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Episode One
Don Moretti wasn't just a name. He was a legend feared across nations, a mafia lord whose very existence sent chills down the spines of both allies and enemies. Power dripped from his every word. He ruled with an iron fist—and two wives.
Mira Moretti, the first wife, was elegant, cold, and calculating. She bore him three sons: *Adrian*, *Matteo*, and *Santino*. Ruthless in their own rights, the three brothers followed in their father's footsteps like wolves raised on blood and bone.
Clara Moretti, the second wife, was softer on the outside but deadly when provoked. She gave Don Moretti *Luciano*, *Luca*, and *Lucy*. And make no mistake — Clara's children were no less dangerous.
Luca loved weapons like they were extensions of his soul. Guns, grenades, knives — he could dismantle and reassemble a pistol blindfolded. Violence wasn't just a tool for him; it was a language he spoke fluently.
Lucy, the only girl among them, didn't care about being treated special. She trained harder, hit stronger, and aimed sharper than most men twice her size. She stood beside Luciano on every mission — not behind him.
And then… there was *Luciano*.
Quiet. Unreadable. Dangerous.
He didn't talk much. Never needed to. His silence spoke louder than most screams. His smile? A warning. His stare? Lethal. No one dared hold eye contact with him for long — not even their father. Not unless they had a death wish.
Luciano didn't rise through the ranks by luck. He earned it.
There was one mission. A suicide mission. He went with his three older stepbrothers — Adrian, Matteo, and Santino. But when things went south, they abandoned him. Left him to die and returned to report him *dead*.
But death didn't want Luciano.
He came back.
Alone.
Alive.
And he didn't just survive — he wiped out the entire enemy gang, including the most feared crime boss in the region. That night, the name *Luciano Moretti* became a whispered prayer and a dreaded curse in the mafia underworld. Their family gained control over a massive territory overnight. And Luciano? He never even spoke about what happened.
Even his siblings didn't know what he was truly capable of. That made them afraid. And that fear made them dangerous.
Don Moretti never said it out loud, but everyone could see it — *Luciano was his favorite*. The one he saw himself in. The heir.
When Don finally announced his retirement, he didn't just hand over the throne. No. He called for *The Blood Trial* — an ancient rite of passage. A brutal contest of strength, strategy, and survival. Only one would emerge as Don.
Many thought Adrian would win. He was the eldest.
Some placed bets on Luca — the wild one.
But when the dust settled, the blood dried, and the screams silenced…
Luciano stood tall.
Unbothered. Unharmed.
Crowned.
*The new mafia king.*
And that was only the beginning.
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*Luciano's POV
Two years.
Two long years since I became the new Don of the Moretti empire. And in those two years, I've learned one thing—fear isn't demanded… it's earned.
Even my father, the legendary Don Moretti himself, doesn't meet my eyes anymore when I enter a room.
I sat silently in my office, skimming through the morning documents. The room was cold, dimly lit, and scented with cigar smoke and espresso. My fingers tapped slowly on the desk. Every word I read was calculated. Every name noted. Every mistake… remembered.
A knock echoed through the thick silence.
"Enter," I said, without looking up.
My assistant, *TK*, walked in carefully like always. The man knew better than to speak without permission.
I glanced at him. Gave a single nod.
He straightened. "Your father requests your presence in his office, sir. Before the council meeting begins."
I said nothing for a second, just sipped my dark coffee. "I'll be out in a minute."
TK bowed his head and left immediately.
I closed the folder in front of me, pushed my chair back, and stood.
Today, I wore a *black silk shirt*, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the silver cross that always lay against my chest. My sleeves were rolled up, revealing inked veins and muscle. Black slacks, polished Italian shoes, and a Rolex that gleamed in the low light. 24 years old and already the nightmare of men twice my age.
The moment I stepped out, TK and a few guards followed behind me. Two others remained outside my office, guns tucked and alert.
On the way to my father's wing of the estate, I passed *Adrian* — the eldest of Mira's sons. His sneer was waiting.
"Well, if it isn't the silent snake himself," he muttered, arms folded. "Still hiding behind that calm little face while you make everyone kiss your ring, huh?"
I stopped. Slowly turned to him. My smile was soft, but my eyes… cold.
"Funny," I said. "Snakes strike faster than loud dogs bark."
Then I walked past him.
He stood there, speechless. Just how I like my enemies.
When I reached my father's office, I knocked once and entered. He was behind his desk, busy with something on his laptop. I sat without waiting for an invitation.
After a moment, he looked up, closed the laptop, and smiled at me. I didn't smile back. I only nodded.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he began. "But I kept putting it off because of your schedule."
I waited.
"I had a meeting with the *Syndicate Council*," he continued. "They've recommended a strategic marriage. With another powerful mafia family. It'll solidify alliances and boost our standing in Europe. What do you think?"
I leaned back, voice low and unreadable. "No problem, Father. As long as she maintains boundaries… I'm good."
He chuckled. "Don't worry, son. I'll find you the best girl."
I stood. "I have a meeting in an hour with the East Bloc."
He nodded.
As I left his office, the calm I wore outside started to crack slightly on the inside. Marriage? Another power game. I've played too many of those.
"TK," I said sharply. "After the meeting, what's next?"
He checked the digital tablet in his hand. "Dinner with your mother, sir."
"And after that?"
"Nothing else, sir."
I nodded. "Good."
Because I needed the night to myself.
Too much power. Too many lies. And something told me…
This was just the beginning.
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