2025-08-25 21:21:55The Romano mansion no longer felt like home. Its walls whispered secrets, its corridors creaked like bones, and its silence weighed heavier than the sound of gunfire. Luca walked through the dim hallway, his footsteps echoing against marble, each step carrying the weight of what he had done.
The shadows still clung to him. No matter how many times he washed his hands, he could still feel the blood, still hear the dying gasp of the man he had killed with the curse. It had not been a choice, it had been instinct. But instinct was dangerous when it came from something he barely understood. Matteo trailed close behind him. “The men are restless,” the consigliere murmured. “Half of them fear you. The other half fear Emilio. If you don’t claim control soon, the family will split.” Luca’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask for this curse. I didn’t ask to kill with shadows.” “And yet you did.” Matteo’s voice was sharp, though not cruel. “You cannot run from what you are, Luca. The question is whether you use it to rule, or let it consume you.” They stopped at the study door. Luca’s hand hovered over the handle when he heard a sound, a soft whisper, like silk sliding across stone. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing, but the hall was empty. Only the flickering lights burned above. The curse was mocking him. Or perhaps it was warning him. Inside the study, maps of territories lay scattered across the desk. Red marks indicated threats. The Romano empire, once untouchable, was bleeding from every corner. Emilio had already rallied some allies, whispering poison into their ears about Luca’s bloodline, about the demon within him. Luca dropped heavily into his father’s leather chair. For the first time, it did not feel like power. It felt like a throne of fire, ready to consume him. Before he could speak, the door opened and a figure slipped inside. Isabella. She moved like a ghost, her black dress clinging to her form, her eyes dark as midnight. Luca’s chest tightened. She was the one light left in this endless night. But even her presence carried danger. “Why are you here?” Luca asked softly. “Because I saw what happened.” Isabella’s voice trembled, though her gaze never wavered. “You think I didn’t notice? Your eyes… the shadows… You saved yourself, but you scared them all.” Luca looked away. “Do you fear me too?” She stepped closer, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin. “I fear what you might become. But not you, Luca. Never you.” Her hand brushed his, and for a moment, the curse inside him fell silent. But the silence was broken when the study door burst open. A guard staggered in, blood dripping down his arm. “Boss, traitors! In the east wing, Emilio’s men, they were let in!” Luca shot to his feet, his chair crashing backward. “What do you mean let in?” The guard coughed, struggling to stay upright. “Someone inside… someone opened the gates for them.” Matteo cursed under his breath. “Betrayal.” The sound of gunfire erupted in the distance, sharp and merciless. Shouts followed, men calling for reinforcements, men dying before they could finish their cries. Luca grabbed a pistol from the desk, his hands steady though his pulse roared in his ears. “Stay with Isabella,” he told Matteo. “If they came for me, they won’t stop until this house burns.” Isabella grabbed his arm, her eyes desperate. “Luca, don’t lose yourself to it. Don’t let the curse control you.” He nodded once, but deep down, he knew the truth. The only reason he was still alive was because of the curse. Without it, he might already be dead. He moved quickly through the corridors, the scent of smoke and blood thick in the air. Bodies already lined the marble floors, some his men, some Emilio’s. At the corner of the east wing, Luca froze. A group of Emilio’s soldiers had broken through, and standing at the center of them was a man Luca trusted with his life. Marco. His childhood friend. His sworn brother. Marco’s gun dripped fresh blood, his smirk cruel and cold. Luca’s chest tightened as betrayal stabbed deeper than any blade. “Marco… why?” Marco’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Because you’re not fit to lead. Emilio offered me a future. You only offer us a curse.” The words struck harder than the bullets that followed. Luca dove behind a fallen statue as shots rang out. Marble shattered around him. The curse surged inside, furious, hungry, begging to be unleashed. He could feel the shadows writhing under his skin, aching to devour those who betrayed him. Marco’s voice echoed in the corridor. “Come out, Luca! You can’t hide from me. You can’t hide from what you are.” Luca’s breathing quickened. The whisper returned, sharper now. Kill. Kill them all. His father’s voice warred against it. Blood runs deeper than honor. Never let the curse define you. But honor meant nothing when his own brother had put a bullet into the family he swore to protect. The choice burned inside him like fire. Slowly, Luca rose from behind the statue. His eyes glowed red, brighter than ever, shadows crawling across the walls. The men froze, fear flickering across their faces. Even Marco hesitated for a moment, his smirk faltering. Luca’s voice was low, dangerous, almost not human anymore. “You chose your side, Marco. Now you’ll see what it costs.” The shadows exploded outward. The corridor plunged into chaos. Screams echoed as the darkness consumed everything in its path, swallowing bullets, shattering steel, tearing men apart with invisible claws. Blood painted the marble as the Romano mansion trembled beneath the weight of something far older and darker than the mafia. When the shadows withdrew, silence fell. Bodies lay broken across the corridor. Smoke curled from shattered lamps. And in the middle of it all stood Luca, eyes glowing, breath ragged, blood dripping from his hands though he had never touched a blade. Only one figure still stirred. Marco. Coughing, bleeding, crawling across the floor. His eyes widened in horror as he looked up at Luca. “You’re not human,” Marco rasped. “You’re a monster.” Luca’s heart pounded. His chest ached. But his eyes burned red as he stepped closer. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if Marco was wrong. Luca unleashes the curse fully for the first time, slaughtering Emilio’s men, with Marco surviving just long enough to brand him a monster.
