“I always knew you were ruthless, Matteo,” he sneers.“But choosing her?That makes you weak.”
“No,” I say.“Choosing her makes me stronger than you ever fucking were.”
The muscle in his jaw jerks, barely tethered to restraint.That same old power-hungry darkness slides across his face, a shadow sweeping over a grave.His mouth curls, bitter and cruel, chewing on the taste of lost control.
And for a second…just one…the world holds still.
Then I hear it.
The soft, unmistakable shuffle of boots across concrete.
The dry click of safeties coming off.
The sound of war winding up.
I don’t even fucking flinch.Because I know that sound.I was raised on it.It’s the music that played behind every lesson he carved into me.Pain, loyalty, obedience.I know the rhythm of it better than my own goddamn heartbeat.
From the shadows, they step out.Four… no, five.Guns raised, barrels gleaming beneath the cracked skylight, shining with promises meant to end in blood.My father’s soldiers.His dogs.The same ones who used to train me.Now aiming down their sights, eyes cold with loyalty sharpened into a weapon, treating me as just another target on their kill list.
They spread out, tactical, perfect, cutting off every path, every exit.Except the one that goes straight through them.
And fuck it… if that’s what it takes… then that’s the path I’ll take.
I don’t move or reach for my weapon.I don’t give them the satisfaction.
I just smile, the kind that cuts without ever needing a blade.
My father watches me, his face carved from stone, eyes dead behind the ice.That same cold detached look he’s worn his whole life.Emotion was a disease he cured himself of a long time ago.
“You thought I’d let you walk out of here?”he says, voice almost amused, mocking, like this is a game and I’ve already lost. “You’re not my son anymore.You’re a fucking liability."His mouth curls into a cruel, wicked smile, razor-thin and soaked in satisfaction.“And liabilities… they get erased.”
He pulls a weapon from inside his jacket… smooth, practiced, like he’s been waiting for this moment since the second I dropped Rocco.
The gun comes up fast, barrel leveled at my chest.
I don’t move.Not a fucking inch.Because I know how this works.One wrong twitch, one breath too deep, and his dogs will paint the walls with me.Turn me into a fucking bonfire, then sleep soundly afterward, not a flicker of guilt in sight.
My eyes stay locked on his.Ice meeting ice.
“Then pull the fucking trigger yourself,” I shout.“Or are you too much of a coward to finish what you started?”
His nostrils flare, breath shallow and pissed.Eyes narrowed, he steps closer, so close I can smell the gun oil and cologne clinging to his skin.The weight of everything we’ve never said settles between us like smoke.
“You think you’re ready to die for her?”he hisses, voice sharp enough to bleed.
I don’t blink.
“No,” I rasp, my voice thick with everything he never taught me.Loyalty, love.The kind of love that doesn’t kneel.Doesn’t run.“I’m ready to kill for her.”
The men around me shift, subtle but telling, hands tightening on their rifles, muscles coiled, waiting for the command.One nod.One twitch from him.That’s all it would take to end me.
And still… he doesn’t give it.
Because I fucking know.The second his mask slips, that tiny pause, that flicker of hesitation, it’s there.A crack in the armor.Barely visible, but I know my father too well not to see it.
And the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the ghost of a future he never planned for.One he can’t shape or bend.Can’t fucking control anymore.Because I’m not just his son.I’m his heir.I’m the thing he molded with blood and fire and all the sharp edges he carved into me.
Killing me doesn’t just sever bloodlines.It cuts the throat of his legacy.
