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Luciano's POV
After what felt like an endless meeting with the East Bloc syndicate, I finally headed to my mother's chambers. That wing of the mansion always smelled like vanilla and danger—just like her.
As I stepped in, I saw her sitting elegantly on her favorite red velvet chair, sipping tea like the queen she was. Beside her were my younger siblings: *Luca*, the hothead, and *Lucy*, the one with too many secrets behind her smiles.
The moment my eyes met hers, my mother stood up and stretched her arms toward me.
"Oh, my baby," *Clara Moretti* cooed, wrapping her arms around me. "I missed you. Hope you're not too tired."
I gently pulled back, giving her a rare, soft look. "Not at all, Mom."
"Of course he's not," Luca scoffed from the couch, his legs up on the table. "It's not like this one ever shows emotion."
I turned to him, slowly raising a brow. "Because unlike you, I don't waste time performing them."
Luca sat up. "That's what makes you dangerous, Luciano. No one ever knows what the hell's going on in that ice-cold head of yours
Before I could respond, *Lucy* interrupted with a sweet tone. "Boys… can we not ruin Mom's mood with your usual back-and-forth testosterone?"
Clara sighed. "She's right. Sit, eat, talk like a family."
I sat down, ignoring Luca's glare. I poured myself a glass of red wine, the sound sharp in the silence. My mother snapped her fingers and a maid hurried over to serve me.
Dinner started off simple—discussions about allies, the latest arms deals, and whispers of a brewing war in Sicily. But I wasn't really listening. My mind was somewhere else.
Luca made a dramatic show of recounting his latest mission, twisting his fork between bites of pasta. "I handled three men at once. No backup. Left them bleeding. You should've seen it."
"Must've been hard," I muttered without looking at him, "fighting them or your urge to take selfies mid-kill?"
Lucy snorted into her drink while Luca slammed his fork down. "You think you're better than me because you're Don now?"
I finally looked at him, dead in the eye. "No, Luca. I *know* I'm better than you."
"Enough!" Clara's voice cracked like a whip. "I didn't raise you both to fight like dogs."
I stood up, wine glass empty. "Thanks for dinner, Mom. I have work to finish."
Clara kissed my cheek. "You work too much, baby."Before I could respond, *Lucy* interrupted with a sweet tone. "Boys… can we not ruin Mom's mood with your usual back-and-forth testosterone?"
Clara sighed. "She's right. Sit, eat, talk like a family."
I sat down, ignoring Luca's glare. I poured myself a glass of red wine, the sound sharp in the silence. My mother snapped her fingers and a maid hurried over to serve me.
Dinner started off simple—discussions about allies, the latest arms deals, and whispers of a brewing war in Sicily. But I wasn't really listening. My mind was somewhere else.
Luca made a dramatic show of recounting his latest mission, twisting his fork between bites of pasta. "I handled three men at once. No backup. Left them bleeding. You should've seen it."
"Must've been hard," I muttered without looking at him, "fighting them or your urge to take selfies mid-kill?"
Lucy snorted into her drink while Luca slammed his fork down. "You think you're better than me because you're Don now?"
I finally looked at him, dead in the eye. "No, Luca. I *know* I'm better than you."
"Enough!" Clara's voice cracked like a whip. "I didn't raise you both to fight like dogs."
I stood up, wine glass empty. "Thanks for dinner, Mom. I have work to finish."
Clara kissed my cheek. "You work too much, baby."
As I turned to leave, I caught *Lucy's eyes* watching me closely. Her face was unreadable, like she was piecing together a puzzle no one else could see. And just like that, she looked away with a fake yawn.
But I noticed. She knew something.
I left without a word.
The moment I reached my private suite, I gave TK a look. "No one comes in. No matter who."
"Yes, sir."
Inside, I went straight to the back wall. A blank slate of steel and dark paint. I pressed my fingers against a hidden sensor. *Click.*
The wall slid open with a low mechanical sound.
Behind it was my *secret lair* — known to no one. Not even TK.
A large screen lit up, casting a blue glow across the room. Gaming consoles, weapons locked behind glass, a sleek black bed, and files—so many secrets buried in files.
I smirked for the first time that day.
Time to escape reality for a bit.
I grabbed the controller, leaned back into my chair, and muttered,
"Let the real war begin."
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Gaming had always been my escape. Since I was six, it was the only place I could breathe without blood on my hands or orders in my ears. But the moment Don Moretti discovered it, he destroyed everything. Said *it made me weak*. So I hid it. I built my own world where the only war I fought was digital… where no one could reach me.
But that peace was short-lived.
The soft ray of light crept through the tall glass windows, kissing the side of my face. I blinked lazily, my vision still clouded with the late-night gaming session. My hair was a wild mess, but even then, I could still steal hearts. Too bad mine didn't work.
