The sun dipped lower behind the hills of Palermo, casting long shadows over the city. From the penthouse window, Luciano watched the horizon melt into crimson and gold. A beautiful illusion—like many things in this world.
"They all think I'm still the same naive heir. Good. Let them."
A notification blinked on his laptop.
> New Email: Subject – Financial Discrepancy – From: Ariana Russo.
Luciano clicked it open. The spreadsheet was attached, along with a detailed breakdown. She had flagged a missing $2.7 million routed through one of his smaller logistics subsidiaries.
He scanned the data—lines of numbers, transaction codes, and off-shore accounts. It was a shell company Giovanni had set up in the previous timeline—the same pipeline that later funded arms smuggling and bribed politicians under Luciano's nose.
His jaw tightened.
"Smart girl… smarter than I ever gave her credit for."
He hit reply.
> "Good catch. Report to my office tomorrow morning. 9 a.m. sharp. —L."
---
Luciano shut the laptop, leaning back in his chair. His mind wasn't just on Ariana. It was on the entire chessboard—the family, the mafia, the corporate empire, and the silent hands already moving pieces behind the curtain.
In his past life, he was a player learning the game.
In this life... he was the architect of the game.
---
The Next Move – De Luca Family Estate
The following morning, the estate buzzed with activity. Men in tailored suits shuffled between armored SUVs. Guards checked weapons under their jackets. Drivers prepared convoys.
Don Matteo sat at the head of the outdoor courtyard table, cigar in hand, speaking with several of the family's senior advisors.
Luciano arrived, dressed sharp in a black suit and a grey silk shirt. His presence drew the attention of several men—some respectful, others wary.
"Luciano," Matteo greeted, motioning him over. "We've got a problem."
"What's the situation?"
Matteo tapped the ash from his cigar onto a crystal tray. "There's word that Dario Conti—one of our shipping managers—has been meeting secretly with men tied to the Petrov syndicate."
Luciano's lips pressed into a line. "Dario." In his past life, Dario had been part of the quiet undercurrent of betrayal, but his role was never confirmed. Now, the confirmation came sooner.
"What's our proof?" Luciano asked.
"Anonymous tip. But the source checks out. A dockworker overheard conversations... then disappeared last night."
Luciano nodded. "Dead?"
"Not confirmed. But if Conti's cleaning up, that's likely."
Luciano folded his hands, voice calm but lethal. "Then we clean first."
Matteo grinned, approving of his son's steel. "What do you suggest?"
"Bring Conti in. Not for questioning. For... clarity." Luciano's eyes darkened. "Dead men don't lie."
Matteo chuckled, shaking his head. "You've grown sharper."
Luciano stood. "No more waiting for betrayal to unfold. We cut it at the root."
---
The Interrogation – No Room for Mercy
An hour later, Conti was dragged into one of the estate's underground rooms—a soundproofed chamber designed for exactly this type of conversation.
Conti trembled, his hands zip-tied, sweat soaking through his cheap suit.
"Luciano, boss... it's a misunderstanding! I swear—"
Luciano raised a hand, silencing him. His expression was devoid of empathy.
"Tell me, Conti," he began, voice cold, "did you think the Russians would pay better? Or did you think the De Luca name wasn't worth your loyalty?"
Conti shook his head violently. "No, no! I—I was just... I didn't do anything! I swear—"
Luciano walked forward slowly, pulled a chair, and sat directly in front of him. He locked eyes with Conti, seeing the flicker of panic—the unmistakable tells of guilt.
"I have one question," Luciano said, his voice a whisper sharp as a knife. "Did Giovanni arrange this?"
At the mention of Giovanni, Conti flinched. His reaction was slight, but enough.
Luciano smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "Thank you."
Without another word, Luciano stood and pulled a suppressed pistol from his jacket. A single shot echoed, muffled but final.
Conti slumped forward, lifeless.
Two guards quickly moved to clean the scene, dragging the body away.
Matteo stepped in a moment later, raising an eyebrow at the efficiency. "Swift."
"No time to waste." Luciano holstered the pistol, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "The more noise we make internally, the more our enemies smell weakness."
"Agreed," Matteo nodded. "What's your next move?"
Luciano's eyes narrowed. "Giovanni's time will come. But first... the financial pipeline. We cut it. Today."
---
Ariana Russo – The Unexpected Variable
At exactly 9:00 a.m., Ariana knocked softly at the door of Luciano's corporate office downtown.
"Come in," his voice echoed.
She stepped inside, dressed in a simple navy blouse tucked into a pencil skirt. Practical, neat, nothing extravagant. Her hair was tied back into a low ponytail, glasses perched on her nose.
Luciano studied her—this time, fully aware of how much he had overlooked her before.
She stood nervously, holding a folder close to her chest. "Mr. De Luca... I... here's the detailed report."
"Sit."
Ariana quickly obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair like she wasn't sure if she belonged there.
Luciano opened the folder and scanned her meticulous notes. Everything was clear—dates, transactions, linked shell accounts, potential laundering trails. Her handwriting was precise; her analysis sharper than most of his senior auditors.
"How did you catch this?" he asked.
"I... cross-referenced the supplier invoices manually. Something wasn't aligning... It... didn't seem right."
He nodded slowly. "Do you realize how dangerous this information is?"
She blinked, startled. "I... I just thought it was an accounting error—"
"It's not." Luciano's tone softened slightly. "It's bigger than that. Much bigger."
Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. "Am I... in trouble?"
Luciano's lips twitched. "No. In fact... I should thank you."
She looked confused. "Thank me?"
Luciano closed the folder, leaning forward. His gaze pierced hers. "From now on, you report directly to me."
Her eyes widened. "Wait... what?"
"I'm promoting you. Special Assistant to the CEO. Effective immediately."
Ariana nearly dropped her folder. "I—I'm not qualified for—"
"You are," he interrupted. "You've just proven it. And..." His voice dipped lower, his tone layered with meaning, "I don't trust many people right now."
Silence stretched between them.
Ariana finally nodded, cheeks flushed. "O-Okay... Mr. De Luca."
"Luciano," he corrected without thinking.
Her gaze shot up, startled.
"For internal matters... you can call me Luciano."
---
Cutting the Pipeline
That afternoon, Luciano made moves that in his past life took him years to realize were necessary.
Off-shore accounts were frozen.
The dummy shell companies Giovanni used were shut down.
Multiple suppliers under suspicion were terminated with immediate effect—some by legal notices, others by less... public means.
Giovanni, watching from the sidelines, noticed the sudden flurry of activity.
The snake slithered over to Luciano's office, knocking.
"Boss," he greeted with that ever-charming smile. "Heard you've been busy."
Luciano didn't look up from his papers. "Tying up loose ends."
Giovanni chuckled, slipping into the chair opposite. "Anything I should know about?"
Luciano finally looked up, meeting his gaze with an icy calm. "If there was... you'd be the first to know."
Giovanni laughed, but something in Luciano's gaze sent a ripple of unease through him.
"Good. Keep laughing, Giovanni," Luciano thought, suppressing the rage boiling under the surface. "Soon, I'll wipe that smile off permanently."
---
The Storm is Coming
As the day closed, Luciano sat alone in his penthouse, swirling a glass of whiskey.
Pieces were moving faster now.
The Russians wouldn't sit idle.
Giovanni wouldn't stay quiet forever.
And then there was Ariana—a wildcard. A woman who, in his previous life, had been invisible... now suddenly the most intriguing variable on the board.
His phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
> "We know what you're doing, De Luca. Back off... or bleed."
Luciano smirked, setting the glass down.
> "Try me."