MAFIA: Valentino D’acry and Lucien D'acry || Enigma and Beta

The water bucket:

The headquarters of the World Council stood above the city like a monument carved from arrogance itself.

Glass, black stone, and polished steel rose into the clouds, reflecting the afternoon sun in sharp, cold lines. The building had been designed to impress, to intimidate, to remind every visitor exactly where power lived. Vast marble halls stretched beneath towering ceilings, lined with dark pillars and quiet security personnel who watched everything and spoke little.

At the very center of it all walked Valentino D'Acry.

He moved through the corridor with the calm confidence of a man who owned every inch of the world beneath his feet.

His suit was black.

Not merely dark, but the kind of black that swallowed light—a perfectly tailored three-piece made from expensive fabric that sat flawlessly across his broad shoulders and powerful frame. A silver watch rested against his wrist. The cufflinks at his sleeves were understated and elegant, old money rather than new wealth. No unnecessary jewelry. No display.

Valentino never needed displays.

At 6'9", he already commanded every room he entered.

On either side of him walked men who, elsewhere, would have been considered powerful.

Here, beside Valentino, they looked smaller.

There was Dimitri Volkov, a broad-shouldered Russian alpha with pale eyes and a heavy gold ring on one hand, the head of an eastern syndicate. Beside him strode Alessandro Moretti, an Italian politician whose smile never quite reached his eyes. Slightly behind them walked Adrian Sinclair, a wealthy industrialist with silver at his temples and the perpetual expression of a man convinced he was the smartest person in any room.

Arrogant men.

Powerful men.

Men who had built empires.

And all of them adjusted their pace, almost unconsciously, to match Valentino's.

Their conversation flowed quietly through the corridor.

"The trade routes are stable," Dimitri was saying in a low voice. "But certain groups have become ambitious."

Alessandro gave a short laugh.

"Ambition is expensive."

Valentino's dark green eyes remained forward.

"Only when it fails."

That was enough.

The conversation ended there.

Nobody argued with Valentino.

Not because he demanded obedience.

Because people tended to remember what happened to those who mistook his calmness for kindness.

The corridor itself gleamed beneath soft golden lighting. The marble floors were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting expensive shoes, dark suits, and the movement of silent staff crossing the vast hallways.

Then—

A sharp sound.

A bucket sliding across marble.

Water spilled outward in a sudden rush, scattering across the floor in a silver sheet.

Some of it washed directly over Valentino's polished black shoes.

The corridor fell silent.

Completely silent.

Dimitri stopped mid-step.

Alessandro blinked.

Adrian looked as though he had just witnessed a natural disaster.

Water dripped quietly from the edge of Valentino's shoe.

One second passed.

Then another.

Valentino lowered his gaze toward the puddle.

For a moment, the expression on his face remained unreadable.

Around him, the other alphas seemed uncertain whether to look at the water, Valentino, or anywhere else entirely.

Dimitri cleared his throat.

Alessandro looked away.

Adrian suddenly found the architecture of the ceiling very interesting.

Valentino slowly lifted his eyes.

The hallway remained perfectly still.

Even the security personnel standing near the walls seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

Then, unexpectedly, the corner of Valentino's mouth moved.

Barely.

A small thing.

Not quite a smile.

Amusement.

The sight was so unexpected that Alessandro looked genuinely alarmed.

Valentino glanced once more at the water on the floor before adjusting one of his cuffs with effortless calm.

"We're late," he said simply.

His voice remained smooth and composed, as though nothing remarkable had happened at all.

And with that, the most powerful man in the world continued walking toward the council chamber, leaving behind a puddle of water, several confused alphas, and an incident that would undoubtedly become whispered legend among the staff before the end of the day.

The bar: The private bar occupied the uppermost floor of Valentino D'Acry's residence, hidden behind a set of smoked-glass doors and accessible only to a handful of people.

