The war was moving faster now. Every dawn brought new blood. New losses. New whispers. But on this night, what came knocking on Luca’s door wasn’t a soldier. It was a ghost. He heard the gate open first — a rusty groan that shouldn’t have sounded. Then a voice. Rough. Familiar. “Still guarding shadows, cugino?” Luca froze in place. That voice had died a decade ago. He stepped out onto the terrace of the Moretti estate, the wind dragging salt through the dark. And there he was. Nico Moretti. Alive. A little older, leaner, scars where there were none before — but unmistakably him. Luca hadn’t seen Nico since the Massacre of Catania, the night the Lorenzis framed him for treason and left him for dead. “Nico,” Luca said, voice low. “What the fuck.” Nico smiled — a crooked thing. “You’re not happy to see me?” “You’re supposed to be buried beneath twenty tons of cement and ash.” “And yet,” Nico shrugged, “here I am.” Inside the villa, Luca poured whiskey with shaking ha
Last Updated : 2025-09-29 Read more