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“Luciano, andiamo!”
His father’s irate voice jolted him out of bed in the middle of the night. Luciano blinked at the ceiling, a low rumble building in his chest. In the darkness, his eyes flashed with coal fire, before he became fully awake and reined his wolf in.
He had seconds, if only, to rub the sleep out of his eyes and pull on a shirt and sweatpants. The pack’s alpha – and the family’s head – did not recognize excuses, and lateness counted as an error in judgement.
The door swung open, and Luciano’s youngest brother poked his head through. “Ma cosa stanno facendo?” Matteo whispered sleepily, demanding to know what all the fuss was about.
Luciano shrugged and stepped to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “Go back to sleep, Matt,” he whispered in English. “It’s me they want.”
Once assured Matteo was back in bed, Luciano headed downstairs. He had to descend two flights of stairs, surrounded by opulence and luxury at each corner. Even the clothes he wore were brand name. Their mansion was huge – his father liked such things. It allowed him to host massive parties, hiding the dealings taking place under the authorities’ very noses.
Not that it mattered. With his group of Mafiosi, Alessandro Conti had the entire city under his control, either through fear, or bribery. Or both.
When he reached downstairs, Luciano looked around, frowning. “Where the hell are they?”
Gunshots outside drew his attention, but did not jolt him. The sound was familiar, an old friend, one could say. He’d been twelve the first time his father had shown him how to handle a gun. At thirteen, he’d held a man at gunpoint to save Alessandro. To this day, he didn’t know if it had been a good choice, or whether he should have let the bastard – his father – deal with his fate alone.
And yet, Luciano hadn’t. And life had gone on – except for the culprit, who’d been apprehended and dealt with accordingly. Alessandro Conti did not take kindly to rebellion.
Shaking his head, Luciano walked through the ballroom, then the sunroom, passed by the kitchen to nick an apple, and ended by the massive patio. French doors surrounded a breathtaking view where sunrise and lake met for a little piece of paradise.
Paradise, or hell?
Inside him, an urge nagged at him. Luciano’s wolf wanted to roam free. Since he’d dropped his university degree in entrepreneurship and returned home, Alessandro had been demanding. Meetings every day, sometimes more than once. All to better initiate him, to get him ready to take the reins of a Mafia empire he wanted nothing to do with.
And among those, his wolf was cornered, limited, having to...obey.
At only twenty-five, Luciano was nowhere ready for the responsibility that came with leading Alessandro’s empire. And despite what had happened ten years earlier, he loathed guns with a passion. His wolf, on the other hand, relished the violence – the control. And the more it got restrained, the more he wanted to rip through his skin, to own the man, to prove himself.
Lately, it took all of Luciano’s mental energy to hold him back. And with each passing day, the motivation to do so ebbed further and further away.
He wanted nothing more than to run, to leave it all behind. If it hadn’t been for his mother and younger brother, he would have. They alone kept him tied to the place, and to the master of the domain – his father.
Thoughts of escaping came to a stop as his eyes stopped taking in the scenery, and instead noticed his mother, Francesca. Like a lonely ghost, she stood at the patio entrance, dressed in nothing but her dark satin nightgown and robe. She stared at something in the distance and, judging by her tense back, whatever it was bothered her.
“What’s going on?”
She turned to him with a heavy sigh. Long, flaming locks framed a heart-shaped face, full lips, and eyes of honey. Francesca was a queen in her own right, yet her beauty had aged with time.
“The usual.” The glint in her eyes faded some more when she noticed he was dressed and on his way out. “Non piu. Do not be like him, Luciano. I raised you better than this.”
Luciano took a step closer, cupping her cheek. He towered over her by a head, and each passing day Francesca seemed frailer. Searching her eyes, he looked for the deeper meaning to her words – only a flash of red answered him, a reminder she held her own haunting power.
In the end, he nodded and kissed his mother’s forehead, then headed onto the grounds. Noises in the distance perked his ears – his father was talking to two men, who held a third on his knees.
It was time for blood.
∞ ♦ ∞
“So, what did Papà want this morning?”
Luciano ignored his brother’s questioning gaze, and instead tossed the football back at him. “Your turn.”
