My chest tightened immediately.
“The mafia,” he continued.
The word didn’t come with fear.
It came with curiosity.
He looked at me. “If he built it... I’ll be his heir, no?”
I pulled the SUV to the shoulder abruptly.
The engine continued idling.
Cars rushed past us on the highway.
Life moving forward.
Ignoring the weight pressing inside this vehicle.
I turned in my seat so I could face him fully.
“Yes,” I said carefully. “You can inherit legitimate assets.”
His brow furrowed slightly — listening. “Properties.”
I counted them off. “Businesses that are registered legally. Investments. Real estate holdings.”
His eyes followed my lips as I spoke.
“But no.” My voice hardened. “You will not inherit the mafia.”
His expression shifted.
“Why?”
I leaned slightly closer — making sure he understood how serious I was.
“You see how your father ended?”
My gaze held his. “Locked away for life.”
A pause. “Many men in that life don’t even get trials.”
“They die suddenly — drive-by shootings. Ambushes. Poison in their coffee. Betrayal from people they trusted.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“Others spend decades in places like prison.”
I gestured toward the direction of the facility we had just left.
“Chained. Alone. Watching their children grow up through glass.”
My voice softened — but remained firm.
“They lose everything.”
“Freedom. Family. Future.”
