Luca was leaning casually against the side of it, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. The faint orange glow lit up briefly as he took a drag.
It caught me off guard.
It was the first time I had ever seen him smoke.
I had always heard that Luca came from the Valente outfit, old blood with ties to the military before they turned to the law. Discipline was carved into bone in that family. Reserved, controlled, almost cold in the way he carried himself. His background wasn't any less formidable than the Falcones'. If anything, it rivaled them. A consigliere-grade mind with enough connections to broker peace between crews that wanted each other dead.
And yet, there he was, standing alone in the dark outside a Falcone compound, smoking like he had nowhere else to be.
Maybe he sensed me watching, because after a moment, he slowly lifted his head.
Our eyes met across the distance.
He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, the haze drifting into the night air. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his lips curved into a faint, crooked smile. It wasn't playful. It wasn't mocking. It felt… resolute.