Kyan stood at the edge of the balcony, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the morning breeze ruffling his shirt.
His eyes were dull, staring blankly out at the gates where the blood still hadn't fully washed off.
They'd done it.
Last night, they executed them—thirty men. Thirty trained Massimo guards. Right in front of him.
And Nico… that heartless bastard stood there like a god, watching heads drop with no blink, no pause.
Kyan swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't even flinch… he enjoyed it. I fucking hate him. Nico Luciano... One day, I'll pay you back for this. One day, I'll make you bleed.
He didn't realize someone had walked up behind him.
"You good?"
The voice was deep but soft—Ace. The quietest of the three bullies, the one who always tossed him extra blankets at night, the one who didn't make fun of the way Kyan held his spoon with his pinky up.
Kyan quickly wiped his eyes and forced a small smile. "Yeah. I'm good. Just tired."
Ace leaned against the railing beside him, not pushing further. "Mm. You don't look good."
Kyan shrugged. "Guess I'm not meant to look good around monsters."
Ace didn't say anything at first. He just looked at him, really looked. Then he gave a short nod, the type that said I see you—even if you're lying.
"Come inside when you're ready," he said simply before walking back in.
Kyan's eyes lingered on him for a second longer than he meant to.
Even you, Ace... he thought. I can't trust anyone here.
The loud clang of the bell echoed through the Luciano estate.
It was the Don's summon.
Every worker, every soldier, every cook—lined up in the courtyard .
Even Kyan, still dazed from the morning, stood stiff in the second row, wiping his palms against his apron. He'd never seen the Don this excited.
Don Roco stepped forward with a wicked grin, his rings gleaming under the sun.
"Tonight," he boomed, voice echoing off the stone walls, "we host the greatest feast in Mafia history! The finest families are coming. The Russians, the French, the Greeks—even those damn South Americans."
He pointed at Kyan suddenly.
"You. Softie. I want gold on those plates and fire in those flavors. Make sure they eat like gods!"
Kyan blinked. "Yes, sir…"
The Don turned to the rest of them. "I want a meal that makes their mouths water and their daughters want to stay the night! Got it?"
A few men chuckled. Santi, who was standing beside Kyan, muttered under his breath, "No pressure, huh?"
Kyan sighed, already thinking about what ingredients they had left in the cold room. "This is gonna be hell."
"And Softie," the Don called again, eyes sharp. "If this feast fails... I'll personally throw you into the wine cellar with the rats."
Kyan gave a stiff smile and muttered under his breath, "Great. More roommates."
Then, just like that, the courtyard exploded into motion.
6:00 PM. The Luciano estate was alive.
.
Kyan moved through the crowd with a silver tray balanced on one hand, the other gripping the edge to keep steady. His hair had been slicked back neatly, apron spotless, but his nerves? A mess.
"Careful, pretty boy," one of the Greek mafia leaders smirked, pulling a cigar from his lips as he grabbed a glass from Kyan's tray. "Those hands are too soft to be carrying wine."
Another one, this time from the Russians, slipped a folded note into his pocket with a wink. "Meet me after midnight. I tip well."
Kyan forced a smile. "Thank you, sir."
"Damn," someone else chuckled, "Luciano really keeping eye candy in the kitchen now, huh?"
He kept walking. Eyes down. Lips tight.
Every few steps, another comment. Another name called. Another stare that lingered too long.
Ace, posted by the long table near the wine, watched it all with narrowed eyes.
Kyan exhaled quietly, bracing himself for another round.
Just survive the night, he told himself. Just survive.
Kyan bent forward slightly to pour a drink, and that was all it took.
A tall man from the Romano clan, sharp in his black suit and reeking of arrogance, slid in closer—too close. His hand brushed against Kyan's lower back like it belonged there.
"Oops," he smirked, leaning into Kyan's ear. "Didn't mean to touch something that soft."
Kyan stiffened. "Sir, please—"
"Relax," the man chuckled, brushing invisible lint from Kyan's collar. "You're too pretty to be this tense."
Nico, across the room, froze mid-sip.
His eyes darkened as he watched the man's hand linger.
Kyan stepped back awkwardly, head down, heart pounding.
Nico's jaw clenched, glass cracking faintly in his grip.
He didn't say a word.
He waited. Waited until Kyan was gone—off toward the wine table, flushed and avoiding eye contact.
Then, with slow, deadly steps, Nico walked toward the Romano guest.
The man turned, all smirks and mafia pride. "Luciano—"
Nico's fist collided with his jaw before he could finish.
The crack echoed.
Nico grabbed him by the collar, dragged him back toward the pillar, and shoved him hard against it.
"You touch what's mine again..." Nico's voice was low, gravelly, dangerous. "I'll send your fingers back to your Don one by one. Understand?"
Blood dripped from the corner of the man's lip.
"I—I didn't know he was—"
"You didn't need to." Nico leaned closer, breathing hard. "You don't need to know a damn thing. You just need to stay the fuck away."
He dropped him like trash and walked away.
Because no one touches what Nico hasn't finished claiming.
Raven sighted Nico from across the crowded hall. He stood alone, arms crossed—too hot for his own good. Her heart raced just looking at him. Tonight was the night.
She slipped a tiny folded bill into the hands of the nearest servant without lifting her gaze. "Give this to him," she whispered, nodding to the glass bottle of wine in her other hand. "Make sure he drinks all of it. Every. Drop."
The servant blinked, confused. "Ma'am?"
Raven gave a sly smile. "When he's done, alert me. Immediately."
The servant nodded hesitantly and took the bottle.
She turned to walk away when a voice made her pause.
"Excuse me?" the servant called out softly.
Raven turned slowly, arching a brow.
The servant stepped into the light.
Kyan.
Her smile faded for a split second before she forced it back.
Of all people.
He looked down at the bottle, then back at her. "You're sure this is for Master Nico?"
"Of course it is," she said sweetly. "Just do your job, softie."