The night pressed heavy on Don Matteo's chest as Lucius's words echoed in his skull—Kneel… or die. His pride screamed to spit in the Devil's face, but his body trembled with the weight of doom. He had led men, ruled streets, commanded fear. Yet here, under crimson eyes, he was nothing but prey.
Lucius tilted his head, studying him like a beast waiting for its meal. His grin widened, sharp and merciless. "Tick tock, Don… every second you waste, another of your men dies in spirit. Look at them. They already belong to me."
Matteo glanced around, his heart sinking. His soldiers—his loyal soldiers—were lowering their heads, some dropping to their knees without command. Their loyalty had cracked. Their fear of Lucius outweighed their devotion to him. He was losing them, one by one.
"No…" Matteo rasped, his voice shaking. He tried to rise, but Lucius's boot pressed him back down, pinning him against the cold pavement. Blood stained his lips as he coughed. "I am still Don Grimaldi. I will never—"
The Devil leaned down, his shadow swallowing Matteo's face. "Never bow? Then I will make your fall eternal." His laughter rumbled through the night, a sound so vile that men dropped their weapons and wept openly.
The remaining Grimaldi soldiers backed away, torn between saving their Don or saving themselves. One muttered, "It's over… we can't stop him…" Another whispered, "The Devil doesn't ask twice."
Matteo's breathing quickened. Pride battled terror inside him like fire against water. His hands shook as he pressed them to the ground, trying to rise against the crushing weight of Lucius's boot. His lips trembled, caught between curse and surrender.
Lucius leaned closer, crimson eyes locking onto his soul. "So, Don… will you break… or will you burn?"
The night held its breath. Matteo's mouth opened—his choice seconds away.