Heir In The Shadows

EPISODE 11

Luciano sat alone in his office, the room dim except for the glow of his desk lamp. The file was spread wide in front of him—names, photos, timelines, connections. His men had done their job well. Every piece of Jax’s life now lay bare before him.

First page—Jax’s school days. The faded photographs of a younger Jax, sharper but less guarded, standing next to Eli. Best friends. Brothers in arms before life carved them into something colder. Luciano studied the photo for a long while, tracing Jax’s faint smile with his thumb.

“So that’s where it all started,” he muttered. “Trust born in childhood. And trust broken in adulthood.”

The next section—Damon. The moment Jax met him, how he pulled Damon out of nothing, gave him shelter, wealth, a place in his world. Luciano’s jaw tightened as he read the reports. Damon had been lost, fragile, a nobody—until Jax built him into something more.

And yet—Luciano turned the page, his eyes narrowing. Reports of secret meetings. Hotel suites. Eli and Damon. Together.

His chest tightened, a hot wave of anger running through him. He slammed the file shut, then opened it again as if to make sure it wasn’t some mistake. But the evidence was all there—dates, surveillance, photos. Damon in Eli’s arms, Damon in Jax’s bed, Damon playing both sides like love was a game.

Luciano pushed back in his chair, running a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable. Damon… cheating on a man like him?” His voice was sharp, bitter. “Cheating on Ghost—the heir of the Kingmaker’s Mafia. The man who gave him everything.”

He stood, pacing the length of the office, his footsteps heavy with fury.

“Jax took him under his wing. Fed him, clothed him, lifted him from the gutter. And Damon… Damon repays him by crawling into Eli’s bed?” He stopped and slammed his fist into the desk, the wood groaning under the impact.

Luciano grabbed one of the photos—Jax and Damon together, Jax’s gaze soft, protective, as if Damon was his entire world. He stared at it, but what burned in his mind wasn’t the photo. It was the memory of Jax’s eyes at dinner—the sadness that had flickered there for just a moment before he hid it behind that cold, controlled exterior.

“So that was it,” Luciano whispered, realization dawning. “He knows. He already knows Damon’s betraying him.”

He sank into his chair again, staring into the shadows. His voice dropped lower, almost like he was speaking to Jax even though he wasn’t in the room.

“You’d rather bleed in silence, wouldn’t you? You’d rather swallow the pain, pretend not to see it, than let go of him. Because you love him too much to cut him off. You’d rather stay chained to betrayal than walk away.”

Luciano’s hand clenched around the photo until the edges cut into his skin. He couldn’t understand it—this kind of loyalty to someone so unworthy. But it explained everything. Jax’s aloofness. His quiet restraint. His cold exterior. Underneath it all, he was a man holding himself together while the one person he gave his heart to shattered it piece by piece.

Luciano let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

“And I… I’ve fallen for you. Fallen for the Ghost. Fallen for the man even Damon doesn’t deserve to breathe beside.”

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, torn between fury and desire.

“Damon’s a fool. Eli’s a traitor. But you, Jax…” His lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. “You’re the only one I see. The only one worth this game.”

He tapped the file with one hand, making a silent vow.

“Let Damon think he’s clever. Let Eli think he’s won. But I won’t let you drown in their betrayal. If you won’t cut them loose, maybe I’ll do it for you.”

The fire in Luciano’s chest only grew hotter. For the first time in years, the calculating Mafia boss wasn’t thinking about money, territory, or power. He was thinking about Jax—the man who carried his scars in silence.

And he knew, deep down, this wasn’t just obsession anymore. It was war.

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The week dragged like broken glass. Damon hadn’t seen Jax—hadn’t heard from him, either. At first, it was unsettling. The absence gnawed at him, the empty penthouse whispering things he didn’t want to face. But soon… he stopped worrying. Or rather, he buried that worry beneath indulgence.

Because where Jax’s presence once held him accountable, now there was only freedom. And freedom meant Eli.

Every night, Eli came over. Sometimes under the guise of “comfort,” sometimes with no excuses at all. Their laughter filled the rooms that Jax once kept silent and pristine. They shared drinks on the same couch where Jax and Damon used to fall asleep in each other’s arms. And when the night pulled them closer, they made love on that bed—the same bed where Jax had once worshipped Damon, where every kiss and touch had been reverent, careful, full of devotion.

