Heir In The Shadows

EPISODE 38

The Next Morning

The sun spilled through the grand arched windows of the De Luca estate, lighting up the marble halls like a cathedral of power. Servants moved quietly, preparing for the day’s reunion activities, but the atmosphere was far from relaxed — everyone knew Don Vittorio ruled mornings with iron rituals.

Luciano had just finished breakfast with Jax, his mother, father, and sister when a servant approached.

“Signore Luciano… Don Vittorio wishes to see you in his study.”

Luciano exchanged a quick look with his father, who gave a subtle nod.

“Go,” Enzo murmured. “But keep your fire under control. He’s still your Nonno.”

Luciano sighed, straightening his suit jacket. “He’ll hear my truth. Whether he likes it or not.”

---

The Study (Luciano vs Don Vittorio)

The study smelled of cigars and old leather. Don Vittorio sat behind a heavy oak desk, cane resting against the arm of his chair, sharp eyes like a hawk’s fixed on the door the moment Luciano stepped in.

“Nonno,” Luciano greeted respectfully, bowing his head slightly.

“Luciano,” the old man said in that gravelly, commanding voice that silenced rooms. “Sit.”

Luciano did, keeping his back straight.

Don Vittorio wasted no time. “You dishonor your bloodline.”

Luciano’s jaw tightened. “Because of Jax?”

“Because you’ve chosen a nobody,” Vittorio spat. “An underground fighter, a man with no name, no legacy. And you parade him here — before your family, before me. Is this how you repay your lineage?”

Luciano’s voice was calm but carried steel. “Nonno, with respect, you see him as a nobody because you do not know him. But I do. And I will not let anyone — not even you — insult him.”

Vittorio’s eyes narrowed. “You would defy me… for this man?”

Luciano leaned forward, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I would, Nonno. Because for once in my life, I am not bound by duty or expectations. I chose him. He is my future.”

The old man studied him in silence, then let out a low chuckle that sounded more like a growl. “You speak with fire, boy. But fire burns, and sooner or later, you’ll realize your mistake.”

Luciano stood, bowing curtly. “Then I will burn gladly — as long as it’s by his side.”

Without waiting for dismissal, he turned and walked out, chest tight but unbroken.

---

The Arena (Testing Jax)

Later that morning, the De Luca men gathered in the private courtyard, a tradition at every reunion. There were racks of weapons for target practice, a sparring mat, and even a makeshift ring. It was less about training, more about displaying dominance.

Luciano had rejoined Jax, who stood silently at the edge, hands tucked in his pockets. He drew stares wherever he went — tall, composed, too self-assured for the “street fighter” everyone whispered about.

One of the uncles smirked, loud enough for the crowd to hear:

“So this is the famous fighter, eh? Tell me, boy, can you do more than throw punches in back-alley cages?”

Laughter followed.

Luciano’s temper flared. “Careful—”

But Jax placed a hand on his arm, calm as ever. His voice was low, smooth, lethal.

“I’ll play.”

The uncle raised an eyebrow. “You’ll fight?”

“Why not?” Jax shrugged. “It’ll be fun.”

Soon, the men circled the ring, eager for blood. The uncle sent in one of the cousins — a burly man known for his skill.

Luciano bit his lip nervously. “Jax, you don’t need to—”

But Jax leaned down, brushing his lips against Luciano’s ear.

“Relax. I’ll give them a show, but nothing more.”

The fight began. The cousin charged — fast, brutal. But Jax barely moved. He sidestepped, countered with precision, every strike clean and controlled. Within minutes, the cousin was flat on the mat, gasping for breath.

Silence.

Jax looked around, voice smooth. “Anyone else?”

Another stepped up. Same result — Jax dropped him in three moves, never breaking a sweat.

By the third, murmurs spread through the crowd. He wasn’t just a brawler. He was something else.

Luciano couldn’t hide his pride. He crossed his arms, smirking. “Still think he’s just a nobody?”

Don Vittorio, watching from the balcony, tapped his cane thoughtfully. He said nothing, but his silence was louder than words.

---

On the other hand, Clint Rossi, heir to the Rossi Mafia and Empire, had always carried a thing for Luciano—but Luciano had never shown him even the smallest spark of interest. When he learned that Dax had broken things off with Luciano, a flicker of excitement ignited in him. Yet, even then, Luciano hadn’t spared him a glance, let alone considered him as a suitor.

