Mafia Prosecutor De Luca Blood Oath

Chapter 6: First Steps in Dark Waters

Venice in autumn is not the romantic city found on postcards. For Matteo De Luca, it was a labyrinth of damp stone, smelling of rotting salt and stagnant canal water. The thick fog—la galaverna—crept across the water's surface, enveloping the narrow bridges and concealing his limping footsteps.

Matteo pulled his jacket hood lower. Every blast of cold wind that hit the left side of his face felt like thousands of icy needles pricking at his scar tissue. He walked with a deliberately irregular rhythm, occasionally stopping in front of Carnevale mask shop windows just to check the reflection in the glass.

He felt it. A presence. Someone was clinging to his heels like a disembodied shadow.

Is it just my anxiety, or has Volkov already sent his angel of death? Matteo thought to himself. He didn't turn around. Nico Santoro, his new mentor in the underworld, had always advised him: "Don't look for your hunter with your eyes; look with your instincts. If you turn around, you admit that you are the prey."

Matteo turned into the Cannaregio district, a quieter area inhabited by locals. He stopped in front of an old building with peeling brick-red paint. A small wooden sign hung above the door: "La Serenissima – Catering & Deli".

He pushed the door open. A small bell chimed, breaking the silence of the room filled with the scent of sautéed garlic and wheat flour.

Behind the wooden counter, an old man with thin white hair and spectacles slipping down his nose was busy slicing prosciutto. His wrinkled hands moved precisely, yet there was a subtle tremor he couldn't hide.

"We're closing in ten minutes, sir," the man said without looking up. "If you want a sandwich, grab one wrapped in the fridge."

Matteo didn't move. He stood in the middle of the room, letting the water from his jacket drip onto the wooden floor. "I didn't come here to eat, Vincenzo. I came to collect an unpaid debt."

Vincenzo Moretti froze. The knife in his hand stopped moving just above the meat. He slowly looked up, his weak eyes trying to pierce the shadows beneath Matteo's hood.

"You've got the wrong person, young man. I'm just a bread maker. I don't owe anyone anything."

Matteo stepped forward into the dim circle of light from the hanging lamp. With one slow movement, he opened his hood.

The yellow light illuminated his face diagonally. The right side was clean and handsome, contrasting sharply with the left, which resembled a grotesque, reddish melting candle. Vincenzo flinched back, his spine hitting a shelf of wine bottles with a loud clang.

"God protect me..." Vincenzo whispered, his face instantly turning as white as paper. "That face... no, it's impossible. You're dead. The news said you burned in that apartment."

"The fire rejected me, Vincenzo. Just as the law refused to punish Elias Volkov," Matteo's voice now sounded like grinding metal, cold and merciless. "Lorenzo De Luca sends his regards from the grave."

Hearing his father's name, Vincenzo slumped into the chair behind the counter. His breath hitched. "Matteo... what are you doing here? If they knew you survived, they'd flatten this entire district just to finish extinguishing your fire."

"They already did that, didn't they? They seized the De Luca clan's funds, hunted down my father's loyalists, and forced you to hide behind flour sacks in Venice," Matteo stepped closer, placing his own scarred hand on the table. "I need The Ghost Ledger, Vincenzo. The shadow ledger you kept when my father's headquarters were raided ten years ago."

"I don't have it!" Vincenzo exclaimed in panic, his eyes darting towards the door. "I burned it! I want to live quietly, Matteo. I'm old. Don't drag me back into that hell."

Matteo took a photo from his pocket—a photo he had secretly taken from the hospital terminal. It showed the killer with the snake tattoo standing in front of the ruins of his apartment.

"This man... he burned a prosecutor alive. He used chemicals that leave no trace. And he has the Volkov clan tattoo on his hand," Matteo leaned in, his eyes gleaming with terrifying intensity. "If you think hiding will keep you safe, you're wrong. Volkov leaves no living witnesses. Once he's finished his business in the south, he'll remember the old accountant who knew too much about his money's history. You aren't hiding, Vincenzo. You're just waiting in line for execution."

Vincenzo stared at the photo, then at the shattered face of his former master's son. He saw an anger so pure that he realised Matteo was no longer a man who could be reasoned with using legal logic.

"Lorenzo never wanted you to be like this," Vincenzo whispered sadly.

"Lorenzo wanted his son to live. And to live in Volkov's world, I have to become a bigger monster than him," Matteo replied. "Give me the key, Vincenzo. Before the shadow outside the door comes in and takes it from you in a much rougher way."

Vincenzo was stunned. "A shadow outside?"

"Yes. Someone has been following me since the station. He's waiting across the canal now," Matteo lied calmly—though he was certain his instincts about a stalker were correct. "Your safety is that book. Give it to me, and I'll divert their attention from you."

With violently trembling hands, Vincenzo reached for a small key hanging around his neck, hidden beneath his undershirt. He walked to the back of the shop, shifted a large wooden barrel, and opened a secret compartment in the concrete floor.

He pulled out an old metal box wrapped in black oilcloth.

"Here is the key, Matteo. Inside are secret documents, hidden ledgers, and some encrypted phone numbers left by your father," Vincenzo handed over the box reluctantly. "But I warn you... opening this box is a more dangerous choice than keeping it closed. Once you read its contents, there's no turning back to being Matteo De Luca the Prosecutor. You will become prey for every predator in this country."

Matteo accepted the box. Its weight felt like the burden of all the lives that had been sacrificed. "Matteo De Luca died in that fire, Vincenzo. Thank you for the key."

Outside, the fog grew thicker. From behind a pillar of the Ponte delle Guglie bridge, Ivan lowered his thermal binoculars. He watched Matteo emerge from the catering shop with a metal box tucked under his armpit.

Ivan touched his earpiece. "Mr Volkov, the subject has just taken something from the old accountant. A metal box. It seems he's just found the De Luca clan's hidden treasure."

On the other end of the line, Elias Volkov's voice sounded calm but full of menace. "Good. Let him collect all the pieces for us, Ivan. Don't kill him yet. I want to see how far a burned rat can run before he realises this entire labyrinth belongs to me."

Ivan smiled, his snake tattoo seemingly writhing in the dim moonlight. "Understood, sir. I will remain in the shadows."

Matteo quickened his pace toward the small dock, unaware that the box he clutched tightly was bait that would drag him into a much larger trap.

As Matteo started the engine of the rented motorboat on the canal, he found an envelope tucked beneath the steering wheel. Inside, there was only one short sentence: "Welcome back, Matteo. I've prepared a deeper grave for you this time. – E.V."

Matteo's heart pounded. He realised he wasn't hunting Elias.

Elias was the one letting him feel like a hunter.