Luciano's Pov
The click of my polished shoes against marble echoes through the foyer like a ticking clock, counting down to an inevitable doom. Each step sends tremors through my aging body, my mind a maelstrom of dread. What has my Noah done?
I pause, gazing at the ornate grandfather clock. Its face, once a comforting reminder of order, now mocks me with its steady march forward. Time cannot be rewound. The boy I raised is gone.
"Giovanni," I called out, my voice barely above a whisper. "Any word?"
The stocky figure by the door remains motionless, a statue carved from flesh and loyalty. His eyes, dark pools that have witnessed countless atrocities, met mine. There is no reassurance there, only the weight of unspoken burdens.
"Nothing yet, Boss," he replied, his tone flat.
I resume m