I checked the time — *8:00 AM*.
"Tch," I muttered. "Damn game."
I dragged myself into the bathroom and ran cold water over my face. The reflection that stared back was the same — sharp jawline, cold eyes, and a deadly calmness.
I stepped out of the bathroom in black sweatpants, towel around my neck, when a knock landed on the door.
"Come in," I said, already knowing who it was.
*TK* entered and bowed slightly, dressed immaculately as always.
"Good morning, sir," he said, holding a sleek tablet in his hands. "I've brought your schedule for the day."
I took it without a word, scrolling through.
Meetings. Briefings. Security checks.
Then I paused.
"Who am I getting flowers for?" I asked coldly.
TK cleared his throat. "Your father said… to get a bouquet for your fiancée. She arrives today."
My eyes narrowed. "Can't he ask the maid to get it?"
"He specifically said *you*, sir. That it should come from your hand."
I scoffed and tossed the towel on the couch. "This man is really teasing me. Damn."
TK remained quiet. Smart.
"Fine. I'll go pick some damn flowers."
I didn't care for fake courtships. I didn't believe in love. But if Don Moretti wanted a show, I'd give him a damn opera.
Let's see what kind of woman they think can handle *me*.
After checking the rest of my schedule, I realized I had time before heading to the flower shop. But of course, *Lucy* insisted on tagging along. Said something about helping her *clueless big brother* choose the perfect bouquet for his mystery bride.
I agreed, not because I cared for her company, but because it meant I wouldn't have to do the actual choosing. She'd pick it. She was a woman — she'd know what women liked. Problem solved.
We got into the black matte SUV, guards at our tail. I told the driver, "Take us to the nearest flower shop."
The car started rolling.
But my mind was far from flowers.
*What is this man planning exactly?* I thought.
Don Moretti never did anything without reason. If he was pushing this marriage… there had to be more to it.
I pulled out my phone and dialed *TK*.
He picked up immediately. "Yes, sir?"
"Be in my office the moment I return," I said flatly and ended the call.
Lucy turned her head, grinning like a devil. "Wow. You really sound pissed. Don't worry, big bro. Maybe your bride is actually hot."
I rolled my eyes.
She kept going. "You know what would be hilarious? If she's the total opposite of you — bubbly, loud, flower crowns, pink nails—"
"Lucy."
She smirked.
I sighed, staring out the window. "Just get the damn flowers for me when we get there."
"You're such a romantic," she teased.
*A few minutes later*, we arrived.
The car stopped in front of a quaint little flower shop — all soft colors, vines curling along the windows, and floral scents already pouring out the entrance.
"I'll be quick," Lucy said and hopped out.
I stayed in the car, waiting.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
I glanced at my watch, annoyed. "What is taking her so long?"
I opened the door and stepped out. My shoes clicked softly on the pavement as I walked inside, cold calm written all over my face.
The bell on the shop door rang.
I stepped in.
The scent of roses, lilies, and something sweeter filled the air. My eyes scanned the shop, sharp and slow — until I saw her.
*Lucy*, standing at the counter… *laughing.*
She was chatting animatedly with someone. Her back blocked my view, but I could see her smile. Hear it.
I frowned.
I stepped forward.
Then the person she was talking to came into view.
And in that moment…
*Everything stopped.*
*My breath caught in my throat.*
The world dimmed.She kept going. "You know what would be hilarious? If she's the total opposite of you — bubbly, loud, flower crowns, pink nails—"
"Lucy."
She smirked.
I sighed, staring out the window. "Just get the damn flowers for me when we get there."
"You're such a romantic," she teased.
*A few minutes later*, we arrived.
The car stopped in front of a quaint little flower shop — all soft colors, vines curling along the windows, and floral scents already pouring out the entrance.
"I'll be quick," Lucy said and hopped out.
I stayed in the car, waiting.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
I glanced at my watch, annoyed. "What is taking her so long?"
I opened the door and stepped out. My shoes clicked softly on the pavement as I walked inside, cold calm written all over my face.
The bell on the shop door rang.
I stepped in.
The scent of roses, lilies, and something sweeter filled the air. My eyes scanned the shop, sharp and slow — until I saw her.
*Lucy*, standing at the counter… *laughing.*
She was chatting animatedly with someone. Her back blocked my view, but I could see her smile. Hear it.
I frowned.
I stepped forward.
Then the person she was talking to came into view.
And in that moment…
*Everything stopped.*
*My breath caught in my throat.*
The world dimmed.
The boy behind the counter looked like he didn't belong in reality. Too soft. Too pure. Delicate features, petal-pink lips, lashes too long, skin glowing under the morning sun spilling through the window.
He looked up at me.
And *our eyes locked.*
I. Couldn't. Breathe.
What the hell is happening to me?
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