Now that bed reeked of betrayal. Moans of pleasure were tangled with whispers of guilt Damon refused to acknowledge. He told himself it was nothing, just distraction, just something to fill the void. But deep down, he knew he was crossing a line Jax would never forgive. And yet, he didn’t stop.

Because Damon wasn’t afraid of losing Jax—not yet. He thought he had Jax wrapped too tightly around his finger, thought Jax’s love was blind enough to overlook the truth.

But Jax… Jax knew. And every moment Damon defiled what they had built together, Jax was silently pulling away, building walls Damon couldn’t see.

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Meanwhile, across the city, Luciano was setting his own plans in motion.

He had been restless all week, his mind tangled in thoughts of Jax. The file lay on his desk, but it was burned into his memory: the tragedy of a man too loyal to cut free from a faithless lover. Every night, Luciano’s chest grew hotter with a mix of anger and yearning. He wanted to shake Jax, to force him to see what Damon truly was. But he also wanted… to be the one Jax turned to instead.

So he decided. If Jax wouldn’t reach for him, then he would create the opportunity himself.

Luciano had his men prepare everything—a carefully staged coincidence. They tracked Jax’s movements until they noticed a pattern: the coffee shop he liked to visit when he needed quiet.

That’s where Luciano went.

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The bell above the café door chimed softly as Luciano walked in, dressed sharp as ever but carrying himself with unusual ease. His men stayed outside, leaving him to his own theater. And there he was—Jax.

Sitting alone by the window, black hoodie drawn over his head, phone in hand, a coffee cooling untouched beside him. His eyes were shadowed, tired, the kind of tired that wasn’t just physical. He looked like a man carrying a mountain no one else could see.

Luciano’s heart clenched at the sight. He’d seen killers die with less sorrow in their faces.

He approached casually, letting his presence linger before sliding into the seat across from Jax.

“Well, Ghost,” Luciano said smoothly, his voice low and confident, “what are the odds? Twice now, we meet like this. You’ll start thinking I’m following you.”

Jax glanced up, his eyes narrowing, sharp and cold as always. “Aren’t you?”

Luciano smirked, leaning back. “If I am, maybe I just enjoy the view.”

Jax’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t leave. Didn’t tell him to get lost. That was enough for Luciano to press further.

“You look tired,” Luciano said softly, almost too softly for someone like him. “Like a man carrying more than he should. I’ve seen that look before.”

Jax didn’t answer, just sipped his coffee, gaze sliding back to the street. But silence wasn’t rejection—it was permission.

Luciano studied him for a moment, lowering his voice into something gentler, more intimate. “You don’t have to tell me what’s eating you, Ghost. But I’ll tell you this… You’re not the only predator in this world who knows what it feels like to bleed on the inside.”

Something flickered in Jax’s expression—so brief most would have missed it. But Luciano caught it. The hint of loneliness. The shadow of betrayal.

Luciano leaned forward, his tone shifting, playful on the surface but edged with sincerity. “Maybe we’re cut from the same cloth, you and me. Alone at the top, pretending it doesn’t sting.”

Jax’s lips curled faintly, the ghost of a smirk, but his eyes were dark, unreadable. “You talk too much.”

Luciano chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Maybe. But I only talk when it matters. And right now, you matter, Ghost. More than you think.”

For the first time, Jax’s eyes locked with his, steady, sharp, dangerous. There was no invitation there—but there wasn’t rejection, either.

Luciano felt the burn in his chest intensify. He had tested the waters, and Jax hadn’t shut him out. That was enough. For now.

He stood, slipping a card across the table. “Dinner again. No excuses this time. You need it more than you know.”

Jax didn’t take the card, didn’t even look at it. But Luciano smiled anyway. Because he’d planted the seed. And with Jax, even a seed was enough to grow into something inevitable.

As he left the café, his men waiting by the car, Luciano whispered under his breath, almost like a vow:

“Damon doesn’t deserve you. Eli doesn’t deserve your loyalty. But I…” He smirked, his eyes burning with certainty. “I’ll be the one you remember.”

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