Page 1 of Saint
Chapter 1
Luca
The Seventy-Second FloorClub exists in whispers, not Google Maps. I sit alone in its dark-paneled sanctuary where even the air feels expensive, watching my whiskey glass sweat against polished mahogany. Manhattan’s skyline glitters beyond floor-to-ceiling windows—a kingdom of light and shadow where I’ve carved my place among both worlds.
When Dante Serpico enters, the room shrinks. He moves with the calculated grace of a man who’s never needed to rush for anything or anyone. He carries himself with the assured confidence of someone who’s seen men rise and fall at his word. His black and silver hair is immaculate, his tailored Brioni suit hanging perfectly from his frame. A politician’s smile masks a predator’s eyes.
“Luca,” he greets me, his voice warm gravel. “It’s been too long.”
I stand to embrace him, feeling the slight tremble in his handshake that power conceals. The head of the Five Families doesn’t meet just anyone at midnight.
“I appreciate you making time,” I tell him as we settle into leather chairs that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
His bodyguards position themselves discreetly by the door, then seem to disappear despite their size. Dante waves away formalities like smoke.
“For Ravello? Always.” His smile deepens the lines around his eyes. “Your father would be proud of what you’ve built. Harvard education, legitimate business empire, and...” he gestures vaguely, “other successful ventures.”
I don’t waste time circling what I came for. “I need a favor.”
Dante’s eyebrows lift slightly as he pours himself two fingers of the thirty-year Macallan between us. “You’ve earned the right to ask. The Chinatown situation last year...” He doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to. We both remember the bodies, the cleanup, how I kept his name pristine while mine absorbed the whispers.
“It’s about Nico and Caterina.”
His eyes sharpen. “Ah. The newlyweds.”
“The Romanos and Benettis are making noise. They believe Caterina betrayed them by marrying outside the families. Especially to an ex-priest. The public believes they perished in the fire at St. Francis’s, but they suspect it’s a cover.”
Dante swirls his whiskey, ice clinking against crystal. “A priest falling for a mafia princess? God must be laughing.”
I smirk, maintaining my composure despite the seriousness. “Laughing or not, I won’t let them touch Nico. He’s family to me.”
“More than family,” Dante observes. “The brother you chose rather than inherited.”
I lean forward. “I want your word they’ll be completely protected.”
Dante studies me for a long moment, the city lights playing across his face. “Consider it done. No one touches them without answering to all Five Families.” He sets down his glass with finality. “But that’s not all we need to discuss tonight, is it?”
I raise an eyebrow, though I know exactly where this is heading.
“Your mayoral campaign.” Dante’s smile turns wolfish. “The families are unanimously supportive. Every one of them.”
“I’m touched by their civic engagement.”
Dante laughs, a sound like expensive leather creaking. “We’re invested in New York’s future, Luca. And a man like you in Gracie Mansion means our interests extend further than they ever have.” He leans forward, dropping his voice. “Imagine what we could accomplish with one of our own signing the contracts, appointing the commissioners, directing the police.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “I plan to be mayor for all New Yorkers.”
“Of course you do,” Dante replies, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And we’ll help you become exactly that. The families will provide whatever you need—funding, media support, votes in the right districts.”
The offer hangs between us, heavy with unspoken implications. I take a slow sip of whiskey, feeling its burn match the ambition that’s driven me since Brooklyn.
“I appreciate the support,” I say carefully. “But I set my own agenda.”
Dante’s smile doesn’t waver, merely deepens into the practiced curve that’s closed a thousand deadly deals. His manicured fingers tap once against the crystal tumbler. “We wouldn’t want it any other way. A puppet mayor would be useless to us. We need Luca Ravello—the man who plays both sides so masterfully that Wall Street and the waterfront shake the same hand without ever realizing they’re touching the same blood.”
His words settle into the space between us like smoke, carrying both promise and threat. I’ve spent years building myreputation precisely because men like Dante respect strength over submission.
The moment I become another family puppet with their hands up my back is the moment I lose everything I’ve worked for—the gleaming tower with my name emblazoned in gold, the respect in my mother’s eyes, the future where I make the rules instead of just enforcing them.
