Potere | Book II ✓

xxiv | from the grave

xxiv | from the grave

a/n: re-reading the previous chapter is highly recommended. there will be no recap.

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August 2015

A sudden flash of lightening illuminates the monstrous hallways of the Luciano estate. It's paired with a thunderous roar; one that causes the ground beneath Liam's feet to shake and the large, ornate windows to shudder. Rain pelts the glass of the windows while the wind howls. The house has never felt so large. So empty.

A blanket drags behind a sleepless Liam as he trudges down the hallway, jolting softly whenever thunder clapped. He's glad everyone is sleep, no-one able to witness his pathetic fear. He's never understood the psychological reasoning behind it, although Michael did once tell him that the night Zara left for good, it was storming.

He's made this walk a million times as a young child, and he makes it once more as a grown, twenty-eight year old man. Yet, his walk of fright always manages to lead him to the same place. Michael Luciano's office.

Without fail, he finds his father sitting behind his desk. Sometimes Liam finds him sitting alone, focusing on the way the liquor moves inside his crystal glass as he twirls it. Other times he finds Michael in a heated chess game against himself. Only once did he ever try to play his father. He lost. Miserably. There were nights when Michael was determined to lessen the mountain of papers on his desk, signing them with flourish and careless abandon. As if he doesn't give a fuck as to what he just approved. Then there are other nights where he just sits, eyes closed. Not sleep, just resting.

But tonight is different.

As a young boy, Liam would commonly hear others of high status try to explain the power of his father's presence. Nobody could pinpoint the appropriate word to use when Michael Luciano entered a room, because even power feels inferior to the energy that surrounds him.

Heads turn, people bow, and voices proclaim at his affect.

The difference between tonight and any other night is easy for Liam to spot as he slowly, cautiously makes his way deeper inside his father's sanctuary.

The flame in Michael's eyes that Liam was certain would burn for eternity, is nothing but a flicker.

He knows, as does the man seated.

Michael Davidé Luciano's time is coming to an end.

Liam tightens the grip on his blanket, hugging it closer to his bare chest. It trails holy ground and the thought makes him smile, ever-so-softly. Michael's office—the sanctuary—is never open to visitors. This was always the place Michael would retreat for peace and quiet during his reign. The rule was simple.

Walking into Michael's office without an invitation from the king himself was an immediate execution.

Liam can't count just how many bodies he witnessed them drag out his father's office on his way out the kitchen as a kid, his after-school snack in one hand and a gaming controller in the other.

He drops to the seat opposite of his father's as the ground beneath his feet trembles once more. The lone lamp in the corner of the room flickers as thunder roars and the wind picks up. Liam's grasp tightens in nervousness, but Michael's concentration doesn't divert from the framed photo in his hand.