The early morning sun crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the De Luca estate. The olive trees swayed gently in the breeze, but the air was thick with tension. Luca sat on the stone steps outside the villa, his mind turning over the events of the previous day. He had expected his return to Sicily to feel like an escape, but now, it felt more like a trap.
He heard footsteps behind him, and without turning, he knew it was his younger brother, Antonio. Antonio had always moved with a swagger, a careless confidence that set him apart from the rest of the family. Luca could feel the difference in them even now, as Antonio's footsteps echoed off the stone walkway.
"Brother," Antonio called out, his voice light, yet with a hint of mischief. "I was wondering when you'd come back."
Luca stood and turned, sizing up his younger sibling. Antonio had grown since Luca had last seen him—taller, broader, with a sharper look in his eyes. He was dressed in a tailored suit, the emblem of the family's criminal empire sewn into his cufflinks. Luca immediately noticed the pistol strapped to his waist.
"It's good to see you, Antonio," Luca said, offering a small smile, though he could feel the distance between them. Four years was a long time, and it seemed Antonio had fully embraced the life Luca had always tried to avoid.
Antonio smirked. "You look like you've been through hell." He slapped Luca on the back, too hard to be friendly. "War makes men of us all, eh?"
Luca didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood for Antonio's casual bravado.
"You should've seen it while you were gone," Antonio continued, oblivious to his brother's silence. "Father's made sure the Germans, the fascists, and the locals all bow to us. The De Luca name carries more weight than ever."
"Is that something to be proud of?" Luca asked, his voice low, the tension between them thickening. "Siding with the Germans? With the Nazis?"
Antonio shrugged, his expression unbothered. "Sicily belongs to whoever has the most power. It's not about who's right or wrong, Luca. It's about survival."
Luca shook his head, the words igniting something bitter inside him. "I didn't come back to be part of this. I didn't come back to help the family business."
Antonio's face hardened. "Then why are you here?"
Luca didn't have an answer. He had asked himself that question every hour since stepping off the train. He thought of his time in the army, the fleeting moments when he believed in something greater, in honor, in the fight for freedom. But the war had shown him that even the noble causes were stained with blood. Now, home didn't offer the peace he had longed for—just a different kind of violence.
"I don't know," Luca admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Antonio stared at him for a moment, the tension settling into something heavier. "Then you better figure it out. Fast."
That evening, the villa was alive with activity. Men came and went, all of them tied to the De Luca family in one way or another—lieutenants, smugglers, soldiers. They spoke in low voices about shipments, alliances, and bribes, all of it part of the machine that Don Vito had carefully built over the years.
Luca stood on the balcony overlooking the garden, feeling a strange sense of detachment from the world below him. He spotted his father through the open doorway, deep in conversation with a tall, lean man dressed in a German officer's uniform.
Luca's stomach turned. The sight of the German in their home filled him with disgust. He had fought against men like this on the battlefield, watched his friends die at their hands. And now, his father was making deals with them.
He turned away, his hands gripping the cold stone of the balcony railing. His mind was racing, torn between loyalty to his family and his deep hatred for everything they had become.
Just then, a soft voice broke through his thoughts. "You seem troubled."
Luca glanced over his shoulder and saw Sophia Russo standing behind him. She was a striking woman, her dark hair pinned up, her eyes sharp and intelligent. Luca remembered her vaguely from his youth, but she had grown into someone entirely different. Now, there was a fire in her gaze, something fierce and unyielding.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Luca said, his tone softening. "With the resistance and all."
Sophia stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "I have my reasons. Not everything is black and white, Luca."
She leaned against the railing beside him, her presence both calming and unsettling. Luca had heard whispers about Sophia's involvement with the Sicilian resistance—a network of rebels fighting against the fascists and their German allies. But seeing her here, so close to his family's dealings, made everything more complicated.
"What are you doing here?" Luca asked, unable to hide his suspicion.
Sophia met his gaze, her eyes full of defiance. "What are you doing here?"
Luca exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't know."
She studied him for a long moment before speaking again. "Your father has power, Luca. And power can be used for good or for evil. The resistance needs people like you—people who know the enemy, who can navigate both worlds."
Luca frowned. "You think I can just walk away from this? From my family?"
Sophia's expression softened, but her voice was firm. "I think you have a choice. More than most of us do."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of the night filled the silence between them—crickets chirping, the distant murmur of conversation from inside the villa.
"You don't know my father," Luca finally said, his voice heavy. "He doesn't give people choices."
Sophia's lips curved into a small, sad smile. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean you can't make one for yourself."
She turned and walked away, leaving Luca standing alone on the balcony, her words lingering in the air. Luca stared out into the darkness, his mind racing. He felt the weight of the choices before him—choices that would determine not just his own fate, but the fate of those he cared about.
In that moment, he realized that coming home hadn't given him peace. It had given him a war of his own.