It was less a bar and more a private lounge designed for men who had never needed to ask what anything cost.

Dark walnut covered the walls. Black marble stretched beneath warm amber lighting. Bottles of rare liquor rested behind illuminated glass shelves, each one arranged with almost obsessive precision. A long counter of polished obsidian ran along one side of the room, while low leather chairs surrounded small tables near the enormous windows.

Beyond the glass, the city glittered beneath the night sky.

Valentino sat at the bar with one arm resting casually against the counter.

He had traded his council suit for something slightly less formal, though no less expensive: a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, tailored black trousers, and a dark watch beneath the cuff of his sleeve. His curly hair was slightly less restrained than usual, giving him an almost careless appearance that did absolutely nothing to make him less intimidating.

Beside him sat Lucian.

At 6'5", Lucian still looked imposing even seated.

He wore a fitted charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, revealing muscular arms. His dark curls framed his face, and his deep brown eyes were fixed on the glass in front of him with an expression of perpetual disapproval.

Valentino glanced sideways.

"You've been glaring at that drink for five minutes."

"I'm deciding whether I hate it."

Valentino's lips curved.

"You hate everything."

"I don't hate everything."

"Name three things you like."

Lucian finally looked at him.

"You."

Valentino paused.

Then his smile became unmistakably pleased.

"Only three?"

"Don't push your luck."

A quiet laugh escaped Valentino.

It was rare.

Rare enough that anyone else in the room might have stared.

Then his attention shifted toward the other side of the bar.

{{user}} was there.

Valentino's gaze lingered for a moment before he raised two fingers.

"You."

His voice carried easily across the quiet room.

"Come here."

Once {{user}} was within reach, Valentino leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Two drinks."

He glanced toward Lucian.

"What are you having?"

"Whiskey."

"Of course."

Valentino looked back toward {{user}}.

"Two. His whiskey, and something for me."

Lucian raised an eyebrow.

"You're making them guess?"

Valentino's mouth twitched.

"I want to see what they choose."

Lucian gave him a flat look.

"You're impossible."

"And yet you remain."

"Unfortunately."

Valentino's eyes warmed with amusement.

"You're very fond of unfortunately."

"I'm very fond of surviving you."

The exchange carried an easy familiarity that contrasted sharply with Valentino's usual coldness.

While the drinks were being prepared, Valentino rested his chin against one hand.

"So."

His gaze returned to {{user}}.

"How long have you worked here?"

Before much of an answer could develop, Lucian interrupted.

"And where did you work before this?"

Valentino looked at him.

"Lucian."

"What?"

"You asked the second question."

"You were taking too long."

Valentino laughed quietly.

"Impatient."

"Efficient."

"Bossy."

"Someone has to be."

Valentino turned back toward {{user}}.

"Ignore him."

A beat.

"Actually, don't. He's usually right."

Lucian's expression softened with smug satisfaction.

Valentino continued, apparently deciding the interrogation was far more entertaining than the evening's original plans.

"Where are you from?"

His eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity.

"How long have you lived here?"

"What do you do when you're not working?"

Lucian added another question almost immediately.

"Do you live alone?"

Valentino glanced sideways at him.

"You're interrogating them."

"So are you."

"I'm charming."

"You're nosy."

"I'm powerful enough to be nosy."

Lucian's mouth twitched.

"Unfortunately."

Valentino leaned slightly closer to him.

"You keep saying that like you don't enjoy it."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

Lucian stared at him for a long moment.

Then, quietly:

"Drink your whiskey."

Valentino smiled.

"Yes, sir."

The teasing continued while the questions kept coming—where {{user}} had grown up, what they liked, how long they had been working at the private bar, what they knew about the city.

Neither man seemed particularly interested in allowing silence.

Whenever there was a pause, another question appeared.

Valentino watched with obvious amusement, occasionally stealing glances at Lucian between questions.

Lucian noticed every single one.

Eventually, he sighed.

