9 Years Ago
The Celebration of the New Don of Lucero
That night, the Lucero family's main manor was alive with celebration: music, laughter, and the faint smell of cigars drifting through the air.
The festivities had lasted from day until late night, each hour marking a different occasion.
By day, the Lucero Group looked like any other powerful corporation. Associates gathered to toast the new CEO, shaking hands and exchanging rehearsed compliments.
But when night fell, the real celebration began.
Lucien wasn't just the CEO of a conglomerate, he was Don Lucero, the new head of the family, the man who now bore all its glory, corruption, and blood on his young shoulders.
He was only eighteen.
It should've been the day he celebrated high school graduation, went to prom, and maybe lived a little like a normal teenager.
But Lucien had never known "normal." He'd never attended public or private school; homeschooling was all he'd been allowed.
Things like dances, friendships, and freedom were luxuries he'd never had the privilege to experience.
And that was fine or so he told himself. As long as he could lead the Lucero famiglia to greatness, as long as he could fulfill his late father's expectations, it didn't matter what he'd missed.
As an omega, this was the only way he could make his father proud even if Cesare De Luca wasn't there to see it, even if the man was buried six feet under while his son stood beneath the chandelier, wearing the same proud smile.
Tonight was meant to be a celebration, a formality, a speech to solidify his succession.
The real coronation had already happened, sealed by his grandfather's hand the moment he placed the Lucero family ring on his finger: the engraved seal of the Don.
"Are you nervous?"
The voice came from behind him. Lucien turned and found Damien standing there.
"Damien! You shouldn't be here!" Vincent hissed. "By custom, only the Don's right hand is allowed at his side!"
"Oh?" Damien tilted his head, pretending not to know. "And who might that be?"
"Me, obviously! Now get out!" Vincent snarled.
They stood just behind the grand doors separating them from the crowd. Once those doors opened, Lucien would have to descend the long marble staircase and stop ten steps before the bottom to address the capos directly for the first time.
It was the most vulnerable position a Don could be in: no bodyguards, no weapons. Only his right-hand man is beside him.
"It's fine, Vincent," Lucien said softly. "Let him stay. I doubt there'll be many people out there anyway. Half of them probably refused to bow to me."
"Don't be so gloomy," Damien said with a crooked grin. "Isn't that a good thing? It helps you see who to get rid of first."
The moonlight caught his dark hair, turning it silver at the tips, while his blue eyes shimmered like calm ocean waves: steady, soothing, and grounding.
Lucien couldn't help but chuckle. Damien's jokes always found their way past his defenses.
"You're right," he said, smiling faintly. "Looks like we'll be busy in the days to come."
The door opened with a slow creak, spilling light across the marble stairs. Lucien stepped out first, Vincent following a pace behind.
Their descent was unhurried but measured with eyes step. From the base of the stairs, dozens of eyes turned toward them, some sharp with judgment, others hollow with false respect.
Lucien's gaze swept over the hall like a blade, counting who dared to show up. A few Capos whispered to each other, their lips curling in mockery.
It didn't bother him; they'd reveal their true faces soon enough.
He stopped midway down the staircase. Vincent halted behind him, silent. When Lucien raised a hand, the murmurs stilled as if the air itself froze.
"Tonight marks the end of my father's reign," he began. His voice was calm, but heavy enough to make the room hold its breath.
"He taught me that loyalty is earned through respect."
His fingers brushed the Lucero ring, a casual gesture, yet it gleamed under the chandelier, drawing eyes to the symbol of power.
He glanced toward the older Capos near the front, the one who smiled with a sneer.
"But when respect fails to bind," he continued, "it must be taken by force, if necessary."
A low scoff broke from one of the tables. "So you'll rid yourself of the men who built this famiglia?" The man's voice dripped with scorn.
Lucien's gaze slid to him, almost bored. "You let my father die," he said softly. "Tell me, should I trust the hands that failed to protect him?"
A ripple of tension spread through the crowd. One man clenched his jaw, another looked away, gripping his glass a little too tightly.
Across the hall, Damien leaned against a column, watching, lips curved in faint amusement.
"WHAT?!"
"YOU BRAT!"
"DON'T YOU DARE ACCUSE US!"
"WE WERE HERE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN!"
Lucien took another step down. His boots struck the marble, echoing.
"It doesn't matter who came first," he said. "Only those who survives long enough to stand beside me."
The final step met his heel with a heavy thud. "I will rebuild the Lucero name: hand by hand, brick by brick, blood by blood. And when our glory returns, I hope all of you to still be here to witness it."
The silence that followed was suffocating. A few men nodded, others shifted uneasily, their pride and fear tangled together.
Lucien didn't wait for applause. He simply turned, the glint of the Lucero ring catching one last flicker of light as the new Don claimed the room without ever needing to raise his voice.
***
After his speech, the party's liveliness faded into a heavy quiet. The music still played, but the laughter had dulled, the champagne suddenly less sweet.
Of course it had, Lucien had just raised the flag of war in front of every Capo in the room.
He didn't mind. The drumbeat of that war had been echoing the moment everyone knew he would become the next don. All it needed now was a single push.
Still, he could use a cigarette. And a glass—or five—of wine.
Lucien slipped through the murmuring crowd and stepped out onto the balcony.
The night air greeted him with a sharp chill, carrying the faint scent of roses and gunpowder, his favorite mix.
But the moment he thought he could finally breathe, a familiar voice greeted him.
"Didn't think I'd find you running away from your own party."
Lucien froze for a second. Then he turned, and there he was.
Edmund.
Tall, striking, his blond hair catching the silver light like spun gold.
Lucien's lips curled. "Look who decided to show his face. Shouldn't you be inside, licking my boots so our families stay on good terms?"
Edmund just smiled with the same infuriatingly calm smile on his face. "Ah, the new Don of Lucero."
He reached for Lucien's hand, lifted it, and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. "Is a hand kiss enough, or do you expect something grander?"
Lucien should've pulled away. He didn't. The warmth of Edmund's lips lingered longer than it should have, crawling up his arm and straight into his chest.
Emerald eyes met his, steady, deep, and far too knowing.
Lucien's heart fluttered, an old reflex he thought he'd long since outgrown. Childhood crushes were supposed to die quietly, not return looking like this.
'Ah, what a lovely young love,' he thought.