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Chapter 182: The Last Dawn
The house was burning.Flames crawled across the old wood like veins of gold, eating through memories faster than I could hold them. Smoke rolled into the night, thick and heavy, carrying the scent of old paper and secrets that should never have survived this long. I stood in the yard with Grace beside me, watching everything collapse.It should have hurt more. But all I felt was a strange calm.The fire was loud and alive, the only sound left after the storm that had raged inside me for so long. I could still feel the echo of the curse beneath my skin, faint and fading, like a wound trying to remember why it ever bled. My father’s voice was gone. The shadows that once whispered his name were gone too.Only the fire remained.Grace’s hand found mine, grounding me. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steady. She didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes on the flames, her expression unreadable in the light that flickered across her face.“You did it,” she said softly.I didn’t answer right awa
Chapter 181: Echoes in the Blood
Night had swallowed the estate whole. The storm had broken hours ago, but the air still carried the scent of rain and iron. The corridors were silent except for the sound of my boots brushing against the marble floor. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the house itself resisted where I was going.Grace followed close behind me, her flashlight trembling in her grip. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered.“No,” I said honestly. “But we’ve come too far to stop.”The key I found in my father’s study had led us down into the east wing, behind a wall I’d never noticed before. The plaster had cracked away in places, revealing faint lines—an outline of something that didn’t belong there. When I pressed my hand against it, a hollow sound answered back.I took a breath and pushed. The wall shifted with a soft groan. Cold air spilled out like the breath of something long buried.Grace’s light fell across stone steps descending into darkness.“God,” she murmured. “He built this beneath his
Chapter 180: The Debt That Follows
The walk back to the mansion felt longer than it should have. The forest was quiet behind him, but the silence wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was heavy—like the earth itself was holding its breath. Every step he took seemed to echo deeper than sound, as if the woods were still watching him go.By the time he reached the outskirts of the estate, dawn was just starting to break. The sky was pale gray, with streaks of gold trying to push through the clouds. The old iron gates stood half-open, rusted from years of neglect. The wind moved through them with a soft, hollow sound, like a sigh.Luca paused before stepping inside. The mansion loomed over the gardens, a dark silhouette against the faint light. It had once been a symbol of his family’s pride; now it looked like a memory that refused to die. The windows were dark, the ivy climbing higher than before, wrapping around the stone like veins.He pushed the door open and stepped in. The echo of his boots followed him through the entrance hall
Chapter 179: The Last Hunt
The woods was still.Even the wind refused to move. The faint smell of iron and smoke hung low, clinging to the damp air. Somewhere above, the moon cut through the clouds like a blade, throwing silver over the forest floor.Luca moved in silence, boots sinking into the earth. His breath was steady and controlled. The hunt had begun hours ago, yet not a single sound of prey reached his ears.It wasn’t an ordinary hunt. Not anymore.He wasn’t chasing an animal. He was chasing what was left of himself.Every step carried an echo—footsteps he couldn’t name, whispers that followed him like the wind’s reflection. His father used to bring him to these woods as a boy, teaching him how to read silence, how to listen to what the earth didn’t say. But that memory had long rotted into something darker.Now, the same forest that once meant peace felt alive in another way. Watching. Breathing. Waiting.He stopped beside a fallen log and crouched low, pressing his palm to the soil. It pulsed faintly beneat
Chapter 178: The Curse That Breathed His Name
When I woke, the world felt wrong.The first thing I saw was the ceiling of my father’s study. The same cracked plaster, the same chandelier that never worked, swaying slightly as if it had been touched by wind. My throat was dry, my body heavy. The air smelled of dust and old whiskey.For a moment, I thought I’d dreamed everything—the catacombs, the mirror, the shadow. But when I sat up, my hand brushed against something sharp. Shards of glass.The desk before me was covered in them. Some pieces were clear, others blackened, as if burned from within. My reflection stared back at me from one of the larger fragments, pale and hollow-eyed.I was still here. Still breathing. But the silence in the room was too deep, too deliberate, like the world itself was holding its breath.My hand trembled as I reached for the shard. It was warm to the touch.Then I noticed the mark.Or rather, the absence of it. The place on my wrist where the sigil had burned for years was now bare—smooth, colorless. I sh
Chapter 177: Where the Sun Does Not Rise
The city was still asleep when Luca left the mansion. The morning light had barely begun to break through the horizon, and even then, it seemed hesitant—as if Rome itself feared to wake. The air was thick with fog, curling between the narrow streets like smoke.He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, his mind racing, every sound amplified by the silence. His father’s voice still echoed in his head. Find me where the sun does not rise.The phrase replayed over and over. It didn’t sound like a metaphor anymore. It felt like a direction. A call.He had searched every record he could find in his father’s study before leaving. A ledger hidden inside one of the old drawers had contained a single note written in Vittorio’s handwriting. It was a location. An address, more like coordinates, scribbled beside three Latin words. Ubi sol non oritur.Now those words were leading him toward the southern edge of the city—toward the old catacombs.The deeper he went, the emptier the streets became. T
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