Veils Of Deceit

Luca DeLuca never liked funerals.

The silence, the scent of freshly dug earth, the weight of a thousand unsaid words pressing against his ribs-it all felt suffocating. But today, he had no choice.

He stood in front of the open casket, staring down at the lifeless body of his father, Don Salvatore DeLuca. The man who once ruled this city with an iron fist now lay still, his hands folded neatly over his chest, his wedding band glinting under the dim light of the cathedral.

The sight didn't feel real. It was as if any moment now, his father would open his eyes, sit up, and bark out orders like he always did. But Luca knew better. A bullet to the head doesn't leave room for miracles.

The church was filled with men dressed in black, their faces grim, their whispers hushed. Made men. Killers. Liars. Backstabbers. All of them had sworn loyalty to his father. And yet, here they were, murmuring behind his back, already calculating their next move.

"The kid ain't ready."

"He's too soft."

"We need a real leader, not a college boy."

Luca clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He knew they doubted him. He'd spent his whole life on the outside of the family business, shielded from the blood and violence. His father wanted him to have a different life-a better one. But now, that choice was gone.