CHAPTER 11-THE RIGHT HAND MAN
1446 Words
Serafina had known Luca Romano long before she ever understood him.
In a life shaped by hierarchy, Luca existed as something fixed—an extension of Alessandro’s will, a presence as constant as the guards at the gates or the weight of the mansion itself. He was not family, not friend, not servant. He occupied a space that defied ordinary language.
He was the right-hand man.
The one who made power possible.
If Alessandro was the crown, Luca was the blade.
She first noticed him on the night of her wedding.
The memory lived in her like a photograph left too long in the sun—faded at the edges, but still sharp where it hurt. The ballroom had been drenched in gold light, the air thick with expensive perfume and forced celebration. Men in tailored suits raised glasses to Alessandro’s future. Women smiled behind painted lips, their eyes calculating.
Serafina, eighteen and trembling beneath silk, had stood beside her new husband as though placed there by someone else’s hands.
Alessandro had looked triumphant.
And behind him, silent as shadow, stood Luca Romano.
He had not smiled. He had not toasted. He had simply watched.
At the time, Serafina had assumed he was another guard—another nameless man paid to protect the king. But Luca was different. The others shifted, whispered, reacted. Luca remained still.
His stillness was not emptiness.
It was control.
Years passed, and Luca’s presence became a kind of inevitability.
He was always there, hovering at the edge of important moments. In the study when men spoke of borders and blood. In hallways when Alessandro’s mood sharpened. In the courtyard when orders were carried out without hesitation.
Serafina rarely heard his voice.
When she did, it was quiet and final.
A single sentence from Luca ended arguments. A glance from him silenced men twice her age. It was not because he held the highest title.
It was because everyone understood what he was capable of.
Luca Romano did not threaten.
He did not need to.
Rumors did that work for him.
Serafina heard them the way she heard everything—indirectly, through fragments caught between doors, whispers from maids who forgot she was nearby, murmured conversations that died when she entered a room.
They said Luca was raised by the streets before Alessandro found him. That he had survived things that would have broken most men. That loyalty was the closest thing he had to religion.
They said he killed without pleasure, but without regret.
They said if Alessandro was the empire, Luca was the reason it did not collapse.
Serafina did not know what was true.
She only knew what she saw.
And what she saw was frightening in its restraint.
Luca moved through the mansion like someone who belonged nowhere and everywhere at once. He did not lounge. He did not indulge. He did not laugh with the other men over drinks. His presence carried purpose, as though every second was accounted for.
He wore dark suits, always perfectly tailored, but never ostentatious. No unnecessary jewelry. No visible vanity. Even his hands—strong, capable—were unadorned.
His face was carved into calm.
Dark hair kept neat. Eyes sharp, unreadable. A mouth that rarely softened into anything resembling emotion. He looked like a man who had learned early that feeling was dangerous.
Yet there was something else beneath it.
Serafina sensed it the way one senses a storm beneath still skies.
Luca was not empty.
He was contained.
One afternoon, Alessandro hosted a gathering in the main hall—an informal meeting disguised as social leisure. Men sat with whiskey, voices low, laughter brittle. Serafina stood near the fireplace in a pale dress Alessandro had chosen, her role clear: beauty, silence, decoration.
She had become expert at disappearing while being seen.
Luca stood near the far wall, arms loosely folded, gaze scanning the room.
Always scanning.
Serafina watched him from the corner of her eye.
She wondered what it was like to be him.
To stand so close to power and yet remain untouched by indulgence. To exist as weapon rather than ornament. To be feared without needing to demand it.
Alessandro spoke animatedly with one of his captains, his tone smooth but edged. Serafina recognized irritation beneath the surface.
The captain said something too bold.
A pause.
Alessandro’s smile thinned.
Before Alessandro could respond, Luca shifted—just a fraction. His gaze landed on the captain. Nothing else changed. No movement, no threat.
The captain stopped speaking mid-sentence.
He lowered his eyes.
The room’s air changed.
Serafina felt it ripple through her skin.
That was Luca’s power.
Not volume.
Gravity.
Later, as the gathering dispersed, Serafina moved toward the corridor leading back to her rooms. She kept her pace measured, her expression neutral, as though nothing inside her trembled.
Halfway down the hall, she realized she was no longer alone.
Footsteps matched hers.
She stopped instinctively.
So did he.
Luca Romano stood a few feet behind her, hands at his sides, posture relaxed but alert.
Up close, he seemed even more unreal—like a man cut from shadow and patience. His eyes were darker than she expected, not cold exactly, but distant.
Controlled.
Serafina’s throat tightened.
He had never approached her alone before.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Luca inclined his head slightly, a gesture of formal respect.
“Mrs.Moretti.”
His voice was low, even. Not warm, not cruel. Simply present.
Serafina’s fingers curled subtly against her skirt.
“Luca,” she replied, because she did not know what else to say.
He did not correct her. That, too, was strange. Others insisted on titles, on distance. Luca seemed indifferent to that kind of performance.
His gaze flicked briefly toward the far end of the hallway, where Alessandro’s laughter echoed faintly.
Then back to her.
“You should not be alone here,” he said.
It was not a command.
It was observation.
Serafina’s pulse quickened.
“I live here,” she answered quietly. “I’m always alone.”
Something shifted in Luca’s expression—so subtle she nearly missed it. A tightening around the eyes. A pause that felt heavier than words.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I know.”
The admission startled her.
Not because it was kind.
Because it was true.
He knew.
He had known all along.
The hallway seemed suddenly too narrow, the air too thick.
Serafina’s voice came out before she could stop it.
“Why do you stay?”
Luca’s gaze sharpened.
“For Alessandro,” she clarified quickly, as though the question were harmless. “Why… do you stay so close?”
His answer came slowly.
“Loyalty,” he said.
The word hung between them.
Serafina almost laughed—not because it was funny, but because it was absurd. Loyalty was what men called their hunger for power. Loyalty was what women were expected to bleed for.
She studied him, searching for cracks.
“Does loyalty require silence?” she asked softly.
Luca’s eyes held hers.
“Sometimes,” he said.
“Does it require watching?” Her voice was quieter now, more dangerous.
A long pause.
Luca’s jaw flexed once, controlled.
“Yes,” he said, barely audible.
Serafina felt something cold move through her chest.
He did not deny it.
He did not excuse it.
He simply acknowledged what she already knew:
He had watched.
All these years.
The silence between them deepened.
Serafina should have walked away.
She should have returned to her role, to her safety in predictability.
Instead, she remained still.
“What are you watching for now?” she whispered.
For the first time, something like emotion flickered across Luca’s face. Not softness.
Something darker.
Something buried.
He looked past her, toward the mansion’s depths, toward Alessandro’s domain.
“Change,” he said.
The word landed like a prophecy.
Before Serafina could ask what he meant, Luca stepped back.
The moment sealed itself away.
He inclined his head once more, the perfect right-hand man again.
“Goodnight, Mrs.Moretti.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, silent as he had always been.
Serafina stood alone, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Luca Romano had always been there.
But tonight, for the first time, she felt the shape of him more clearly.
Not just Alessandro’s weapon.
Not just the empire’s blade.
But something else.
A man made of restraint and violence.
A man watching for change.
And Serafina, lying awake later, understood with unsettling clarity:
Some monsters were loud.
Others were silent.
And the silent ones were often the most lethal of all.
- Writer