Matteo wasn’t so keen to let go. He caught the ball, feinted to the left, then right, and ran past his brother, only to be body-checked midway. With a grunt, he fell to the grass, the ball bouncing out of his hand.
Luciano towered over him, grinning. “Watch yourself, fratello. You know we play in this familia to win.”
Matteo rolled his eyes. “As if I didn’t know that already.” He ignored Luciano’s offered hand and stood, picking up the ball. His stance informed his brother he was done playing around. “What did he want?”
Luciano’s jaw clenched. “You want no part in this, Matteo. Believe me.”
His younger brother raised his chin defiantly. “And if I do? I’m eighteen now, more than old enough. I’m older than you were when papà dragged you in this.”
Luciano looked away. “It wasn’t by my choice.”
“But I want to.”
“No, idiota, you fucking don’t!” Matteo’s innocent determination was too much, snapping his restraint. Luciano grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him close. Baring his teeth, nostrils flaring, he shouted in his face, “Do you not understand the price of all this blood?”
Seeing his brother’s blanching face, Luciano let him go. “What do you think I do all day, hmm? Play house? This morning, dear Papà had me deliver punishment to a man I don’t even know was truly guilty. He plays God, jury and executioner in one. And we, my foolish fratello, we are his executioners. It is on our souls the mark stays.”
Matteo stared at him a beat. Thoughts swirled in his honey-colored eyes, so like their mother’s, until it finally clicked. “Is that what you’re afraid of? The promise of hell that priest goes on and on about?”
Luciano laughed – a cold, bitter sound. “I care nothing for the priest, fratello. But what he speaks of, it’s not all fiction. I’ve seen it. And I’ve no intention of ever ending there.”
Before Matteo could press further, Luciano walked away, the game long forgotten. His steps turned into lunges, then he was flat-out running. Before long, his wolf was too pressing, too demanding, and he let him out.
The urge was dark, chaotic – an escape from what he perceived as freedom. Clothes ripped from his body, agony burned through him, but still he didn’t stop until a russet-colored wolf had taken the man’s shape, dashing across the grounds.
∞ ♦ ∞
It was nighttime by the time Luciano returned home. Servants had long left the grounds – they had strict orders not to stick around after sunset. Alessandro wanted them to know as little as possible about the family’s true lineage, but rumors still persisted. Luciano had heard them in the surrounding villages, and learned to ignore them.
So what if he came from a family of lupi mannari? So what if all stories of their kind ended in bloodshed, and innocent lives lost? He hadn’t chosen to be born a werewolf – but it was the hand fate had dealt him. And he didn’t intend to turn his back on it.
A shadow moved, and he froze on his way across the marble floors. “Mother?”
Francesca stepped out of the shadows. Her eyes had a feverish glaze to them, and her skin was flushed, yet she spoke clearly. “Did you let your wolf run free tonight?”
“I did.”
She nodded, and said nothing else for a long moment. Then, a weary sigh escaped her, and her petite frame trembled in its entirety. “What did you and Matteo fight about this afternoon?”
Luciano shook his head. “He’s being a fool, Mamma. Wants to join the business, thinks he’s ready at eighteen.”
A flash of panic crossed Francesca’s face. “No! You cannot let him.” She was on him in a flash, her nails digging into the flesh of his biceps. “Luciano, non piu! I cannot have another son condemned so.”
“Then tell him!” Luciano whispered. “Tell him what you are, so he’ll finally understand why he cannot! I tried to explain the cost today, but he thinks they’re ramblings of a religious fool.”
Tears escaped Francesca’s eyes, but still she shook her head. “He cannot, Luciano.”
“And I can only do so much to stop him, Mamma. If I keep fighting him on this, Matteo might believe I don’t want the competition. Ironic, isn’t it? When the truth is if it wasn’t for him and you, I would have left a long, long time ago.” He gritted his teeth, and whispered harshly, “I can live with my sins and whatever the afterlife has in store for me, alone.”
A pale hand rose to his cheek, and he nuzzled into it. “Mamma, please. Tell him.”
Francesca stepped away, nodding. “I will. Tomorrow.” A look behind him at the full moon, and she sighed once more. “Rest well, mio figlio.”
