Luciano Remus
He sat in his office—silent, rigid, a storm trapped in human skin. Dario was speaking, but Luciano no longer heard him. All that echoed inside his skull was one sentence:
She’s wounded. Nicoletta Bellucci.
When the report was handed to him, he snatched the paper so fast his hands trembled.
“Gunshot to the back. Saint Augustine Hospital. Critical condition.”
“f**k,” Remus hissed, jaw tightening to the point of pain. “I put her in danger.”
“You knew the risk,” Dario said carefully. “Romulus’s clan already drew their conclusions.”
Luciano stood at the window with his back to the door.
A single shot of grappa sat untouched in his hand—his lips hadn’t even brushed the rim. The room was quiet, yet the air trembled with tension.
“Bring him in,” he ordered when he heard step
