CHAPTER 13-ALWAYS IN THE ROOM
1442 Words
There were men who came and went from Alessandro’s life like weather—captains, allies, politicians who smiled too much and disappeared when the tides shifted.
And then there was Luca Romano.
He did not come and go.
He remained.
Serafina began to understand that Luca was not simply Alessandro’s right-hand man.
He was the constant.
Always in the room.
Not always speaking. Not always noticed. But always there, as present as the air, as unavoidable as consequence.
It was a particular kind of dominance—one that did not demand attention, but commanded it anyway.
Serafina saw him everywhere.
At dinners where laughter was forced, where crystal glasses clinked while threats slid beneath conversation like knives. Luca stood near the wall, an unmoving silhouette in black, watching the table as if each guest were a variable in an equation.
At negotiations where men spoke about shipments and territory as though discussing weather, when what they truly meant was blood. Luca sat slightly behind Alessandro, listening more than talking, his gaze sharp and unreadable.
At punishments.
Those were the worst.
Serafina never witnessed the violence directly—not at first. Alessandro liked his brutality controlled, contained. He preferred to keep Serafina polished and untouched by overt ugliness, as though shielding her would preserve the illusion of refinement.
But the mansion was not built to hide screams.
The first time she realized Luca was present for punishments was almost accidental.
She had been walking through the east corridor late one evening, heading back from the library, when she heard voices ahead—low, tense. She stopped instinctively, pressing herself into shadow.
The door to one of the smaller rooms was open just enough to reveal movement inside.
Two guards held a man on his knees. His hands were bound. His face was swollen with panic.
Alessandro stood before him, calm.
And Luca stood beside Alessandro, silent as ever.
The man begged.
“I didn’t mean it, boss. Please—my family—”
Alessandro tilted his head, almost curious.
“You stole from me,” he said softly, as though stating a simple fact. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
The man sobbed.
Serafina’s stomach turned.
She should have moved away. Should have retreated before she was discovered.
But her feet remained rooted.
Luca watched the man without expression.
No satisfaction. No cruelty.
Only attention.
Alessandro sighed faintly, as though disappointed.
“Do it,” he said.
One of the guards hesitated.
Serafina saw it—just a flicker of uncertainty.
Luca’s gaze shifted toward the guard.
The hesitation disappeared.
The punishment was swift.
A single shot, muffled, final.
Serafina’s breath caught in her throat, sharp enough to hurt.
The man collapsed.
Blood spread across the floor in a dark bloom.
Alessandro turned away immediately, already finished with it.
Luca remained still.
He looked down at the body for a moment longer than anyone else.
Then he lifted his gaze, scanning the room as if making sure the mess was contained, the lesson complete.
Only then did he follow Alessandro out.
Serafina stumbled back silently, heart hammering, the corridor suddenly too narrow, too airless.
Luca had not pulled the trigger.
But he had been part of it.
Always in the room.
The next day, Alessandro hosted dinner as though nothing had happened.
Candles flickered. Wine was poured. Guests praised the chef.
Serafina sat at the table, hands steady only because she had learned how to be steady.
Alessandro spoke of upcoming deals with the southern syndicate.
A man across from him laughed, commenting on the city’s growing obedience.
“It’s because they fear you,” he said.
Alessandro smiled.
“They should.”
Luca stood behind Alessandro’s chair, as if carved from stone.
No one mentioned the blood cleaned from the floor last night.
No one spoke of the man who would never go home.
Serafina felt nauseated by how easily violence disappeared into routine.
Later, as plates were cleared, Alessandro reached for her hand, squeezing lightly—a gesture that looked affectionate to outsiders.
Serafina did not flinch.
She did not react.
She had learned that composure was survival.
She wondered if Luca noticed.
She wondered if he cared.
She wondered, darkly, if he had ever cared about anything.
Negotiations were another kind of punishment.
Serafina came to see that.
They unfolded with more politeness, more language, but the stakes were identical.