∞ ♦ ∞
Morning came by too soon. Luciano woke up from another dream of fire and hell. He wished, not for the first time, that his mother had not revealed her connection to the Underworld. Especially since his fate was already sealed, thanks to his father’s business.
Refusing to spend time on things he could not change, he dragged himself out of bed and went by his morning run. An hour later, he wandered back in the still-empty house.
As he showered, Luciano wondered about his father’s absence. It was not usual for Alessandro to take a day “off” his job. Rather, it never happened.
Sensing something else was amiss, he headed back downstairs. Alessandro was already seated in the dining area, at the head of their massive mahogany table. A servant dropped a plate of breakfast in front of him, before turning her attention to Luciano. “And for you, signore?”
“The same will do, grazie.”
Ignoring the ravenous grumblings of his stomach, Luciano sipped some black coffee. “Where is mother?”
Alessandra turned another page of the newspaper, and pushed his empty cup aside. He spoke without looking up. “Prego, Luciano. Your nonchalant tone does not fool me. She is unwell, and will not be joining us today.”
Luciano’s wolf poked its head at the lie. If nothing else in the trade, he’d learned how to smell a liar a mile away. And though his father was masterful at it, he could no longer hide it from him.
Matteo’s entrance stopped further interrogation from taking place. He took a seat opposite Luciano, on their father’s other side, and the servant hurried with his breakfast.
His honey gaze roamed over Alessandro, then finally turned to Luciano. A faint smile graced his lips. “Sorry about yesterday, Lucas.”
Luciano nodded at the nickname, returning the smile. “Bygones, fratello. Have you spoken to mother?”
“No, why?”
A rustle of newspaper, and Alessandro glanced at his sons. “As I’ve already mentioned to Luciano, Francesca is indisposed. She will be bedridden for most of the day.”
He went back to his newspaper once more. The doorbell ringing drew everyone’s gazes upwards. Alessandro nodded at the butler waiting by the entrance. “Go let him in.” To his sons, he said, “And you two, behave.”
Like dogs, Luciano thought darkly.
His wolf rumbled some more, trying to test the limits of his endurance. With an ever-darkening gaze, Luciano watched his father’s not-so-disinterested expression. It would be so easy, to take it all... He wouldn’t even see me coming. I have the one gift he cannot control.
As if catching his thoughts, Alessandro looked up from the newspaper. His onyx eyes met mirrored images in Luciano’s, and they stared at each other for a beat. Then Matteo cleared his throat, and Luciano looked away.
Pushing his pride – and much too eager wolf – aside, he focused on the entrance, interested to see who was joining them. His father rarely had day business meetings in the house. Not long ago, the local police had taken a keen interest and set up surveillance – before Alessandro had bought them off. He’d been careful ever since, and kept illicit dealings for his balls and parties.
The butler returned, and behind him was a man of Alessandro’s height, though broader in shoulders. He wore a suit that smelled of money, and his cutthroat gaze went straight for the head of the house.
“Alessandro, ciao!” As the men shook hands, Luciano and Matteo watched with curiosity.
“Ricci, glad you could make it. These are my sons, Luciano and Matteo.”
The newcomer spared them a glance, then his gaze landed on Alessandro once more and his tone changed. “Why the summons?”
“I’ve received word of a deal happening tonight, and I intend to take over it. Those South-American pricks will not be running drugs on mio territorio. Not while I can help it.”
Ricci rubbed his jaw, glanced at the brothers once more. “And why do you need me?”
“I’ll run two operations. Luciano will come with me, and I want you to take Matteo. It’s about time he’s introduced to the familia – properly.”
The dread growing in Luciano’s stomach exploded and he kicked the chair out from under him. Slamming his palms on the table, he growled, “No!”
Matteo’s shocked gaze met his over the table. “I-I can do it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Luciano spit, clenching his fists some more. The change was rumbling over his body, the wolf wanting to let loose. Whatever restraint he’d had, was long gone. This was about to become a contest – one for power, for control. And his wolf had no intention of losing it.
Alessandro’s nostrils flared. “You would go against your papà?”
“Yes,” Luciano gritted out. “Matteo is too untrained for this.”
“He will learn.”
