, deliberately. A soft groan, my hand pressed against the bandage too long.He’s at my side before I finish drawing breath.“Sit still,” he snaps, his voice all rough edges, but his hands betray him—steady, precise, too careful to be nothing. He kneels, fingers pressing against my side, checking the cloth. Warmth seeps through the

  • Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss   The Fever Beneath the Blade

    (Dante’s POV)Blood loss has a way of stripping away illusions. It makes you raw, reduces you to the things you can’t hide—pain, hunger, fear. Or in my case, something far more dangerous: desire.I shouldn’t have let him catch me.I shouldn’t have leaned into the heat of his body, shouldn’t have let my weight fall against his chest when my knees faltered. But I did. And for one impossible heartbeat, I let myself imagine what it would feel like if Luca didn’t push me away.His breath was right there, hot, ragged. His eyes—dark, wide, furious. Not because I was bleeding out, not because Matteo had dared to send men into our shadows, but because he almost kissed me.And I almost let him.The memory burns hotter than the wound in my side.It makes no sense. I’ve buried men for less weakness than that. I’ve carved longing out of myself like rot, stripped it down to bone and iron so nothing soft could survive. But Luca—he is the one thing I can’t cauterize. He’s the splinter I never pulled,

  • Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss   The Line We Shouldn’t Cross

    (Luca’s POV)Blood has a smell that never leaves you. Copper sharp, metallic, thick enough to choke if you breathe too deep. Tonight, it coated my hands, my arms, the ragged edge of the shirt I’d torn to keep Dante from bleeding out.I should have been focused on the bodies cooling on the floor, on the wreck of the door swinging broken from its hinges, on the fact that Matteo Santoro—ghost, traitor, snake—had found us.But I wasn’t.I was stuck on the moment I almost lost him.And worse—the moment I almost kissed him.The thought makes me want to put my fist through a wall, split knuckles, break something until I can forget. But it clings to me, sticky as the blood still wet on my palms. His face inches from mine, his breath brushing hot against my mouth, the way his weight sagged into me like he trusted me to hold him up.I did hold him up. And for half a second, I wanted more than that.It doesn’t make sense. I’ve hated this man. Feared him, admired him, envied him—sometimes all in

  • Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss   The Fracture Between Us

    (Dante’s Narration)The first sign was silence.Not the ordinary silence that had settled between us over the past days—Luca pacing like a caged animal, me pretending my wounds were not screaming. No, this silence had weight. A pause in the air before violence. My body has lived long enough in blood to know when the world holds its breath.I sat at the kitchen table, eyes half-lidded, fever thinning but not gone. Luca was at the window, arms crossed, restless. He looked like he was waiting for something—maybe me to break, maybe himself. Then, the faintest scrape outside the door. Boots on tile.“Down,” I muttered.He didn’t hesitate. He dropped low as the door exploded inward, splinters raining. Three men poured through, guns up, faces hidden. Matteo’s ghosts. I felt my pulse sharpen into ice.The first shot cracked into the wall, dust spitting into the air. I kicked the chair into one man’s knees, sending him sprawling. Luca surged forward, faster than I expected, shoulder slamming i

  • Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss   Ashes Don’t Sleep

    (Dante’s Narration)Pain has its uses.It sharpens. It strips. It burns away pretense until all that’s left is the truth beneath the skin.The fever had broken, but its echo lingered in me, a ghost of fire. My body was weak, ribs wrapped in tight bandages, every breath a reminder that Matteo had come closer than anyone in years. Too close.And yet—I wasn’t dead.I was here. In Luca’s apartment.My enemy’s apartment.The irony would have made me laugh if my chest hadn’t been tearing itself apart.Luca thought he was careful, but I watched him even when my eyes were closed. His patterns betrayed him.Every morning, he brewed coffee so strong the smell seeped under the bedroom door, bitter and grounding. He always poured two cups—one black, untouched by sugar, one ruined by cream. My cup.He didn’t ask if I wanted it. He just left it on the nightstand, steaming, as if admitting aloud that he cared would make it real.Then he’d leave, and I’d hear him move around the apartment—closets ope

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