A BROKEN VINCENZO

Luca's grip on his phone tightened as Matteo's message burned into his vision. Your father is dead. The words were simple. Final. No explanation, no warning… just the cold, abrupt declaration of an ending. For a moment, Luca didn't move. He could not move even if he tried. His father had been a constant, a force as unshakable as the foundations of La Mano Nera itself. And now, in the worst possible moment, he was just… gone. Luca exhaled sharply, his eyes stinging with tears he hadn't realized he'd been holding back. His hands trembled as he unlocked his phone and dialed Matteo. The line connected instantly. 'Where is he?" Luca demanded, voice rough. 'He died In his bed. A maid found him not long ago," Matteo replied. The call ended as abruptly as it began. Luca snatched his car keys, strode into his room, and yanked on vintage pants and an oversized sweatshirt. Within minutes, he was out of the penthouse, the elevator doors sealing shut behind him. His mind reeled. This couldn't have happened at a worse time. The descent felt endless, his thoughts spiraling so violently that he didn't notice the elevator had reached the ground floor, not until a full minute had slipped by in silence. He stepped out of the elevator the moment he realized it had stopped, moving on autopilot toward the garage and located his car. He entered the car and paused for what felt like an eternity. His eyes were yet again filled with tears, and a raw hoarse sound tore from his throat before his fists slammed against the steering wheel, once, twice, the blows echoing his unraveling control. It seemed like Luca's world was crumbling, 'how many things do I have to handle at the same time," he asked himself in between sobs. The Porsche 911 Turbo roared to life, surging out of the garage and into the busy streets. Luca kept his speed steady, muscle memory guiding him toward the family estate while his mind fractured under the weight of grief. He struggled to concentrate as he drove. He'd always refused his father's insistence on hiring a driver. Pride. Stubbornness. Now, with his hands shaking and his breath coming in uneven bursts, he understood. He could barely see through the haze of tears, barely trusting himself to navigate the streets when he could hardly breathe. As Luca approached the Vincenzo estate, the iron gates loomed before him, their intricate details obscured by the rain streaming down his windshield. The security team recognized his car instantly, and the gates swung open without hesitation, allowing him to drive through. The gravel beneath his tires crunched loudly as he sped up the winding driveway, the perfectly manicured lawns and gardens blurring together in a green and gray haze. Luca killed the engine, but he didn't stir. He sat there, staring at the house that was now his, its windows glowing like warm, watchful eyes in the darkness. The front door stood slightly ajar, and Matteo's imposing figure filled the doorway, a reassuring presence in the midst of the storm. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through him. He would've started crying again, had he not remembered what his father would always say, 'Le lacrime sono per gli uomini deboli. I Vincenzos sanguinano, ma non si spezzano mai." (Tears are for weak men. Vincenzos bleed, but we never break.) The mantra had always been a shield, a reminder of the strength and resilience that defined his family. Luca's fingers tightened around the keys. The driver's door swung open, and Matteo stood there, a black umbrella shielding him from the rain. His usually impeccable suit was rumpled, and his eyes held a deep concern. "They're waiting inside," he said softly. Luca didn't respond. He stepped out into the downpour, letting the rain soak through his sweatshirt. The cold shock was a welcome respite from the turmoil brewing inside him. As he crossed the threshold, the scent of damp earth and cigar smoke enveloped him, transporting him to a different time. It was as if his father's ghosts were welcoming him home, their presence a reminder of the weight he now carried. The grand foyer was packed with men in suits, their hushed words of condolence hanging heavy in the air. Luca didn't even notice them or talk to anyone of them. His eyes were fixed on the staircase. Matteo's gripped on his elbow and brought him back. "The doctor said it was his heart. It was fast. He wouldn't have suffered," Matteo said softly. But Luca cut him off. "Where is he?" Matteo's expression was somber. "Master bedroom." Luca flew up the stairs, he was taking two stairs at a time. When he got to the top, the door to the master suite stood slightly open so he pushed it completely open. The room smelled of antiseptic and the faintest trace of his father's cologne. Antonio lay perfectly arranged on the bed, hands folded over his chest like a king in state. Someone had closed his eyes