The Sicilian hills loomed in the night, casting long, eerie shadows over the Giovanni estate. The once-grand mansion stood like a ghost of its former self, its cracked stone walls bearing silent witness to decades of bloodshed and power struggles. The air inside was thick with the stale scent of tobacco and old wood, mingling with the distant hum of cicadas.
At the heart of it all sat Vincenzo Giovanni, head of the infamous Giovanni mafia. He leaned against the heavy oak table, his fingers pressing into its rough surface as he fought to steady himself. The illness was getting worse. The metallic taste of blood clung to his tongue, his vision swam, and his body trembled in defiance of his will.
"You can't live past thirty," the Fortune teller had warned him years ago, her voice a haunting whisper in his mind.
He had laughed then. Brushed it off as nonsense. But now, with his body failing him and an unseen enemy circling like a vulture, the words felt less like a prophecy and more like a death sentence.
A knock at the door shattered his thoughts.
"Vincenzo." Lucia's voice was calm, composed. Too composed. "We need to talk."
He exhaled sharply. "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Lucia stepped inside. She studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes taking in every detail—his pale skin, the sweat clinging to his brow, the way he gripped the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"You look like hell," she said, the corner of her lips twitching into something between amusement and indifference.
"I feel like it." He forced himself to straighten, ignoring the way his limbs protested. Weakness was dangerous. She couldn't see it—not fully.
Lucia stepped closer, her gaze steady. "The deal tonight—it was a setup. Someone tipped them off."
Vincenzo's eyes snapped to hers, his pulse quickening. He already knew. He just didn't know who.
"You think I don't know that?" His voice was low, dangerous. His fingers curled into fists, but they trembled—whether from rage or the illness, he couldn't tell anymore. "Tell me who."
Lucia hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Her gaze flickered toward the door before meeting his again.
"I have my suspicions," she murmured. "But I'm not the one in charge, am I, Vincenzo?"
There was something in the way she said it, an edge, a challenge. He clenched his jaw.
"You're not in charge," he bit out. "I am."
Lucia held his gaze, then took a step closer. "Then act like it," she whispered. "Before someone else does."
Vincenzo's stomach twisted. Not just from the illness. From something worse.
Lucia turned to leave, pausing only to glance over her shoulder. "You're losing control, Vincenzo. And that makes you vulnerable."
The door shut behind her, leaving him alone with the crushing weight of her words.
He swallowed hard, his breath uneven. The room spun, the beast inside him stirring, growling, demanding release. He gritted his teeth, fighting for control, but deep down, he knew—
Lucia was right.
He was running out of time.
The walls of the underground lair felt colder than usual. Vincenzo stood in front of the expansive glass window, looking down at the city below. His reflection was faint in the darkness, a ghost of a man trapped in his own body. The sickness, the strange malady that had plagued him for months, gnawed at him again. A sickening taste of metal, like blood, filled his mouth. His tongue felt numb—again.
He clenched his fists, fighting to keep the growl in his throat from escaping. Every moment was a battle to hold on, to maintain the facade of the ruthless leader the mafia feared.
"Vincenzo," a voice called from behind. It was Luca, his most trusted lieutenant. The one who had been by this side for years. Her presence was always a comfort, but tonight, there was something different about her. She was tense, her movements a little sharper than usual.
Vincenzo turned, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. There was something about the way Luca held herself tonight—an unfamiliar tightness in her posture, as though she were waiting for something.
Luca was always calm, collected, but tonight her calmness felt like a warning. Vincenzo didn't miss how her eyes flickered to the door before meeting his gaze again. Something was wrong.
"I'm listening," Vincenzo growled, his voice rougher than usual.
Luca hesitated, a faint trace of something—was it guilt?—crossed her face. "It's about the shipment. I've received word that someone might have tipped off the rival gangs. We could be walking into a trap."
Vincenzo's heart pounded in his chest. A trap?
He took a step forward, his mind racing. "Who would dare? We keep our business tight."
"I don't know," Luca said, her tone unreadable. "But I think it's someone inside. Someone close."
Vincenzo's jaw tightened, and he felt the beast stirring inside him. His eyes flashed dangerously. "Who? You think it's me?" His voice was low, dangerously calm. His eyes never left Luca's.
Luca didn't flinch. "No, Vincenzo. I... I think it's someone who wants to see you weak. You've been acting strange lately—your behavior, your decisions... they're affecting the crew."
The words stung more than Vincenzo cared to admit. But he wasn't about to let Luca see his weakness. "I've been in control of this family for years, Luca. Years. I'll handle this."
Luca's eyes glinted, the barest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Of course. But I just wanted to make sure you were aware. You know I've always got your back."
Vincenzo stared at her for a long moment, searching her face. But Luca's expression was as impenetrable as ever. Was Luca the one? She had to be. No one else had the audacity to challenge him so subtly.
"I'll deal with it," Vincenzo growled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "But if you're lying to me, Luca, you won't make it out alive."
Luca nodded, the smile never leaving her face. "Understood. I'll leave you to it."
As Luca turned and walked out, Vincenzo's gaze lingered on her, watching until the door shut behind her. The leader of the mafia felt his strength slipping away.
Could Luca be the betrayer? Or was someone else lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike?
The illness, the betrayal—it was all becoming too much. But Vincenzo wasn't ready to let it break him,not yet