Fated reborn - Chapter 274: Chapter 274

Luciano's Pov.
I shut the door behind me, the quiet of my apartment settling in around me. The kind of silence that wasn’t exactly comforting, but wasn’t unwelcome either. The hum of the city was still out there, muffled through the walls, distant but always present.
My knuckles still ached. A dull, throbbing reminder of what had happened tonight.
Of what almost happened.
I flexed my fingers, watching how the skin stretched over bruised bone. Victor was right. I had that look. The one that meant I wasn’t just fighting to win—I was fighting because something in me *needed* it.
And that should’ve bothered me.
It didn’t.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I headed for the kitchen. The fridge hummed softly as I yanked it open, grabbing the first bottle of water I saw. Twisting the cap off, I took a long drink, letting the cold slide down my throat. My reflection stared back at me from the darkened window above the sink.
There was something different in my eyes.
Something still wired, still *awake*.
I didn’t like it.
Or maybe I did.
Before I could think too hard about it, a knock sounded at the door. Sharp. Two quick raps, followed by one slower.
I froze.
No one came here this late.
Victor had just dropped me off. And if he forgot to say something, he’d have texted first.
I set the water bottle down, moving toward the door. My bare feet were silent against the floor, instincts kicking in before my mind caught up. The fight might’ve been over, but my body hadn’t fully let go of it yet.
I peered through the peephole.
A man stood outside.
Dark hoodie, hands stuffed in his pockets. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t shifting from foot to foot like someone impatient. He was just standing there, like he knew I was on the other side.
Something cold slithered down my spine.
I didn’t recognize him.
Didn’t like that.
"Who is it?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
Silence.
Then, just when I was about to repeat myself, he spoke.
"You don’t know me," he said. His voice was low, steady.
I didn’t move. Didn’t open the door.
"But I know you," he continued. "I saw what you did tonight."
My jaw tightened.
Underground fights weren’t exactly exclusive, but people knew better than to bring outside trouble into them.
"You got the wrong guy," I said flatly.
A pause.
Then, "No, I don’t."
Every instinct told me not to open the door.
So I didn’t.
"If you’ve got something to say, say it from there," I told him.
A soft chuckle. It wasn’t amused—it was something else.
Something that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
"You fight like someone who’s looking for a reason," he said. "Like someone who’s been holding back for a long time."
My fingers curled into a fist before I could stop them.
"I’m not interested in whatever this is," I said, voice steady.
He exhaled, like he expected that answer.
Then, so quiet I almost missed it—
"You wll be."
And then he was gone.
I didn’t open the door right away.
Just stood there, listening.
No footsteps. No lingering presence. Nothing but the low hum of the city beyond the walls.
When I finally opened the door, the hallway was empty.
I stepped out, scanning both directions.
No sign of him.
But a slip of paper lay on the ground, right where he’d been standing.
I picked it up, unfolding it with slow, careful fingers.
A single address was written in small, precise handwriting.
No name. No explanation.
Just a place.
I stared at it for a long time, the weight of it settling in my chest.
Then, without a word, I closed the door.
Locked it.
But I knew—
This wasn’t over.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not really.
I tried. Laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the city outside my window. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw that man standing at my door. Heard his voice. You will be.
The paper was still on my nightstand. That damn address.
I should’ve thrown it away. Should’ve ignored it.
But I didn’t.
By the time the first slivers of dawn crept through my blinds, I was already up. The fight from last night still clung to me, like an aftertaste I couldn’t shake. My body had cooled, but my mind was still wired, still running through the moment the blood hit the floor, the way I almost—
I clenched my jaw.
Forget it.
I showered, let the scalding water run over me until my muscles stopped aching. When I stepped out, steam clung to the mirror, fogging my reflection. But even through the haze, I could see it.
That look.
Victor was right.
It wasn’t just about fighting. It was about something deeper, something clawing its way to the surface every time I let go.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Because letting go was getting easier.
I dried off, dressed, and by the time I was lacing up my boots, my gaze flicked to the paper again.
The address burned in my head like a brand.
I knew I shouldn’t go.
But I was already grabbing my keys.
The address wasn’t in the best part of town.
Not the worst, either. Just one of those places that existed between things—between the polished glass of the city and the places people didn’t talk about.
The kind of place where people knew better than to ask questions.
I parked a few blocks away, walking the rest of the way on foot. The building wasn’t anything special—old brick, a faded sign that looked like it used to mean something but had long since lost its purpose.
I stood outside for a moment, debating.
Then the door creaked open.
I tensed.
The same man from last night stood there, like he’d been expecting me. He didn’t look surprised. Didn’t look much of anything, really.
"Figured you’d show," he said.
I didn’t answer. Just stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, cluttered but not messy. A few chairs, an old desk, stacks of papers that looked like they hadn’t been touched in a while.