One afternoon, Alessandro met with a rival faction’s representative in the study. Serafina was instructed to sit nearby, presentable, silent. A display of stability.
The representative, a tall man with slick hair and an ingratiating smile, spoke too confidently.
“Our boss believes the docks should be shared. Fifty-fifty.”
Alessandro leaned back, amused.
“Shared,” he echoed, as if tasting the word.
The man nodded. “It’s reasonable.”
Luca stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed outward.
Serafina realized Luca was not watching the city.
He was watching the man’s reflection in the glass.
Alessandro smiled pleasantly.
“You misunderstand,” he said. “Nothing that belongs to me is shared.”
The representative’s smile tightened.
“We could make this difficult.”
The air changed.
Serafina felt it immediately.
Luca’s head turned slightly.
Just slightly.
The representative noticed.
His confidence faltered, almost imperceptibly.
Alessandro’s tone remained calm.
“You don’t want difficulty,” he said.
The representative forced a laugh.
“And you don’t want war.”
Alessandro’s eyes flicked toward Luca.
War.
The word hung between them like smoke.
Luca’s expression did not change.
But something in his stillness sharpened.
Alessandro’s smile softened.
“No,” Alessandro agreed. “I don’t want war.”
A pause.
“I want obedience.”
Silence stretched.
The representative swallowed.
“How much?” he asked finally.
Alessandro named a number.
The representative paled.
“That’s impossible.”
Luca spoke then, quietly.
“It’s inevitable.”
Two words.
The representative’s shoulders sagged, as though he understood suddenly that negotiation was an illusion.
Alessandro was not bargaining.
He was allowing survival.
When the man left, agreement secured, Serafina sat frozen.
She felt Luca’s presence like a weight in the room.
Alessandro poured himself another drink, satisfied.
“You see,” he said casually, glancing at Serafina. “Strength is simplicity.”
Serafina did not respond.
She watched Luca.
He remained near the window, gaze distant now, as though none of it mattered.
But it mattered.
It all mattered.
Luca was the enforcement behind Alessandro’s words.
The silent certainty that made compliance possible.
Always in the room.
There were evenings when Serafina felt trapped by that presence more than by Alessandro’s direct control.
Because Alessandro was predictable in his cruelty.
Luca was not.
Luca was unknowable.
Serafina began to measure her life by Luca’s proximity.
If Luca was near, Alessandro was calmer. More controlled.
If Luca was absent, Alessandro’s temper grew erratic, sharp as broken glass.
It was as if Luca anchored something inside him.
Or perhaps Luca was simply the only one Alessandro respected enough to restrain himself for.
Once, late at night, Serafina heard raised voices from the study.
She hesitated outside, listening.
Alessandro’s voice was tight.
“Don’t question me.”
Luca’s was quieter.
“I’m not questioning. I’m warning.”
A pause.
“You forget your place,” Alessandro snapped.
Another pause, longer.
Luca’s voice did not rise.
“My place,” he said softly, “is keeping this empire standing.”
Silence followed.
Serafina pressed her hand to the wall, pulse racing.
The next moment, the study door opened.
Luca stepped out.
His gaze landed on her immediately, as though he had known she was there all along.
For a moment, neither moved.
Serafina felt exposed, caught in something she did not understand.
Luca’s expression was unreadable.
Then, quietly, he said, “Go back to bed.”
It was not a command laced with cruelty.
It was almost… protective.
Serafina swallowed.
“What happens,” she whispered, “if the empire falls?”
Luca’s gaze held hers.
His voice was very low.
“Then everyone burns.”
The words were simple.
The truth was not.
Luca moved past her, disappearing into the corridor like a shadow returning to darkness.
Serafina stood alone, trembling slightly.
Always in the room.
Always watching.
Always present when blood was spilled and deals were sealed.
Luca Romano was not merely Alessandro’s right-hand man.
He was the empire’s silent witness.
Its blade.
Its restraint.
Its inevitability.
And Serafina could not escape the growing sense that a man who was always in the room…
was also the man who would one day decide how the room ended.
- Writer
