CHAPTER 16- THE SHADOW'S POWER
1335 Words
Power did not always sit on the throne.
Sometimes it stood behind it.
Serafina had spent years believing Alessandro was the center of everything—the sun around which the empire rotated. His name carried authority, his temper shaped outcomes, his violence enforced obedience. He was visible power, loud enough to be undeniable.
But Luca Romano was something else.
He was not loud.
He was not visible in the way kings were visible.
And yet, slowly, Serafina began to realize that the empire moved when Luca moved.
That truth unsettled her more than Alessandro’s brutality ever had.
Because brutality was obvious.
Influence was silent.
It revealed itself only if you watched closely.
And Serafina had become very good at watching.
It began with small moments—subtle shifts she might have once dismissed.
A captain arriving furious, demanding Alessandro’s attention… only to leave the mansion quiet, pale, subdued, after speaking briefly with Luca in the corridor.
A dispute that should have escalated into bloodshed dissolving into uneasy agreement after Luca murmured something in Alessandro’s ear.
Orders being carried out before Alessandro even spoke them aloud, because Luca had already anticipated them.
The empire, she realized, did not wait for Alessandro’s commands.
It waited for Luca’s confirmation.
One afternoon, a messenger arrived from the northern district, frantic and sweating despite the cold. Serafina was passing through the foyer when the man was escorted in. His suit was wrinkled, his breathing too fast—signs of someone who believed he carried disaster.
He demanded to see Alessandro immediately.
The guards hesitated.
Then Luca appeared.
No announcement. No sound.
The messenger froze as though struck.
Luca’s gaze swept over him.
“What happened?” Luca asked.
The messenger swallowed.
“The Korelli family—they moved shipments through our docks without permission. The northern crews are ready to retaliate. They’re asking for orders.”
Serafina felt the tension sharpen.
Unauthorized movement was provocation.
Provocation meant war.
Alessandro was not yet present. Normally, the empire would hold its breath until the king arrived.
But Luca did not wait.
He nodded once.
“Cancel retaliation,” he said.
The messenger blinked, startled.
“Cancel—?”
Luca’s voice remained calm.
“Not yet. Pull our men back. Quietly. Let the Korellis believe we didn’t notice.”
The messenger’s hands trembled.
“But boss—Alessandro—”
Luca stepped forward slightly.
The air changed.
“You have your orders.”
The messenger’s mouth opened, then closed.
He nodded quickly.
“Yes. Of course.”
He left immediately, urgency redirected into obedience.
Serafina stood still, heart beating harder.
Alessandro had not spoken.
And yet the empire had moved.
Later, Alessandro descended the staircase, adjusting his cufflinks as if nothing in the world demanded haste.
Luca approached him.
“A shipment issue in the north,” Luca said quietly. “Handled.”
Alessandro did not ask how.
He only nodded.
“Good.”
That was it.
No debate.
No questioning.
Serafina felt something cold settle in her stomach.
Handled.
As though Luca’s decisions were interchangeable with Alessandro’s.
As though Luca’s authority required no permission.
That night, during dinner, Serafina studied the men around the table with sharper awareness.
Captains laughed too loudly at Alessandro’s jokes, eager to please.
But when Luca spoke—even softly—they listened differently.
Not with flattery.
With respect edged in fear.
Alessandro’s power was enforced by title.
Luca’s power was enforced by inevitability.
Serafina saw it in the way men angled their bodies toward Luca when discussing problems, as though unconsciously seeking his judgment.
She saw it in the way disagreements softened when Luca entered a room.
She saw it in the way Alessandro, for all his dominance, allowed Luca a freedom no one else possessed.
It was not equality.
It was necessity.
After dinner, Alessandro retired with guests to the study. Serafina remained behind, as expected.
From the hallway, she could hear voices rising.
A negotiation turning sour.
A captain pushing too far.
Serafina paused near the doorway, listening.
“You’re asking too much,” someone said sharply.
Alessandro’s voice was smooth.
“I take what is mine.”
“That district is fragile—”
“Then strengthen it.”
“You’ll start a war!”
Silence.
Then Luca spoke.
Quiet.
Final.
“War is already starting. The question is whether we control the fire or let it consume us.”
The room went still.
Serafina imagined every man turning toward him.
Alessandro did not respond immediately.
When he finally did, his voice was thoughtful, almost… deferential.
“What do you suggest?”
Serafina’s breath caught.
Alessandro Moretti asking for suggestion.
Luca answered calmly.
“Let them think they’ve won. Give them a small concession, then cut their supply routes three weeks from now. Quiet starvation. No battle necessary.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Serafina felt nauseated.
The cruelty was strategic, bloodless, worse in its patience.
Alessandro chuckled softly.
“You always did prefer elegance.”
“It’s efficient,” Luca replied.
The captain protested weakly.
“That’s—”
Luca cut him off without raising his voice.
“That’s survival.”
Silence again.
Then Alessandro spoke, amused.
“Do it.”
The matter ended.
Just like that.
Serafina stepped away from the door, pulse racing.
She understood then that Luca’s influence was not secondary.
It was structural.
Alessandro wore the crown.
But Luca built the foundation beneath it.
Without Luca, Alessandro would still be dangerous—but chaos would follow.
Luca made danger orderly.
That was why the empire feared him.
Not because he was violent.
Because he was intelligent.
Because he was disciplined.
Because he did not act from emotion.
He acted from calculation.
And calculation, in a world of blood, was godlike.
The next day, Serafina witnessed Luca’s power in another form.
A servant dropped a tray near Alessandro’s office, porcelain shattering loudly.
The girl—barely older than Serafina had been when she married—froze in terror.
Alessandro emerged, eyes narrowing.
“What is this?” he said softly.
The girl’s lips trembled.
“I’m sorry, sir, I—”
Alessandro stepped closer.
Apologies did not matter.
Only control mattered.
Serafina’s stomach tightened. She knew what came next.
Then Luca appeared.
He did not place himself between Alessandro and the girl.
He did not openly challenge.
He simply spoke.
“She’s new.”
Alessandro’s gaze flicked toward Luca.
“And?”
Luca’s expression remained calm.
“She’s replaceable,” Luca said evenly. “But training takes time. Killing her would be inefficient.”
The words were cold.
Pragmatic.
But they saved the girl’s life.
Alessandro stared for a moment, jaw tight.
Then he exhaled through his nose, amused.
“Always thinking,” he murmured.
He turned away.
“Clean it up,” he said dismissively, leaving.
The girl collapsed to her knees, shaking.
Serafina stood frozen.
Luca looked down at the shattered porcelain, then at the girl.
His voice was quiet.
“Get up.”
The girl scrambled upright, nodding frantically.
Luca walked away without another word.
Serafina’s chest ached.
He had saved her, not through kindness, but through calculation.
Efficiency.
Survival.
That was Luca’s morality.
And it worked.
Later, alone in her room, Serafina stared out the window into the dark grounds.
She thought of Alessandro’s visible cruelty.
She thought of Luca’s silent control.
Which was worse?
Which was safer?
Which was more dangerous?
The shadow’s power was not in what it did openly.
It was in what it could do unseen.
Luca Romano did not sit on the throne.
He did not wear the crown.
But Serafina understood now, with chilling clarity:
If Luca ever chose to,
he could move the empire’s spine beneath Alessandro…
and the entire kingdom would collapse without knowing what had broken it.
That was the true power of a shadow.
And Serafina, watching him more closely than ever, could not decide whether that power was her greatest threat…
or the only thing that might one day set her free.
- Writer
