Fernando leaned back in his leather chair, the smoke from his cigar curling lazily toward the ceiling. The whispers had been circling for weeks, rumours he dismissed at first—until the pieces began to fall together.
He tapped ash into the tray, his gaze fixed on the trembling man kneeling.
"Say it again," Fernando ordered, his voice smooth but cold enough to freeze bone.
The man swallowed, his head bowing lower. "I—I saw him, Boss. At the docks. Not a ghost, not a shadow. It was him. Aaron Veterico."
Fernando's lips curved into a smile, slow and poisonous. He had guessed it. Deep down, he always knew that cockroach of a boy couldn't have died so easily.
"I told them," Fernando muttered, almost to himself. "I told them a Veterico doesn't die in silence. He waits. He festers. He plots." His knuckles whitened around the cigar as old memories cut deep. The boy's mother, her betrayal, and the fire that had consumed his empire once before. And now, the son is crawling back from the grave.
He stood, pacing slowly across the room, his coat dragging against the floor. "So he lives. And if he lives, he wants revenge. Just like his father. Just like her." His jaw tightened at the thought of her—the woman who should have been his, but chose another.
The man on the floor dared to lift his head. "Boss… what do we do?"
Fernando turned, his eyes gleaming with malice. "What do we do?" He chuckled, low and venomous. "We welcome him back, of course. Let him believe he's the predator. Let him gather his strength, his allies, and his woman. Because when I strike—" he crushed the cigar under his heel, sparks scattering— "I will not just kill him. I will unmake him. The way his mother unmade me."
For the first time in years, Fernando felt alive. His suspicion had been right all along. Aaron was alive. And that meant the real game was beginning.