Luca Balsa Novels & Stories

The rain poured heavily over Rio de Janeiro, drumming against the windows of the penthouse apartment in Ipanema as if trying to wash away years of secrets. Luka sat on the black leather sofa, his laptop open on the coffee table, but the screen had been dark for nearly forty minutes. He held a glass of single malt whiskey, the ice long since melted. At thirty-eight, Luka Silva — or rather, the man who had carried many false names throughout his life — knew he had reached his limit.

I blurt out. Cortèz starts to stroke his cane over the sand making a capital L. “Let.” He says to us while he writes the capital letter U. “Us.” Then strokes his cane again making a capital A. “All.” Writes the letter H. “Heal.” Lastly he finished with the capital U. “Unexpectedly.” Harry finishes. Cortèz smiles. “The island of LUAHU is home for people who wishes to heal. May the both of you heal from your pains and be awakened soon.” He walks away until he magically disappears fading.

Luca’s POV The flames from the burning terminal licked the night sky behind us, casting flickering orange across the Bonny River as Eze’s boat cut through the delta’s murky channels. Salt air stung my eyes, mixing with tears I hadn’t shed yet. Mikhail’s body throat slit by Rocco’s blade sank into the abyss we’d left behind. The swarm 2.0 was gone, nodes fried, legacy purged in fire. But as the adrenaline ebbed, a hollow ache settled in my chest. Who was I now? Luca Marino, the accountant who’d laundered for monsters without knowing? Or Luca Volkov, the heir who’d danced with plagues and bloodlines? The curse had defined me trapped me in auctions, viruses, betrayals. Without it, I felt unmoor

Behind her came in Luca Rossi. Aiden had expected him, of course. Luca was Isadora’s shadow—her assistant in title, but inseparable in practice. Tall, dark-haired, Italian by birth but American by ambition, Luca wore a tailored navy suit that hid the build of someone who spent mornings in the gym rather than boardrooms. He carried a slim leather portfolio—no tablet, no phone visible. Like Isadora, he preferred paper for sensitive matters. Smart. Unhackable.

Only for her. “Salvador, can't we just throw the body in the water. I hate this!” Luca had said, running his right hand through his bald head. I never understood why he did that. “Of course we can throw it in the water and let it float back to the surface, exposing our tracks.” I replied sarcastically. I snatched a butcher knife from the floor filled with dried maple leaves and began cutting up the body before me like a surgeon or a butcher. The sky was already dark with several stars glistening down.

“But more importantly, Luca understands movement.” Silence deepened. “Not tactics.” Salcedo added grimly. “People.” Velasquez folded his hands. “He studies pressure points. Fear responses.” He continued. “Human behavior under instability.” Althea’s pulse hammered harder. Now she understood why Luca and his family would want her parents. Why he wanted Nicholas. Why Alessandro became terrified enough to orchestrate impossible protections decades ago. Not for medical brilliance. For predictive cognition. A mind capable of understanding and controlling human movement itself.

It's unmistakable. It's Luca.

“In this family, everyone fights for themselves.” He pulled out his phone suddenly. “Speaking of which…” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Who are you calling?” Lucas didn’t answer. The call connected. “Yes,” Lucas said smoothly. “He’s indeed crippled.” My eyes narrowed slightly. Then Lucas spoke the name that made my stomach tighten. “Alessandro De Luca..” Lucas turned slightly so I could hear the voice through the phone. “ He is indeed crippled?.” Lucas smirked. “Absolutely.” Then he walked closer to my bed and held the phone near me.

Over time, Balius grew envious and Greedy. Hungry for a throne that was never his. So he betrayed Roberto by Joining forces with enemies and had him killed. Balius took over. But the truth never stays hidden forever. Luca discovered what had happened and through his son Striker He brought Balius down And Reclaimed the throne. Since that day… The Lucarians and the Marcocians became sworn enemies. Locked in a silent, Endless war. “Are you already there?” Striker asked, tapping the Bluetooth device in his ear.

He was still seated, relaxed, fingers steepled, watching me like I was a curious animal that had wandered into the wrong cage. “This is the underworld,” Luca continued calmly. “My world.” A pause as he slowly put away his cigar. “So nobody leaves until I allow it.” The words settled into my chest like a weight. Slowly, I released my grip on Carla and eased back into the empty chair beside her. The bald man stepped aside but didn’t move far. Carla flopped back into her seat with a pleased hum, completely oblivious. “Good,” Luca said, nodding. “Now we can continue.”