“Luca?”

  I gasped, stunned to find him standing in the hallway of the hospital, his familiar silhouette framed against the stark white fa?ade. My heart raced as memories flooded back with nostalgia.

  “Wha... What are you doing here?” I asked, my face shocked.

  Luca smiled, his expression a mix of warmth and an uncharacteristic seriousness that caught me off guard. “It’s a long story... How about we talk over a cup of coffee?”

  We stepped outside, leaving behind the sterile, antiseptic smells of the hospital, the cool air brushing against my skin as we made our way to a nearby coffee shop that boasted cozy outdoor seating beneath string lights.

  As we settled into a small, weathered wooden table shaded by a broad umbrella, Luca pulled out a cigarette, holding it between his fingers with the reverence of someone clinging to a lost relic from better days.

  He glanced over at me, a flicker of that playful smile returning, the corners of his lips lifting just slightly. “Want one?”

  I shook my head firmly, a hint of defiance in my voice. “I don’t smoke, remember.” I watched him place the cigarette between his lips, the lighter's flame flickering briefly like a firefly in the afternoon sun, illuminating the contours of his face.

  “I thought the fear of your father finding you smoking would have been enough to make you stop,” I teased, taking a sip of my steaming coffee, the bitter warmth grounding me in the moment.

  Luca chuckled softly, a sound that felt both familiar and foreign, resonating with the laughter of our shared past.

  “How is Tony doing?” I asked, my voice tinged with concern. An unease settled in my chest, mingling with the weight of regret as I remembered the last time we spoke—a hasty goodbye that had left so much unsaid.

  Luca’s smile faded, and his expression soured as he exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the crisp air like the shadows of our unspoken fears.

  “That’s actually the reason why I’m here…” His voice dropped, heavy with the burden of bad news. “He’s not doing too well; in fact, I don’t think he’s got much time left.” The gravity of his words sat between us, thick and oppressive, as I searched his eyes for a glimmer of hope that wasn’t there.

  “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that...” The words felt inadequate as a moment of silence settled between us like a thick fog.

  “You know you and Henry can come back,” Luca said, his tone shifting to a hopeful insistence.

  “Luca, it isn’t as easy as that. We can’t just join back in after cutting all ties with the family; besides, the commission wouldn’t allow it.” I replied, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. The idea of returning felt surreal and laden with complications.

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  “Sure, you can! Now that I’m head of the family, I can do whatever I want, and what I want is my best friends alongside me again.”

  His voice grew passionate, desperation lacing his words. “Besides, merc work is getting both of you killed. I mean, look at Henry, for instance; he’s lost an eye, and somehow, he’s still breathing.” His eyes darkened.

  “How do you know what happened to Henry?” I asked, suspicion mixing with curiosity.

  “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you two for some time,” he explained, his brow furrowing.

  “But it’s been hard to track both of you down. But after Henry got registered at a ripperdoc’s, I knew I had to act quickly. Once I saw the state he was in, I couldn’t just stand by; I had to take him here,” Luca said, his voice steady but filled with underlying emotion.

  “Well, at least he’s getting proper medical attention,” I said.

  The two of us lingered in silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Luca finally broke the tension. “Look, if you’re serious about staying as a merc, then I’ve got a job that needs doing.”

  “What kind of job?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

  Luca leaned back in his chair, looking around to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

  “Ever since the family went legitimate, money's been tight. The old-fashioned ways just aren’t cutting it anymore; we need to adapt if this family is going to survive.” His eyes glinted with a mixture of ambition and desperation.

  I leaned in closer, intrigued yet cautious. “So, what are you thinking?”

  He took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts. “Remember Don Valgus?”

  “Yeah, I remember him; he was a bit too friendly for my liking. Why? What are you planning?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “He’s looking to expand his drug empire into America, and the perfect place to do that is in Night City. And that’s where I come in.” Luca explained.

  I felt my stomach drop. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; the one-line Tony made clear was never crossing into the drug trade. It was a taboo that could destroy everything we built.

  “Luca, you’ll be going against your father’s word. Not only that, but the last time we saw him was when we were using our fake names. It's far too risky.” I said, aiming to drill some sense into him, hoping he'd see the dangers in this reckless venture.

  “I know that, but just hear me out, Max,” he persisted, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “The family needs the money, and the other gangs in this city seem to have forgotten who used to rule the streets, and yes, I know that we were under a different name, but that was three years ago. There is every chance that the son of a bitch forgot all about that. Now, I’ve got a meeting with him in fifteen minutes; we’ve got a private jet ready to collect us. I need you there for muscle, that’s all. Besides, you still owe me a favor.” He shot me a look that was both challenging and pleading.

  “And what favor would that be?” I replied, my irritation mounting as he used our past to his advantage.

  “Three years ago, the Arasaka bank job. Don’t pretend you’ve locked that memory away,” he pressed, his eyes narrowing as he reminded me of the mess we barely escaped.

  I hesitated, the flashbacks of chaos and gunfire flooding my thoughts. I was not proud of that job, nor the risks we took. “…Fine, I’ll help.”

  Luca’s face broke into a grin, relief washing over him. “Good. You drive; you were always much better at it than I was.”