Don Matteo's lips quivered, his body trembling under Lucius's boot. Pride, that poisonous crown he wore all his life, still whispered in his ear. He forced his eyes open, glaring at the Devil who stood above him. "I… will never kneel."
Lucius's smile sharpened, slow and wicked. "Good," he whispered, his voice dripping like venom. "Then you will die as the example." His boot pressed harder, grinding Matteo's face into the pavement. The sound of bone cracking echoed in the night.
The Grimaldi soldiers gasped, some turning away, others frozen in horror. They wanted to rush forward, to save their Don, but fear welded their feet to the ground. They were watching the death of their leader—and the birth of their new master.
Matteo coughed blood, his voice weak but defiant. "The Grimaldis… will rise again… even if I fall…"
Lucius threw back his head and laughed, the sound shaking the men's very souls. "Rise again? Fool. There will be no ashes left of you to rise from." In one brutal motion, he lifted Matteo by the throat, holding him high for all to see, crimson eyes glowing with unholy fury.
The Don kicked and clawed, but his strength was gone. His face turned purple, his voice strangled into silence. His men shouted his name, but none dared step forward. One by one, they lowered their heads, surrendering to the Devil without a word.
With a sickening crack, Lucius's hand twisted. Don Matteo Grimaldi's body went limp, dangling like a broken doll. He dropped to the ground in a heap, his eyes still open but empty of life. The reign of the Grimaldis had ended in a single night.
Lucius turned to the trembling soldiers, his grin wider than ever. "Your Don is dead. His pride killed him. Now the only question that matters…" He spread his arms, his laughter filling the night. "…is which of you will kneel first?"