"Come. The meeting's about to start," Don Matteo's voice snapped Luciano back into focus.
Luciano's sharp gaze flicked toward Giovanni Costa—the smiling snake dressed in the skin of loyalty. In his past life, this man's hand held the gun that ended everything.
But not this time.
"Smile for now, Giovanni," Luciano thought, hiding the storm beneath his calm expression. "Soon... you'll choke on that grin."
---
The grand hall was a blend of old-world mafia tradition and modern corporate power. Crystal chandeliers hung above, gleaming against the dark mahogany walls adorned with De Luca family portraits—generations of kings in suits, each more ruthless than the last.
Luciano took his seat beside his father at the head of the table. Around them sat the family's top men—capos, business managers, enforcers—all looking powerful, respectable... and in some cases, secretly treacherous.
His eyes scanned faces, locking onto one particular man—Enzo De Luca.
His cousin.
Smiling. Polished. Perfectly fake.
Luciano's stomach twisted—not with fear, but anticipation. Enzo had always pretended to be the supportive cousin, the one always "looking out" for the family. But in truth, he was one of the architects behind Luciano's downfall.
In this life, Enzo's ambitions would become his noose.
---
Don Matteo cleared his throat. "We've got word that the Petrov Syndicate is moving in on our eastern shipping routes. It's a direct challenge."
A ripple of murmurs filled the room.
"Cowards," one capo spat.
"They must think we've grown soft," another growled.
Matteo's eyes narrowed. "Luciano, what's your read?"
All eyes turned.
In his first life, Luciano remembered freezing for a moment here—uncertain, inexperienced.
But now?
Luciano leaned back, fingers steepled, a cold smirk on his lips. "It's not just about shipping. Petrov's testing how quickly we respond. If we hesitate, he'll escalate. But he won't act without knowing if someone on the inside is soft enough to let him."
The room went quiet.
Even Don Matteo blinked, mildly surprised by his son's sudden sharpness.
Luciano's gaze swept the table, lingering ever so slightly on Enzo and Giovanni. "We need to lock down internal security. Double-check accounts, shipments, and guard rotations. Anyone slacking or leaking... remove them."
Enzo chuckled, playing innocent. "That's a little extreme, cousin."
Luciano's eyes darkened. "Not nearly extreme enough."
Giovanni leaned forward, tapping the table. "I can handle the east dock. Personally."
Of course, you want the east dock, you rat. That was the very dock he sold out in the first timeline—the first crack in the wall that led to the empire's fall.
Luciano smiled thinly. "No. Marco will handle the east. I need you on something... else."
Giovanni's brow twitched. "Of course... boss."
---
The meeting dragged on, but Luciano's mind was miles ahead. Every discussion, every glance, every shift of body language was logged, analyzed, and catalogued.
This wasn't just a meeting. It was a map of the future.
And he was rewriting it.
---
Afterward, as the men filtered out, Enzo approached, throwing an arm over Luciano's shoulders.
"Look at you," Enzo laughed, all charm and teeth. "All grown up. Where's this fire coming from, huh?"
Luciano forced a grin. "You'd be surprised what a good night's sleep can do."
"Oh, I'm sure." Enzo's gaze lingered—calculating, probing.
In his first life, Luciano would've brushed this off. But not now.
Now, he knew this was the predator evaluating whether his prey was still weak enough to devour.
---
As Enzo walked away, Don Matteo approached, hands clasped behind his back.
"You've changed," Matteo said quietly.
Luciano shrugged. "Maybe I've just started seeing clearly."
Matteo studied him. "Good. The future of this family depends on you. The world is getting more dangerous, Luciano. Business rivals, mafia syndicates, governments... sharks everywhere."
Luciano met his father's gaze. "Then let them know. The De Lucas don't get eaten. We hunt."
A slow, proud grin spread on Matteo's face. "That's my son."
---
Later that night, back at the penthouse, Luciano stood on the balcony overlooking Palermo's glittering city lights.
In his past life, this view used to comfort him. Now... it reminded him how fragile empires were.
His phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Frowning, he picked it up. "Hello?"
A soft, hesitant voice replied. "Um... Mr. De Luca? Sorry to bother you. I... I think there's a mistake in the quarterly financial reports for LunoTech..."
Luciano's eyes widened slightly.
Ariana.
Even her voice was exactly as he remembered—soft but firm, uncertain yet precise.
"I don't mean to overstep," she continued nervously, "but the numbers don't match the—"
"Send me the file," Luciano said, cutting her off, voice softer than usual. "Directly. And... thank you for catching it."
There was a pause. "...Of course, sir. Have a good evening."
The line disconnected.
Luciano stared at the phone, lips curling slightly.
"In my last life, I didn't even know your name until it was too late. But not this time. Not again."
---
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, staring into the amber liquid.
> "Enemies... love... betrayal... fortune... This life, I win. No matter the cost."