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Blood Knows
Brooklyn | Unmarked Safehouse – 9:12 AM
Rafa cleaned his gun with the precision of a man who'd done it too many times to count and not enough to forget. Sunlight slipped through the slats of the boarded-up windows, casting stripes across the room. Dust floated in the air like ghosts.
He didn't believe in superstition—but today felt off.
The safehouse was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of metal against cloth. Matteo sat by the window, eating cold noodles straight from the carton. Nico was asleep on the couch, boots still on, one hand tucked under his jacket like a trigger-happy cowboy.
Rafa wasn't sleeping. Not since Gio.
The shot still echoed in his head.
He'd pulled the trigger—on Luca's silent nod—but it hadn't felt clean. Gio had been one of them. Clumsy, loyal, a screw-up—but one of them.
Now he was a body in the East River, wrapped in chains and silence.
Rafa reassembled the Glock, snapping each part into place like muscle memory. He'd been with Luca Moretti since they were nineteen. He'd watched Luca build his empire from blood and ash, from backroom deals to gilded penthouses. And Rafa had enforced it all.
But something was shifting.
Not just with the Feds circling closer or the De Rossis sniffing around with greedy interest.
It was Luca.
He was… off. More reckless. More quiet. And Rafa had seen him disappear for hours with that woman. The one from the gallery. The one whose name no one knew.
"She's trouble," Rafa had said once. Luca hadn't disagreed—but he hadn't stayed away either.
His burner buzzed. One new message.
From: Luca
Meet me. Ten. Warehouse 17. Come alone.
Rafa stared at the screen for a beat.
Come alone meant something was wrong.
He stood, tucking the Glock into his waistband. "Watch the house," he said to Matteo, who nodded through a mouthful of noodles.
Outside, Brooklyn was waking up—sirens, car horns, the smell of roasted peanuts and city grime. Rafa slid into the car, mind already running worst-case scenarios.
Betrayals came fast in their world.
But the worst ones came from people you trusted.
And Rafa was starting to wonder—was Luca still the man he'd followed into hell… or just another devil in a better suit?
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Warehouse 17, Lower Manhattan – 9:40 AM
The warehouse was empty except for the echoes of Luca's footsteps, the harsh scrape of his boots against the concrete, and the heavy air laced with rust and machinery.
He stood near the far wall, hands buried deep in the pockets of his tailored coat, eyes scanning the dimly lit space as though it might hold an answer he wasn't ready to hear.
Every inch of this place had been forged in blood. Every deal. Every betrayal. He had built his empire with these hands, cemented it with men like Rafa—his right-hand man, his brother. But now, every corner seemed to whisper the possibility of cracks, the kind that would bring it all crumbling down.
The tension had been building for weeks. His decisions—his relationship with Emilia—had been questioned, dissected. Luca could feel his control slipping, and with it, the loyalty he'd spent years cultivating.
He wasn't afraid of war. He thrived in it. But this felt different. It wasn't bullets or betrayal from outside. It was the gnawing doubt of whether the men around him—his brothers—still believed in him.
Rafa had been different lately. There was an edge to his silence, an unspoken weight he carried in his gaze.
The door to the warehouse creaked open, and Luca's muscles tensed, instinctively moving into a defensive posture. Rafa stepped inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. His eyes were cold, unreadable. But Luca didn't miss the shift—the subtle change in the way he carried himself.
Rafa wasn't just a man coming to a meeting. He was a man preparing for a reckoning.
Luca didn't move. He didn't have to. He could already feel the shift.
"You came alone," Luca said, his voice low, devoid of emotion.
Rafa didn't respond right away. His eyes swept the room, like he was sizing up more than just the space. The faint click of his fingers on his gun holster was the only sound between them.
"Always," Rafa muttered finally, his voice a mixture of respect and suspicion.
Luca's lips curled into a smirk, but there was nothing humorous about it. "I suppose you've got a reason for it."
Rafa's jaw clenched. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just here to hear what the hell you've been thinking lately."
Luca raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm the one doing the thinking?"
"Cut the bullshit, Luca." Rafa stepped forward, the space between them growing heavier. "You've been… distracted. And I don't mean by business."
Luca's eyes flashed, but he held himself in check. "You think I've changed?"
Rafa didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, a gap filled only by the tension thick enough to choke them both. "Maybe," Rafa said, his voice dropping lower, sharper. "Maybe not. But I sure as hell don't recognize the guy standing in front of me anymore."
Luca took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His presence loomed, a storm contained. "So what is it you're saying, Rafa? That I'm losing it? That I'm not the same man I was when we bled together?"
"I'm saying I don't know who you are anymore, Luca," Rafa said. His voice cracked with frustration. "You've been more concerned about her than the empire we built. That's not like you."
