Chapter 4 The Weight of a Crown

Luca didn't dream that night.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the gunshot still echoing in his ears. The scent of gunpowder clung to his skin, as if the kill had marked him in a way he couldn't wash off.

He thought he would feel something-guilt, nausea, regret. But there was only silence.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, his voice hollow.

The door creaked open, and Niccolo stepped inside, his sharp gaze sweeping over the untouched whiskey on the nightstand and the gun resting beside it.

"You should sleep," Niccolo said.

Luca exhaled. "I don't think I can."

Niccolo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Good. That means you're starting to understand what this life is."

Luca sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "What if I don't want to understand?"

Niccolo's expression didn't change. "Then you die."

The words were blunt, spoken without cruelty, but they settled deep in Luca's chest.

"Tomorrow morning, we meet with the underbosses," Niccolo continued. "They need to see that you're in control. That you're not your father-but that you're strong enough to lead."

Luca scoffed. "They don't want me to lead."

Niccolo smirked. "Then prove them wrong."

With that, he turned and left, leaving Luca alone with his thoughts.

The Next Morning – The Gathering of Wolves

The DeLuca estate was a fortress-a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by high walls and armed guards. It had been home for as long as Luca could remember, but today, it felt different.

Today, it felt like a battleground.

Inside the grand dining hall, the underbosses and capos sat around the long oak table, their eyes sharp, their expressions unreadable. Men who had served his father for years-some loyal, some only loyal to power.

At the head of the table sat Luca.

Niccolo stood at his right, an unspoken reminder that he wasn't alone. But Luca knew this was his test.

The first to speak was Vito Carbone, his father's former consigliere.

"Let's not waste time," Vito said, his voice like gravel. "With all due respect, Luca, we need a leader who can keep this family together. Someone who can command fear and respect."

Luca's jaw tightened. "And you don't think that's me."

Vito didn't hesitate. "No."

A low murmur spread through the table. Luca could feel the weight of their scrutiny, the silent question hanging in the air. Was he strong enough?

Luca leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "My father ruled with fear," he said, his voice calm. "And he died with a bullet in his head. Tell me, Vito, did that fear save him?"

Silence.

Luca let his words settle before continuing.

"I'm not my father. But I'm not weak either." His gaze swept over the room. "You want proof? Then test me. Challenge me. But understand this-if you try to take what's mine, I won't hesitate to put you in the ground."

A beat of silence. Then-laughter.

Not mocking, but approving. Alessandro, his uncle, leaned back in his chair, nodding slightly. "Looks like the kid has a spine after all."

Luca held his gaze. "Keep underestimating me, Uncle. I'd like to surprise you."

A smirk. Then Alessandro raised his glass. "To our new Don."

The others followed, murmuring their agreement. Some genuine. Some reluctant. But for now, it was enough.

Luca raised his own glass, the burn of whiskey sharp against his throat.

He had won this round. But the real game was only just beginning.