Chapter 2 A Crown of Thorns

Luca followed Niccolo out of the cathedral, his heartbeat drumming in his ears. The moment his father was lowered into the earth, the wolves began circling. Outside, black cars lined the street like silent sentinels, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim glow of streetlights. The cold night air bit at Luca's skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere-on the men watching him, on the weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders. At the bottom of the church steps, a group of high-ranking family members waited.

Among them stood Vito Carbone, his father's closest advisor, a man with graying hair and sharp, assessing eyes. To his left was Alessandro DeLuca, Luca's uncle, a man known for his ruthlessness and barely concealed ambition. Niccolo placed a firm hand on Luca's shoulder, a silent signal to stand tall. "They're waiting for you to fail," Niccolo muttered under his breath. Luca swallowed hard, straightened his spine, and stepped forward. Vito was the first to speak. "It should have been me." The words hung heavy in the air. No pretense, no false condolences-just a challenge wrapped in thinly veiled resentment. Luca's hands clenched into fists. It should have been me. That's what they all thought, wasn't it? That he was too young, too inexperienced, too soft to lead. His uncle, Alessandro, chuckled darkly. "The kid doesn't even know how this world works, yet here we are, treating him like a king." He turned to the others. "Is this really what we're doing? Handing over an empire to a boy who's never shed blood?" The group murmured in agreement. Luca felt the weight of their stares, their doubt, their hunger for power. His father's body wasn't even cold yet, and they were already picking apart his throne. Niccolo stepped forward, voice like steel. "The Don chose his successor. We honor his decision." But honor meant little in a world built on greed and blood. Luca knew that much. He took a slow, steady breath. Then, before anyone else could speak, he did something that surprised even himself. He stepped closer to his uncle-too close-his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, voice calm but laced with something dangerous. "You think I'm not ready?" Luca asked. Alessandro smirked. "I know you're not." Luca tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Then teach me." The smirk faltered. A quiet tension spread through the group. Luca could feel the shift, the way they looked at him differently now-not as a boy, but as something else. Maybe he wasn't ready to be a king. But he'd learn. He'd become what they feared. Because in this world, you either rise or die. And Luca DeLuca had no intention of dying.