Luciano took a step closer, barely controlling his grip on the change. “Not like this.”
Alessandro turned to face him fully. For a big man, he moved with the speed of a cheetah. The slap came so hard, it knocked Luciano into the wall. A paint clattered to the ground, at the same time as the son.
“Basta! Learn your place, idiota.”
Dismissing him as easily as an insect, Alessandro turned to Ricci. On one knee, Luciano glared at their backs. Fists clenched, he tried to pull in deep breaths. This is not the way to do it. Not tonight.
Matteo stood to come to his aid, but Alessandro gave him a withering look. “Sit still.”
Matteo hesitated, glancing at his brother. Luciano shook his head a fraction, signaling for him to listen to the command. Then he scrambled up to his feet, and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. The old bastardo still has strength left in him. At least when it comes to hurting his sons.
He turned to walk away, trembling with held back rage. Each step was a fight – against his pride, against his wolf, against everything he’d been taught.
And just as he reached the door, Alessandro’s voice came from behind. “I expect you to be there tonight.”
Luciano didn’t answer, instead clenching his fists and forcing his body through the exit before he did something he would regret.
∞ ♦ ∞
Luciano spent the afternoon trying to figure out a solution, a way to protect Matteo when their father had already set a path for him – just as he’d done for his first born.
Unable to hold still any longer, he went out for another run. Not even his wolf could calm him down, and he burned with the need to take over his father’s alpha role. Some of his men were human, some wolf, but they would all answer to him. Luciano knew it, deep down.
Was he ready to take the step? Was he ready to get so neck-deep into the whole business? Or would it be better to let it die on its own?
He got back home in time to see black cars leaving the premises, their heavy tires creaking over gravel. Inside the house, Francesca waited at the top of the stairs, wringing her hands. “Why did Matteo go with them?”
Blinding rage consumed him, and he stomped up halfway. “Where were you all day? You were supposed to have talked to him!”
Francesca shook her head, holding onto the railing. “I had a migraine in the morning, and by the time I woke up, your father locked me in the room. He gave strict orders to the servants.”
Luciano stepped up some more. “And you couldn’t have escaped? Called out for help?”
The glare she leveled on him stopped him in his tracks. “You know that is not how things are done in this pack.”
A growl escaped him through bared teeth. “Then perhaps it’s time for a new leader.”
Francesca’s lips parted in disbelief. “You would do that? Take over? You know there is but one way...”
“Yes. Father would have to die, by my hand. There are no half measures with him.”
Her gaze was not as horrified as he feared. Rather, she seemed to assess the confidence behind his words. “And you’d be ready for that?”
Luciano gritted his teeth. “Do I have a choice, Mamma? Matteo is out there being indoctrinated, maybe against his will. His soul will pay the same price mine already does.” He shook his head. “This could have been avoided if you’d told us the truth earlier.”
“You really think so?” Francesca scoffed. “When your father found out I have Chimera blood in me, he was outraged. A wife with not only a connection to the Underworld, but with the power to open the gates of Hell itself? It wasn’t until he witnessed the power in me that he stopped seeing me as an omen for disaster, and instead as an asset. He cared not for the toll his killings have on his soul – or mine. How could I have known you two would not follow in his footsteps?”
Luciano took another step closer. “It was my right to know I have a direct link to the Underworld. It was my right to decide whether taking lives was a stain I wanted on my soul, when each innocent death brought me that much closer to becoming the monster of legend. It was my choice, and you took it from me when you kept your silence!”
Months of frustration built in him, and he clenched his fists. Luciano would never raise a hand against his mother – or any woman – but the rage unfurling in him was pushing his boundaries.
Francesca stepped closer to him, tears shining in her eyes. “I am sorry, mio figlio. I never meant to cause you harm, or pain. Please believe me. I had hoped to avoid this curse, thinking perhaps you only had your father’s werewolf genes in you, but...”
Luciano’s coal eyes met hers. “But I don’t. You can tell me the truth, he’s not here to hear it. I took after him, yes, but more so after you. And the Chimera blood in me could overpower him. Will overpower him, if I choose to use it.” He inhaled sharply then, and bitterness seeped his last words. “Unless I lose myself to the monster, and become forever a pawn of the Underworld.”