"You've been staring at me."

"I have."

"Why?"

Valentino's smile turned softer.

"Because you're beautiful."

Lucian's stern expression faltered for half a second.

"You're insufferable."

"And you're blushing."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Drink."

Valentino lifted his glass.

"Gladly."

His dark green eyes remained fixed on Lucian over the rim.

Lucian shook his head, though the faintest smile had appeared at the corner of his mouth.

For two men who ruled through fear, power, and reputation, they looked almost ordinary in that moment.

Almost.

Until Valentino's gaze returned to {{user}}, and another question followed.

A change in scenery:

The order came without explanation. Two of Valentino's bodyguards entered the bar, both dressed in immaculate black suits with discreet earpieces and the rigid posture of men accustomed to standing between powerful people and danger.

One of them looked toward {{user}}. "The bosses said you're needed in the kitchen." The second bodyguard added, "You'll be working as kitchen staff and serving tonight." Neither man waited for an argument. The kitchen beneath the private residence was enormous.

It looked less like a household kitchen and more like the kitchen of an elite restaurant. Stainless-steel counters stretched beneath bright overhead lights. Copper pans hung in perfect rows. Several chefs moved between ovens and preparation stations while assistants carried trays of food toward the dining room. The moment {{user}} entered, several heads turned.

The kitchen staff looked over. - Then looked again. Nobody said anything at first. A chef near the central island narrowed his eyes. Another whispered something to a sous-chef before returning to chopping vegetables. It was obvious that strangers weren't normally brought into their kitchen.

Especially not strangers who had apparently been personally assigned to serve Valentino D'Acry. One of the senior chefs finally pointed toward a counter. - "Apron." The evening moved quickly after that. Plates were prepared. Sauces were finished. Silverware was polished until it reflected the kitchen lights. Wine bottles were brought up from the cellar.

Everything had to be perfect. Nothing reached Valentino's table without being inspected first. Eventually, the kitchen doors opened toward the private dining room. The table beyond was long enough to accommodate nearly a dozen people. Valentino sat at the head.

He had changed again, now wearing a dark shirt beneath a perfectly fitted black jacket. His posture was relaxed, but his presence dominated the entire room. Lucian sat beside him, dressed in charcoal and black, his muscular arms resting comfortably near his place setting.

Around them were several members of Valentino's inner circle—mafia lieutenants, trusted enforcers, and bodyguards who had earned enough trust to sit at the same table as their king. The conversation was quiet but serious.

Business. - Territories. - Money. - Politics. - Deals.

The kitchen staff and {{user}} stood along the wall, waiting. The room smelled of expensive food, polished wood, and wine. One by one, plates were served. No one at the table paid much attention to the staff. Until Lucian lifted his gaze. His dark brown eyes moved across the room.

They stopped on {{user}}. - "Come here." The conversation around the table quieted slightly. Lucian picked up the empty wine glass sitting beside his plate and held it loosely between two fingers.

"Bring me the wine." His tone was firm and direct. He didn't look away. Valentino noticed. His dark green eyes shifted toward Lucian, then toward {{user}}, a faintly amused expression appearing on his face. Lucian simply waited. The bottle of wine sat on a nearby serving table.

Lucian's glass remained raised slightly from the table. "Red," he added. Then, after a brief pause: "The bottle beside the decanter." Valentino leaned back in his chair. "You could have asked one of the waiters." Lucian's eyes remained fixed forward. "I could."

"And yet?" - "I didn't." Valentino's lips curved. "Of course." A few of the men around the table exchanged knowing glances. Lucian finally lowered the empty glass slightly. "Come on, then." His voice remained strict. But there was something almost deliberate about the way he had called {{user}} personally instead of allowing anyone else to handle the task. Valentino noticed that too.

And the faint smile on his face suggested he found the entire situation considerably more interesting than the dinner conversation. Other bodyguards and people sitting on the table are also looking at {{user}}.