The gun shook in Don Matteo's hand as he sat frozen inside the car. His men had always feared him, but now he looked like a child clutching a toy. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the wine he had spilled earlier in his mansion.
The car door wrenched open with a metallic scream. Lucius stood there, his crimson eyes blazing, his grin sharp as the edge of a knife. Without a word, he reached inside, grabbed Matteo by the collar, and yanked him out like trash.
The Don stumbled to the ground, his pistol clattering away. Around them, the few surviving Grimaldi soldiers stood paralyzed, their rifles limp in their trembling hands. None dared move, none dared speak. They watched as their once-proud Don lay at the Devil's feet.
Lucius leaned close, his voice soft yet venomous. "You thought yourself a king. But tell me, Matteo… what is a king to the Devil?" His laughter rolled through the night, chilling even the bravest hearts.
Matteo tried to speak, but only a broken whisper left his lips. "I… I am still Don… I won't bow to you…"
The words were weak, pitiful. Lucius straightened, turning his gaze to the soldiers. "You hear that? Your Don would rather drag you all into hell than admit his defeat." His smile widened, cruel and mocking. "But I will give him a chance. Kneel before me, Matteo… or I will burn your name, your family, and your men from this world."
Silence swallowed the street. Even the night air seemed to hold its breath. The soldiers looked at Matteo with wide, uncertain eyes. Some already began lowering themselves, as if the Devil's command had infected their bones.
Matteo's lips trembled. He glanced at his men, at the corpses on the ground, at Lucius's glowing eyes that promised nothing but eternal torment. His pride screamed at him to resist—but his body shook with the terror of submission.
Lucius stepped forward, boots echoing against the pavement, his shadow swallowing Matteo whole. "Choose, Don," he hissed. "Kneel… or die."
The street fell into absolute silence—right before Matteo made his decision.