The Devil's laughter still echoed in the minds of the Grimaldi soldiers as they bowed deeper, their foreheads scraping the pavement. Lucius stood over them, crimson eyes glowing like a curse. "Rise," he commanded, his voice cold but commanding. "From this night forward, you are mine. Fail me, betray me, and your corpses will hang as warnings."
The men obeyed, trembling as they stood. Darius stepped forward, wiping his bloodied blade on a corpse. "Another empire broken, Master. Soon, no one will dare whisper against the Devil's Mafia."
Lucius smirked, his gaze sweeping the trembling soldiers. "Good. But remember, fear is not enough. Fear must be fed. And I will feed it until the world drowns in my shadow." His evil laughter rolled through the night, sealing the broken spirits of those who listened.
Meanwhile, far from the Devil's grasp, Enzo stumbled into an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the docks. His wounds ached, but rage burned stronger than pain. He slammed his fist against the wall, tears of fury spilling down his face. "Uncle… I swear I'll avenge you. I'll tear the Devil from his throne, even if it costs me everything."
The sound of footsteps echoed through the warehouse. Enzo froze, reaching for a broken pipe as a weapon. Out of the shadows stepped a woman in a black coat, her eyes sharp as knives. She smirked when she saw him. "So, Matteo's little nephew survived."
Enzo's jaw tightened. "Who are you?"
The woman's smirk widened. "Someone who's been waiting for the Devil to slip. You want revenge, boy? Then you'll need me."
Enzo's heart pounded as he tightened his grip on the pipe. He didn't trust her—but her words burned with promise. For the first time since Matteo's death, he felt a spark of hope.