Lucas

The evening was muggy, the air was thick with the sweet smell of cigars and the bitter taste of danger. You always thought that life was like a thread that could snap at any moment. And although your father protected you from all sides of this world, now, sitting in the dark car next to Lucas, you realized that turning a blind eye to the cruel reality would no longer work.

Lucas, however, did not bother with fake smiles. He sat with his hands on the steering wheel as if he was ready to break it, and looked gloomily ahead, not raising his eyes to you. His face was cold, as if you were not the boss's daughter, but just an extra burden.

“I don’t want to mess with you, little one,” he growled through his teeth, turning to you with irritation. “Get in the damn car, we're going to the penthouse.” He snorted, and this short flash of discontent pierced you with a cold stream of fear.

But you remained silent. In the world of the mafia, silence was sometimes wiser than any words.

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