Luca's temper sparked, but he held it down. "You don't get to bring her into this."
"Oh, I don't?" Rafa's words were clipped, his chest rising with barely contained anger. "You're so damn blinded by whatever the hell this is—this thing between you and her—that you've forgotten what matters. This family. The people who've been with you since day one. Do you really think they're all going to stand by you when you've already made your choices?"
Luca's hand shot out, grabbing Rafa by the collar. "You think I don't see it, Rafa? You think I don't see how you've been looking at me lately? You've got doubts. You think I'm losing control." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I'm not. I never lose control."
Rafa didn't flinch. Instead, his gaze hardened. "No. You've already lost it. And we're all going to pay for it if you don't fix this."
Luca's hand loosened, and for the first time, his cold expression cracked. The anger was there, but so was something else. The sharpness in his eyes dulled just enough to reveal the raw weight of it all.
"You think I don't know that?" Luca's voice dropped, a sigh escaping his lips. "I've been doing everything in my power to hold this together. You think I'm blind to what's happening to us? To what's happening to you?"
Rafa shook his head, the doubt still there. "Then why the hell do you keep pushing us away? Why the hell can't you see what's happening right in front of you?"
Luca's posture straightened, that hardened resolve returning. He stepped back, turning away, his gaze focused on the cold concrete floor beneath them. "Because I can't afford to look."
The room was still. No sound but their ragged breaths. The distance between them had never felt wider.
Finally, Luca spoke again, his voice low, almost defeated. "Maybe I'm not the man you think I am anymore, Rafa."
For a moment, it seemed like the air itself had gone still. Rafa stared at him, a weight in his eyes as he tried to read Luca's expression. But there was nothing left to read. Luca was a man already buried beneath his own decisions.
And Rafa knew it.
"You were never just a man, Luca." Rafa's voice was soft, almost mournful. "You were the man. And I think that's what's breaking all of us."
Rafa's voice dropped lower, his words like a whisper of a threat, each syllable heavier than the last.
"I'm not asking you to be the same man, Luca," he said, his eyes locked on his leader. "But what's happening right now… This? It's not you. You're not making decisions like you used to. This her thing—this distraction—this is more than just about a woman. I can see it, Luca. You're not thinking straight anymore. And that's what worries me."
Luca felt his hands tighten into fists, the heat of his anger rising like smoke in his chest. "You don't get to question me," he growled. His voice was barely contained. "I'm still the one in charge here. And I'll make every goddamn decision I want to make."
Rafa's gaze flickered, but there was no fear, no retreat in his eyes. He took a step forward, his posture rigid, his jaw set. "Is that what this is? A power play? You think I'm challenging your authority?"
Luca's nostrils flared, his breath coming faster now. He wanted to lash out. To snap. But something—something about Rafa's calm, his unflinching stare—held him back. Just barely.
"Don't mistake me for a fool, Rafa," Luca spat, his voice low but biting. "I know loyalty. I built this empire with blood and fire. I don't need anyone telling me what I can and can't do."
Rafa's response was chilling in its clarity, cold enough to freeze the very air between them. "Then what's happening now, Luca? If you don't need anyone—if you don't need your men—then why do I feel like we're both standing on the edge of a fucking cliff?"
Luca opened his mouth to retort, but the words stuck in his throat. The truth hung there like a weight he couldn't shake. This wasn't about power anymore. This wasn't about control. It was about something deeper, darker—a shift in himself that he couldn't explain.
"You're wrong," Luca whispered, more to himself than to Rafa. "I never asked for this."
Rafa's eyes narrowed. "Then what did you ask for, Luca? What's the endgame here?"
Luca didn't answer. He couldn't.
Instead, he turned his back to Rafa, taking a step away. The silence stretched out like a dark, suffocating thing, the space between them growing as wide as the gap between their worlds.
Then, with a voice colder than he'd ever meant to sound, Luca spoke one final time. "I don't know, Rafa. But whatever happens, I won't lose."
Rafa watched him for a long moment, the weight of their unspoken history pressing down on them both. There was no anger in Rafa's eyes anymore. Only a heavy sadness—a recognition that what they had once been, the men they had once been, was fading.
"I hope you're right," Rafa said quietly, the words heavy with something Luca couldn't name.
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.
With a final, measured glance, Rafa turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps the only sound in the vast, empty space.
Luca remained where he was, staring at the spot where Rafa had stood.
He didn't know if it was the weight of what had been said, or the weight of what wasn't, but something inside him felt broken. A fracture deep inside that had started small but was now spreading, a crack too wide to ignore.
And for the first time in a long time, Luca didn't know how to fix it.