His rose, His ruin

CHAPTER ONE: THE PENTHOUSE The Penthouse Tower stood like a symbol of absolute power, a structure carved out of ambition, blood, and legacy. Built sky-high with fifteen commanding floors, it wasn’t just a building—it was a hierarchy. Each floor represented a Mafia family’s place in the world, from the most feared to the nearly forgotten. The fifteenth floor, dark and silent, belonged to the De Luca family—the rulers of them all. Their word was law. Below them, each family resided according to their rank, bearing the weight of legacy and the pressure of rising—or falling—in the order. Children born into the system were raised not in nurseries, but in boardrooms and weapon rooms. Lorenzo De Luca, the heir to the top floor, was already feared and respected, even as a boy. Cold-eyed and calculating, he grew up watching empires built and broken by the decisions made behind closed doors. The Penthouse wasn’t home. It was a battlefield in disguise. In this world, power wasn’t inherited—it was tested, again and again. And at the very core of that test was the whispered, dangerous game: Poker Face, a strategic play of alliances and deception that could make or unmake champions. But that game hadn’t begun yet. For now, silence reigned. Until the silence was broken. The shift came without warning. Like a storm that sweeps through before the skies darken, the news began to spread—families were moving out. From the fifteenth to the sixth floor, families began packing their belongings, exchanging familiar hallways for isolated mansions spread across different countries. No blood was shed—yet. But the movement was no less a political earthquake. It was strategy. The Penthouse, once buzzing with tightly woven tension, began to echo with absence. Parents sent their children away—not just for safety, but for experience. To see the world. To harden. One of the first was Donatello Santoro, the future heir of the thirteenth floor. At just thirteen years old, he was sent to Italy, a calculated move to prepare him for more than just inheritance. A legacy needed scars to feel real. And yet, some remained. The first to the fifth floors held on—firm, watching. The De Luca family stayed, naturally. They never moved unless they wanted to. Lorenzo remained. Eyes sharp. Ears everywhere. Quietly observing who left and why. Vanessa, although close to the Romano family, never lived in the Penthouse. Her presence lingered outside the building, a piece of the puzzle not yet in place—but bound to be important. The Penthouse was changing. It wasn’t crumbling—not yet—but the walls now whispered with uncertainty. The chairs once filled with proud heirs now sat cold and empty. And those who remained knew: something was coming. They were just making space for it. His rose, His ruin....