“A king can’t afford affection,”he’d told me, wiping blood from his cuff.“Affection is a leash.And the moment you wear it, the world yanks.”
I’d nodded back then, terrified and obedient.But even as a boy, something twisted in me — revulsion, maybe.Or understanding that I’d just been shown what kind of man I was expected to become.
Now, years later, that same lesson replayed, and for the first time, I wasn’t sure if my father had been wrong.Because last night, when Mia pressed her palms against my chest and kissed me like she was choosing me despite everything she knew — I wasn’t chained.I’d beenfreed.
I sat the glass down harder than intended.“You think she makes me weak.You’re wrong.She’s the only thing keeping me steady.”
Marco gave a grim smile.“That’s not steadiness, Enrico.That’s addiction.”
I studied him for a long moment.“Leave the folder and get the fuck out.”
He hesitated.“As you wish.”
When the door closed behind him, the quiet returned — heavier now, filled with the echoes of things left unsaid.I leaned back against the desk, staring at the painting opposite me — my father’s portrait, hung like a warning.
You’d call me a fool, but in your world, kings die alone.
I reached for the phone on my desk, thumb hovering over her contact, but stopped.She needed space.She deserved it after what I’d admitted.And yet the thought of her drifting through this house — our house now — without knowing what threats circled us made my stomach knot.
The phone buzzed suddenly, sharp and unexpected.I frowned, picking it up.The screen showed a number I didn’t recognize.
I hesitated, then answered.“Enrico.”
Static.Then a voice — distorted, low.“The empire you built is crumbling.”
My pulse slowed.“Who is this?”
“Someone who remembers what your father took.Someone who knows your weakness.”
The line clicked dead before I could respond.Then the message tone chimed.
A text appeared on the screen — six words, all in capital letters:
SOMEONE IS COMING FOR YOUR THRONE.
I stared at the words until they blurred.Whoever it was — they’d gone to great lengths to get my attention.The phrasing wasn’t random.It was personal.Throne.A word my father used to describe power.A word I hadn’t heard spoken aloud since his death.
I moved to the safe in the corner, spun the dial, and retrieved a pistol from the top shelf.I checked the chamber, then tucked it into the back of my waistband before pulling my phone again and dialing Marco.
He answered on the second ring.“Boss?”
“Lock down the estate.No one in or out without my approval.”
“Understood.What happened?”
“Someone just declared war.”
A pause.“Do you want me to bring Mia to the safe wing?”
I hesitated.“No.Keep her where she is.Let her believe it’s just business as usual.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’m sure she’ll be safer not knowing.”He didn’t argue, but I could hear the doubt before he hung up.
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon, deep and distant.A storm was coming and every instinct in me said this wasn’t about business.This waspersonal.
I crossed the room to the window and glanced out over the estate grounds.From here, the world seemed orderly — the manicured lawns, the high stone walls, the men at the gate.But beneath the surface, everything was shifting.Power never stayed still.It moved like current — silent, invisible, lethal.
