BORN IN BLOOD

THE DEVIL’S SON

Luca never forgot the first time he killed a man. The weight of the knife in his hand. The thick, wet sound of steel meeting flesh. The way the man’s breath shuddered, then stopped. He was ten years old, and from that night on, he was no longer just a boy—he was Dante DeLuca’s son.

That was the moment he learned the second rule of their world: Hesitation is death.

Present Day – New York City

The room smelled of leather and expensive cigars, the dim glow of the city skyline spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Luca DeLuca’s penthouse. Rain slid in rivulets down the glass, the storm outside a mirror to the one brewing in his mind.

He sat in his chair, the dark wood desk before him covered in documents, cash, and a half-finished glass of scotch. The faint hum of jazz played from the speakers, but he wasn’t listening. His mind was elsewhere—on the problem that had landed in his lap just hours ago.

His men had found Matteo Ricci.

A traitor. A dead man walking.

Luca leaned back, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Where is he now?”

“Basement of the club,” said Gio, his second-in-command. “He’s not talking yet, but he will.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. Ricci was a coward—a rat who had sold information to the Bratva in exchange for protection. A mistake, because now, he was in DeLuca territory. And there was no such thing as mercy in DeLuca territory.

Luca stood, rolling the tension from his shoulders. “Let’s go make him talk.”

The Basement – Inferno Nightclub

The air in the underground room was damp, the sharp scent of blood mixing with sweat and fear. Matteo Ricci sat slumped in a metal chair, his face swollen, his breathing labored. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, his lip split and bleeding.

Luca stepped forward, his leather shoes echoing against the concrete floor. The room went silent. His presence alone was enough to make men tremble, but Ricci—fool that he was—still had the audacity to glare up at him.

“I should have killed you the second I suspected you were a traitor,” Luca said smoothly, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp black shirt. “Now, you’re going to tell me everything. Who else is working with you? What did you sell them?”

Ricci coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. “f**k you.”

Luca smirked, tilting his head. “Wrong answer.”

He nodded to Gio, who stepped forward without hesitation, cracking his knuckles. The next punch sent Ricci’s chair skidding backward, his head snapping to the side. Blood splattered onto the floor.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Luca said, crouching beside him. His voice was soft—almost gentle. That was the real danger. When Luca DeLuca whispered, death was near.

Ricci shuddered, his bravado crumbling. “Please…” he rasped.

Luca sighed. “You disappoint me, Matteo.”

Then, without hesitation, he pulled his gun, pressing the barrel beneath Ricci’s chin.

A moment of silence. One breath. One heartbeat.

And then—BANG.

Blood and bone sprayed against the wall. The body slumped forward, lifeless.

Luca stood, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He turned to Gio. “Clean this up.”

Gio nodded, already barking orders to the men. Luca didn’t stay to watch. There was nothing left to see.

As he stepped out into the hallway, rolling his shoulders, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Unknown Number.

Luca stared at the unknown number flashing on his phone screen. He didn’t like surprises, and the people who had his personal number knew better than to waste his time.

He picked up. “Talk.”

A husky, feminine voice purred through the line, smooth as silk but laced with something dangerous.

Valentina Russo.

Daughter of Enzo Russo, a name that carried both power and weight in their world. But Enzo had been dead for years, and his empire—his legacy—had been picked apart by vultures. Yet here she was, reaching out to him, as if she had something worth his time.

Luca leaned back in his chair, intrigued. “You have my attention, Valentina. What do you want?”

A soft chuckle drifted through the receiver. “Meet me and find out.”

She hung up before he could respond. Bold.

Luca smirked, tossing back the last of his drink. He wasn’t sure whether she was a problem, an opportunity, or a trap. But one thing was certain

he was going to find out.