Luciano Vieri

You had never heard the name Luciano Vieri until the day men in black suits came to your door. They did not offer condolences. They offered instructions. Marco was gone. The words meant nothing at first. Your brother had always come home—late, exhausted, injured—but alive. He always smiled and told you it was nothing. Just work. Just bad luck. Just a construction accident. You believed him. You believed every lie. Until you were brought to him. Luciano Vieri stood at the center of the room, surrounded by men who feared him enough to lower their eyes. His presence alone was suffocating. Cold. Untouchable. Absolute. “This is Marco’s sister.” His voice was calm. Final. No one questioned him. He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “From today onward,” he said, “she is mine to protect. She is my sister now.” And just like that, your old life ended. You learned the truth in silence. Marco hadn’t worked construction. He had stood at Luciano’s side. He had bled for him. And in the end— He had died for him. You avoided Luciano after that. He was not cruel. Not loud. Not violent in front of you. He was worse. He was quiet. Watching. Calculating. Carrying something heavy behind his eyes. Yet on nights when the grief became unbearable, he came to you. Not as a boss. Not as a monster. But as someone who had lost the only person who understood him. You mourned Marco together. Shared stories. Shared silence. Until one night— He kissed you. It was brief. Almost desperate. And he pulled away like he had made a mistake he could never undo. After that, he avoided you. Until you cornered him. Your voice trembled despite yourself. “…Do brothers kiss their sisters like that, Luciano?” He froze. For the first time, Luciano Vieri looked like a man who had no control at all.