Night had long fallen over Milan.
The city lights glittered like scattered diamonds beneath the dark sky, but deep within the industrial district where abandoned warehouses lined the streets, the air carried a very different kind of energy.
Cold. Heavy. Dangerous.
Inside one of the largest warehouses near the docks, several men stood in absolute silence.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Because the man they were waiting for had just arrived.
Lucian Moretti stepped through the metal doors, his presence alone enough to make the atmosphere tighten like a drawn blade.
He wore a black tailored coat, the fabric moving slightly with each slow step he took across the concrete floor.
Behind him walked Marco.
Marco had worked beside Lucian long enough to recognize the subtle signs of danger in his boss's posture. Tonight, Lucian's aura was darker than usual.
Which meant someone was about to suffer.
At the center of the warehouse, three men were tied to metal chairs.
Their faces were bruised. Blood stained the floor beneath them.
One of them looked up as Lucian approached.
Fear immediately flooded his eyes.
"P-please… we didn't mean to cross you," the man stammered.
Lucian said nothing.
He stopped a few feet away, his expression calm. Too calm.
Marco moved to his side.
"The shipment was intercepted this afternoon," Marco reported smoothly. "Our sources confirmed they sold the location to the Romano family."
The man in the chair shook violently.
"That's a lie! I swear it wasn't us!"
Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying him like a scientist observing a specimen.
"Interesting," he murmured.
His voice was soft, almost gentle.
Which somehow made it even more terrifying.
"You see, Marco," Lucian continued calmly, "the problem with betrayal is not the act itself."
He removed a pair of black leather gloves from his coat pocket and slipped them on one finger at a time.
"It's the insult."
The second man suddenly shouted.
"We were forced! Romano's men threatened our families!"
Lucian's dark eyes shifted to him.
And for a moment, the warehouse seemed to grow colder.
"Threatened your families?" he repeated quietly.
Then he chuckled. A low, humorless sound.
"And so you chose to betray mine."
Without warning—
Lucian pulled a gun from his coat and fired.
The sound exploded through the warehouse.
The man's body went limp instantly.
Blood splattered across the concrete floor.
The other two prisoners began trembling uncontrollably.
Lucian lowered the gun slowly, his face completely expressionless.
"Fear," he said calmly, "is a powerful motivator."
He turned slightly toward Marco.
"But loyalty should be stronger."
Marco nodded once.
Two other men stepped forward from the shadows.
They had been silent observers until now.
One was tall and broad-shouldered, his face half hidden beneath the dim warehouse lighting. His sharp eyes never left Lucian.
The other leaned casually against a steel pillar, arms crossed, his calm expression masking something dangerous beneath.
Neither of them spoke.
But it was clear they were not ordinary men.
Lucian glanced at them briefly.
"Do you see now," he said quietly, "why betrayal cannot be tolerated?"
The tall man nodded once.
The second man smirked faintly.
Lucian turned back to the remaining prisoners.
"You had a choice," he said.
The third man broke down completely.
"We'll fix it! We'll tell you everything! Please!"
Lucian crouched in front of him. Up close, his dark eyes looked almost inhuman.
Cold and merciless.
"Of course you will," he said softly.
Then he stood and handed the gun back to Marco.
"Take the information."
He turned toward the exit.
"And when they're done talking…"
He paused near the door.
"Dispose of them."
The warehouse fell silent again.
Marco gave a short nod to the men behind him.
The tall stranger stepped forward first.
"Understood."
Lucian didn't look back as he walked out into the cold Milan night.
The city belonged to many powerful men.
Politicians. Business tycoons. Crime families.
But in the shadows of the underworld…
There was only one ruler.
Lucian Moretti. The Devil of Milan.
A man whose mercy was nonexistent.
And whose enemies never lived long enough to regret their mistakes.