The truth shone in his mother’s eyes, and he did not need any further confirmation. Her trembling hand lifted to his chest.
“Go with them, ti scongiuro,” Francesca whispered. “I beg you. You can protect Matteo.”
Luciano glanced up from the ground. “Only for father to do it all over again?”
Her eyes flashed, and for the first time he saw someone else. “Mamma?”
Francesca’s voice was deeper when she spoke, her eyes filled with a fire not all her own. “Your inaction will spill blood tonight, my son. Go. Before it is too late.”
∞ ♦ ∞
The Maserati drove like the wind – swift, slick, racing between the streets. Luciano speed-dialed his brother once more, but the call went to voicemail. Again.
He knew the location of the drop, but he’d wanted to try and convince his brother to get out of there while he still could. Giving up on the idea, he gunned the engine.
After breaking every traffic law imaginable, Luciano pulled up in the port. An industrial ship had already thrown anchor, and two groups of men were facing each other – one aboard, the other on the ground.
Among them, he found his brother’s red locks, beside Ricci. Alessandro’s closest men, his A team, he could see on the boat, trying to overtake the other group from behind. It was a smart strategy, except for one obvious drawback: it placed his brother smack in the middle of danger. On the front lines, so to speak. Part of him wondered for a split second if their father had done it on purpose. The other part discounted the notion, and charged through.
The Maserati slammed into a group of men trying to take aim at his father’s army. Spinning without grip, Luciano gunned pulled on the stick shift and forced the car in a circle. Dust rose everywhere, confusing everyone enough to give him the distraction he’d needed.
One-handed, he threw the door open and let the car out of his control. Rolling on the ground, Luciano got up to a crouch and pulled the gun out of the waistband of his jeans.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Left. Right. Duck. Behind. He knew where his enemies were with uncanny accuracy. Deadly like the darkest of ghouls, he made his way through the lines, trying to cut a clear path to his brother.
Then a shot ran in the air. The group aboard the ship opened fire back, and Matteo ducked somewhere, pulling a gun from the waistband of his shirt.
“Matteo, no!”
His brother glanced up, trying to see where the voice had come from. Luciano aimed and shot at the men more likely to harm him – then the click of an empty chamber sounded. Growling, he tossed the gun to the ground and morphed.
Humans turned at the sounds of his howls of agony, but he didn’t care. Then he was stepping on paws, panting, inhaling deeply. His wolf relished the blood, the violence – sought it. And for once, Luciano didn’t hold him back. He needed the wolf – the primal, the monster. Because he was the only one who could undo the whole mess.
If there was one thing Luciano was sure of, it was that his time was counted. The whole thing had been a trap, or some kind of power play, and his brother was about to pay with his life.
Even as the bullets came at him, the ground underneath him turned blurry. He was fast. Faster than he’d ever been.
Bullets ricocheted off him, straight into his enemies.
His teeth crunched into arms in his path, tore through legs that tried to stop him.
His claws elongated, scraping the ground and tearing at necks.
And still, he wasn’t fast enough. Bullets rang out – once, twice.
Matteo got hit in the chest – once, twice.
He fell to his knees, and another bullet went through him, hitting the side of his neck. Luciano saw the blood spurt, and the last shred of his sanity snapped.
His inhumane snarl had most men turn to him, with mirroring expressions of confusion. He didn’t care. Luciano – the wolf – attacked, tearing through the last of them, and not knowing he was playing right into his father’s hands.
Not realizing it was already too late.
The distraction – his appearance – gave Alessandro’s other team enough time to attack from behind, efficiently killing off all attackers. By the time Luciano got to Matteo, the damage had been done.
He morphed back to human, breaking their pack law. Yet showing the humans under his father’s command his true colors was nothing compared to the pain spreading in his chest. Naked, Luciano crawled over the pavement, scraping his knees and palms, and dragged his younger brother to his chest. “Matteo....”
With glazed eyes, his brother looked at him. “You were right. This wasn’t...for me. Tell Mamma... I’m sorry.”
