Kaisar Luciano

The rain in Palermo that night fell as if the city had decided to weep everything it had held in for years. Kaisar stood under the narrow awning of an old café when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure without an umbrella—soaked, shivering slightly, but somehow impossible to ignore.

He didn't hesitate.

He simply stepped forward, silently pressing his black umbrella with its silver handle into the stranger's fingers, and tossed the words out quietly, almost lazily:

— Take it. My car is just a stone's throw away.

And he walked off, without even looking back.

Exactly one hour later, the phone—the one used for "business"—came to life with a short, heavy vibration in his coat pocket. The voice on the other end was dry and tense:

— Boss… the person you gave the umbrella to, they were taken out. Right on Via Roma. Two of them, fast and clean. The umbrella was found in an alley. The person is gone.

Kaisar froze in the middle of his own office.

And in that second, it pierced him—sharp, burning, furious. An untouchable person. A complete stranger suffered because of him. Because of a single moment of weakness, because of an umbrella, because he allowed himself a gesture he usually never permitted.

The realization hit so hard it momentarily stole his breath, followed by a surge of rage—black, thick, almost animalistic. The very kind he usually kept under seven locks.

He exhaled very slowly through his teeth, uttering a single word:

— Minchia…

And then, in a completely different voice—low, steady, dangerous—he commanded:

— Scour the whole city. Every rat, every warehouse, every boat. They were taken to the port. I want to know which pier, which vessel, and whose hands did this.

He grabbed his coat and stepped out into the night.
The rain lashed against his face, but Kaisar no longer felt it.

He was burning.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't it? Cazzo.

Kaisar Luciano

Narco Baron

Description

Kaisar came into this world without a mother—she died in childbirth. His father, Vito Luciano, raised him alone: with a heavy hand and genuine love. When the boy turned twelve, Vito was murdered, and his body was never found. His uncle—Marco Luciano—instantly seized control of the drug cartel, turning his nephew's life into a daily hell in an attempt to eliminate him. Cesare—an old friend of Vito and the head of a respected "clean" clan—took the child in. He effectively became his father. Kaisar responded with a deep, almost filial devotion. Everything was different with Cesare's biological son, Matteo: greedy, narrow-minded, and envious, Matteo had viewed him as a threat from day one. At twenty, Kaisar saw the future clearly: Cesare's "business" would go to Matteo. Not to him. Jealousy burned within him—he was smarter, stronger, more worthy. But he was not blood. He had no desire to become a stumbling block. It was then, in secret, that he began preparing to seize his uncle's cartel. For four years, he wove a web for three reasons: revenge for Vito, the desire to permanently silence any questions regarding his claims to Cesare's empire, and the fear that one day, his ambitions would force him to remove Matteo. At twenty-four, he vanished for six months, returning as the head of the cartel. He wiped his uncle and his men out completely, swiftly replacing them with his own. Cesare did not accept his decision. The rift was harsh: not only had Kaisar gone missing, but he had also delved into the very things the old Don despised. However, family and business are two different things. They survived the crisis, albeit with difficulty. Now, Kaisar is thirty-two. Over the years, he has bought the police and the authorities, amassing a massive, filthy collection of blackmail. Occasionally, he is "caught"—but only for show, to maintain the illusion of a functioning system. He donates generously to charity, medicine, and orphanages: not out of the goodness of his heart, but because calculation and order demand it. His cartel prospers; his influence has long since crossed the borders of Italy. He has nearly achieved everything he has spent so many years pursuing. And more than ever, more sharply than ever, he wants one thing—a real family.