bloodlines and betrayal

Consequences

The drive back to the Romano mansion was suffocating. The heater in Luca's car hummed, but it did little to warm the icy knot in his chest. Carlo's final words echoed in his mind: "You think that'll fix everything?"

He knew the answer. It wouldn't fix a thing.

By the time he reached the estate, the first light of dawn was breaking over the horizon, painting the snow-dusted grounds in hues of gray and gold. Luca parked near the side entrance, avoiding the main driveway where the guards might ask questions. He needed a moment to gather himself before facing his father.

Inside, the house was quieter now. Most of the men had retired to rest or plan for the day ahead. Only a handful of Enzo's most trusted guards lingered in the hallways, their eyes heavy with exhaustion. Luca made his way to his father's study, where he knew the Don would be waiting.

Enzo was seated behind his desk, a relic of dark oak that had seen countless decisions, deals, and betrayals over the years. His gaze lifted when Luca entered, sharp despite the deep lines of age etched into his face.

"It's done," Luca said simply, closing the door behind him.

The Don didn't respond immediately. He leaned back in his chair, studying his son with an expression that was impossible to read. Finally, he gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Sit," Enzo said.

Luca obeyed, his movements slower than usual. He felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—the betrayal, the killing, the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same.

"Carlo was family," Enzo said after a long silence.

"And he betrayed us," Luca replied, his voice steady but low. "He sold Marco out to the Mancinis. I found the proof. I confronted him, and he confessed."

Enzo's hand trembled slightly as he reached for his glass of grappa. "And now he's dead."

"Yes."

The old man nodded, though there was no satisfaction in his expression. He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down with a soft clink. "You did what had to be done, Luca. In this life, loyalty is all we have. Without it, we're nothing. Carlo knew the rules."

Luca stared at the desk, his jaw tight. "I know the rules too, but that doesn't make it easier."

Enzo's eyes softened, and for a brief moment, Luca saw not the fearsome Don Romano but a father burdened by the choices that had shaped his life. "It never gets easier," Enzo said quietly. "Every betrayal, every loss—it carves pieces out of you. But if we falter, the family falls. And we can't afford to fall."

Luca nodded, though his stomach churned. He had always known the cost of this life, but tonight had made it painfully clear. Killing Carlo wasn't just an act of justice; it was a warning. The family came first, no matter the personal toll.

Before Luca could respond, there was a knock at the door. One of the guards stepped in, his face pale.

"Don Enzo, Luca," the guard said, his voice tight. "We've just received word. The Mancinis—they're mobilizing. Looks like they're preparing for retaliation."

Enzo's face hardened, the softness vanishing in an instant. He stood, his presence commanding despite his age. "Then we'll be ready," he said. "Call everyone in. If the Mancinis want a war, they'll get one."

Luca rose as well, the exhaustion in his bones replaced by a grim determination. He had crossed a line tonight, but the path forward was clear. The family's survival depended on him now, and he couldn't afford to falter.

As he followed his father out of the study, Luca felt the full weight of the Romano legacy settle on his shoulders. Blood had been spilled, but the storm was far from over.