The meeting had barely ended when the doors swung open.
He walked in without hesitation, his steps confident, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. A man younger than most of the dons, but older than me—mid-thirties maybe. His tailored suit whispered wealth, and his eyes… those eyes glittered with challenge.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said smoothly, though he didn't look sorry. "But I couldn't resist welcoming our prodigal son back to the table."
The dons shifted in their seats, unease flickering in their gazes. No one stopped him. No one ever did.
"Marco," my uncle said with a hint of amusement. "How… punctual of you."
Marco. The name tasted bitter already.
He turned his gaze on me, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey. "So this is the boy who abandoned his family and came back wearing a crown he never earned."
I didn't move. Didn't blink. "Careful. Wolves who bark too loudly end up with their throats slit."
A ripple of tension spread through the room. Some smirked, others looked nervous. Marco only smiled wider.
"Sharp tongue," he said, pouring himself a drink without asking. "But let's see if it cuts as well as you think. The family doesn't need a ghost who ran away. They need a man who can lead… who can keep them safe."
His eyes flicked to me, then lingered just a second too long on Elena's name in my mother's earlier announcement. I caught the shift. The hidden threat.
This wasn't just about power.
He wanted everything.
I leaned forward, voice low and cold. "Then you'd better pray you never find yourself standing in my shadow. Because men who do… don't last long."
Marco raised his glass, smirking like he already owned the room. "Then let's see, shall we?"
The war had just found its face.