Luciano buried his face in the red locks, hot tears escaping him. Something happened then, something he could not explain. Amid the chaos of the battle, the shouts of orders rang, the confused whispers of the human men on his father’s team who could not believe what they had witnessed... Among all that, Matteo’s body vibrated for a few short seconds.
Though his eyes were closed, Luciano felt something on his cheek, almost a caress. Then a voice, his brother’s voice, whispered, “Leave... Save yourself while you can. It’s not too late for your soul.”
Warmth filled him, like the cocoon of a hug, then it was gone. And another voice – a hated one – took its place.
“Get up.”
Alessandro was there. Luciano glanced up into unfeeling eyes and a cold expression. A blanket was thrown over him, and men lifted him to his feet. “Matteo...”
“Leave him. They will collect him on the way home.”
Weak in the knees, Luciano let them drag him. In the car on the way over, his father’s look was speculative. “You have her skills, mio figlio. A delightful surprise indeed.”
Passing of the dead.... The door to the Underworld... Matteo, my dear brother... Tears threatened anew, but he willed himself to show no weakness. His father would never understand what had happened. He only cared for what the Chimera’s power could give him – an easy way to clear the bodies, to hide his crimes. The price it would have for Luciano – or Francesca – was not something on Alessandro’s radar.
Luciano turned a glare his way. “You dare speak like that, when Matteo’s body is not even cold?”
Alessandro shrugged. “That’s why I had two sons, so at least one could live.” They pulled in front of the house, and not soon enough. Luciano rushed out, feeling bile curl up in his throat. He threw up on the side of the house, then wiped his mouth and walked inside.
Francesca was waiting in the hallway, a hand to her throat. When she saw his face, she fell to her knees, as if her legs could no longer hold her up. Luciano would never forget that cry, that blood-curling scream, as long as he lived.
Nor would he forget waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of arguing, followed by two gun shots.
By the time he’d gone to their bedroom, it was too late. Francesca lay in a heap on the floor, her lifeless eyes staring at him. Luciano staggered and held himself against the wall. Out of reflex, he looked around for his father – only to find him on his knees, by the bed. A bloody hand was pressed to his gut wound, and he was staring in shock at his dead wife.
“What did you do?” Luciano snarled. “Was one death not enough for you?”
Alessandro looked up at him then, tears streaming down his cheeks. “She... took my gun. Turned it on herself. I... Her powers, it’s all gone.” To himself, he whispered, “She was the last. The last one.”
Luciano shook his head. Gritting his teeth against the tear in his heart, he picked up his mom off the ground and walked out of the house. Each step felt like lead, but he powered through. What was the point of crying, when no tears would bring either of them back?
On the property, lost amid all others, was a tree Francesca had treasured above all others. It was there he dug a grave with his own hands, then laid her inside, wrapped in the satin bed sheets she liked.
Wiping at his face, Luciano then walked inside the house.
∞ ♦ ∞
That morning, before the sun was even up, Luciano packed a bag, some money and took off. Dropped his car in the middle of nowhere, hopped on a bus, and didn’t look back. There would be no way to trace him, no way to know where he’d gone. He had to leave, because what he wanted to do to his father...
For Matteo, for Francesca, he wouldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.
At least, I can make sure he doesn’t use me, too.
Luciano didn’t even check the destination on his ticket. All he wanted was to get as far away as possible. With each bus station, he bought another ticket. And another. Two days later, a half-empty bus pulled up in the middle of nowhere.
By the time he got to Rockland Creek, he was done with his old life, with his name, with his legacy. He was done with love, with women, with caring. From now on, it would be each man for himself, and nothing more.
On foot, he walked to the closest diner and ordered food. His wolf thanked him – he’d starved him too much – and he made a deal with himself then and there. No one would ever contest him, no one would take control from him ever again.
When the waitress asked him for his name, he answered without blinking – an alias. “Lucas Bianchi.”
The past was meant to be buried. And love...was an inconvenience. As for the powers inherited from his mother, one thing rang true: his soul was already doomed. Redemption was not for him, not in this life – or the next.
And as he ate his food, and drank his whiskey, the lupo mannaro shed the last of his skin. The boy he’d been disappeared, replaced by the man he would then become. Luciano Conti was gone, buried in the past.
If only the past would stay buried, too...