EPISODE 67
The jet touched down in Portofino just after noon. Luciano didn’t rush. He stayed seated long after the engines went quiet, eyes fixed on the small oval window, jaw locked so tight Nic wondered if he even felt it. Whatever panic Milan had stirred in him had already been buried—pressed down, sealed, controlled. “Welcome home, boss,” one of the guards said carefully. Luciano stood, straightened his coat with measured precision, and walked out without replying. The convoy drove past the familiar coastal road, then turned—not toward Jax’s villa, but inland, toward Luciano De Luca’s private estate, the one he rarely used anymore. The iron gates slid open the moment his car approached. Staff hurried to line up, but the air shifted the second Luciano stepped out. No warmth. No softness. Just
- Writer
