Sebastian sat on the living room sofa, one arm slung loosely over the armrest, eyes closed. Elias had just finished stitching his wound and administering a tetanus shot. The pain was nothing. He'd endured worse.
What lingered was something far deeper—a tight coil of tension in his chest.
The attack hadn't just wounded his body.
It had insulted his control.
His name meant fear in the underworld. His presence reshaped entire cities overnight. But last night… someone had dared.
And now—someone had to pay.
"Check two people for me," Sebastian said, voice cold and precise.
Elias straightened. "Who?"
"First—the man who stabbed me. Six foot two. Buzz cut. Northern accent. Right arm injury. I remember the angle of the blade, the twist of his wrist. I want him found by sunrise."
"And the second?"
Sebastian opened his eyes. The gaze was sharp. Unreadable.
"Liliane."
Elias paused.
Sebastian didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
The girl had appeared just as he needed to vanish.
Wrong time. Wrong place. Too perfect.
Coincidence?
He didn't believe in those.
This neighborhood—Amity Crossroads—was one of the few neutral zones in the city. No families ruled here. No syndicates. Just silence and wealth.
But last night, only one house was dark.
Only one house opened its door to him.
Hers.
Sebastian had noticed the details right away: a lone pair of shoes on the rack, one key on the ring, no signs of anyone else living there.
She was alone.
Perfect for hiding.
But the moment he saw her face—so pale, so still—his focus had faltered.
That didn't happen often.
That didn't happen ever.
He'd taken over the living room that night, issued commands, deployed forces, reorganized security across multiple territories. His voice never rose. But the world moved.
Lysander had reassembled his personal unit by dawn.
The Sixteen States didn't sleep that night.
No one dared to.
Because when Mr. Boss lost control, everyone bled.
Sebastian didn't dwell on the nickname. It had been given to him years ago, passed from joke to warning to legend. Now it stuck.
But before he was Mr. Boss—
He was just Sebastian. Just a boy at the Don's birthday party.
The Don.
A name that hadn't been uttered in years without reverence.
Thirty years ago, the Don controlled everything. From New York to Naples, Bangkok to Belgrade—his reach was law. His retirement left a power vacuum so deep it had split empires.
But each year, he still held a private gathering. An invitation-only event for those considered future kings of the underworld.
Sebastian's father had barely earned an invite. A small-time Capo with a sharp mind and average ambition.
No one noticed the boy he brought with him.
Ten years old. Quiet. Watching.
By pure chance—or fate—Sebastian and the Don ended up alone in a study, playing chess.
No one ever learned what they talked about.
Until years later, when the Don raised a glass at another gathering and said:
"That Sebastian kid... reminds me of myself."
And just like that, a legend was born.
It began with a whisper. Then a murmur.
Then—"Boss."
The name spread.
Some mocked. Some feared.
But few dared cross him.
At fourteen, Sebastian had already outplayed men twice his age. At seventeen, the Don died of a heart attack. By twenty-two, Sebastian ruled his own empire.
Now, at thirty, "Boss" was no longer a nickname.
It was a warning.
And someone had ignored it.
Sebastian's thoughts returned to the present.
Elias stood by the piano, holding two thick dossiers.
"The girl's info is complete," he said. "Name: Liliane Maranzano. Junior at the Conservatory. Lives alone."
He hesitated. Then added: "Parents died last year. Plane crash."
Sebastian's brow furrowed.
"Maranzano?"
The name stirred something. A flicker of familiarity.
Elias nodded. "Her father... was that Maranzano. Godfather of pop music. Died in a car crash two years ago. Left behind royalties, copyrights, real estate... and this house."
Sebastian looked slowly toward the white grand piano in the corner.
Now it made sense.
The luxury. The solitude.
Even her aura.
Clean. Soft. Quiet.
Not trained. Born.
Elias continued rattling off the list—music rights, estate assets, antique equipment, the Steinberg piano's auction value. But his tone had changed. He no longer sounded like an investigator.
He sounded like a broker.
Sebastian stood and walked to the window.
"Has she ever had a boyfriend?" he asked.
Elias blinked. "I—uh—what?"
"What kind of atmosphere did she grow up in, before the crash?"
"Boss... I don't—"
Sebastian turned.
"Redo it."
Elias paled.
"Full psychological profile. Family dynamic. Childhood records. I want everything."
Sebastian looked back at the piano. His fingers grazed the polished wood.
Liliane's name lingered on his lips, quiet but deliberate.
A girl who lived in silence.
A girl who had something he couldn't name—but wanted to keep.
A girl who, from this day forward—
Would never escape his world again.