Then came the news that sent Clint’s temper flaring: Luciano was growing attached to some underground fighter. An underground fighter? he thought, his jaw tightening. “At least Dax was tolerable,” he muttered to himself, “still beyond his league, still rich, still in our circle… but this? This is a slap to my face.” The thought of Luciano, his Luciano, choosing someone like Jax over him was unbearable.

Determined to assert himself, Clint planned a visit to the De Luca estate. He knew the family’s schedule for the day, and he arrived just after the sparring session, when Jax had already silenced the De Luca men and all eyes were still lingering on him.

Then the light chatter suddenly paused when the French doors at the far end of the Arena hall swung open. Clint Rossi strode in, his expensive suit tailored to perfection, his every movement exuding arrogance. Heads turned immediately—some with curiosity, others with distaste. His gaze fixed sharply on Luciano, and then, dismissively, on the man at his side.

Clint’s lips curved into a mocking smirk. ““I can’t believe this,” he said loudly, his voice laced with mockery. “Luciano De Luca… you actually turned me down… for an underground fighter?” He gestured toward Jax, voice dripping with contempt. “Even Dax was a slap to my face—but at least he was rich, part of the world I belong to. But this… this is more than a slap—it’s an insult!”

Luciano stiffened but kept his voice measured. “Clint, your ego precedes you. What are you doing here?”

The room grew tense, whispers rippling through the gathered family. Some leaned forward with curiosity; others, long skeptical of Luciano’s choices, smirked with satisfaction.

“Oh, I’m here to see the man who stole your attention,” Clint replied, taking a step forward, his tone teasing, taunting. “I heard rumors about this underground fighter of yours. Couldn’t resist the chance to meet him. Honestly… I expected someone at least halfway respectable. And this”—he gestured again at Jax—“this is… shocking.”

Jax’s hand brushed lightly against Luciano’s, a subtle anchor. Calm and composed, he stepped forward, eyes locked on Clint. “Are you Clint Rossi, the acting CEO of Rossi Group?”

Clint puffed up his chest. “The one and only.”

Jax’s gaze sharpened, but his voice remained smooth, calm. “I suggest you reconsider the way you speak to my lover. And you will apologize—now.”

Clint laughed, a deep, mocking sound. “Apologize? And if I don’t, what will you do? You? An underground fighter?”

Jax’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. His aura shifted subtly, tension radiating off him like heat from a flame. “If you refuse now, that’s fine. But when the time comes for you to apologize… I won’t settle for a simple sorry. I’ll want more. The choice is yours.”

Clint’s laugh rang out again, more sarcastic this time. “So, you’re telling me that if the De Luca family—wealthy, powerful, untouchable—can’t do a thing… some street fighter can?”

Jax said nothing. He only pressed his hand gently around Luciano’s, guiding him toward the exit of the hall. Calm. Controlled. Yet, every step radiated a subtle warning, a promise wrapped in restraint.

The whole family watched, some whispering, some shaking their heads, while those who openly disliked Luciano were clearly enjoying the spectacle. But those who supported him—his parents, sister, Antonio, and Marco—quietly began to leave the gathering.

Before stepping away, Luciano’s father, Enzo, paused, his gaze flicking to Don Vittorio. “Nonno… you won’t say a word?” he asked, a mix of frustration and concern in his tone.

Don Vittorio’s eyes remained sharp, calm, and unyielding. “Enzo… Luciano can fight his own battle,” he said simply.

Enzo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like it, not one bit. “Never forget this statement you've made today,” he muttered to his father, his voice low but firm, before turning and leaving the arena with the others.

Don Vittorio, however, allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod. Though he didn’t particularly like Clint Rossi, he found a quiet satisfaction in the display—Clint had aimed to humiliate Jax and that's what Don Vittorio liked about it.

Don Vittorio’s gaze shifted back to Clint Rossi. “And what brings you here?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying authority.

Clint Rossi straightened, trying to maintain his bravado. “I came to see the man Luciano turned me down for,” he said, with a hint of reluctant respect. “Now that I’ve seen him… I have no business here.”

Without another word, Clint offered a stiff nod and departed, leaving the room in a mix of murmurs, tension, and awe.