The parlor air grew heavier with every breath. Rosario stood stiff at the table's side, his father's crimson gaze lingering like a blade pressed against his throat.
Then the doors opened again. Two guards dragged a man inside, his hands bound, his face bruised and swollen. They shoved him onto the marble floor, and he crumpled like a broken doll.
Rosario's stomach lurched.
The man coughed blood, his voice cracking. "Please… mercy, Boss! I-I didn't mean to—"
"Silence."
Just that one word from his father froze the entire room. Even the guards went rigid.
Rosario's heart pounded. He recognized this scene. The book had described moments like this, the mafia boss passing judgment without flinching, traitors silenced before they could beg. He hadn't thought it would feel so real.
His father swirled the wine in his glass, eyes never leaving the man on the floor. "You thought you could steal from me. Lie to me. Do you know what that makes you?"
The man sobbed. "No, please, I swear I—"
The Boss snapped his fingers.
A gunshot cracked through the room. One of the guards pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Blood spilled across the marble. The man collapsed, lifeless, eyes still wide in terror.
Rosario's legs nearly buckled. His lungs screamed for air. This is real. This is real. That man just died.
The Boss finally turned his gaze back to Rosario. His crimson eyes gleamed, testing, dissecting.
"Do you see, my son? A Lobélia cannot hesitate. Power is survival. Mercy is weakness."
Rosario's throat closed. His mind raced—Amera screaming inside, panicking, wanting to run—but Rosario's lips forced out a trembling, "Y-yes, Father."
The Boss leaned back, satisfied. "Good. You will learn. One day, this family will be yours to command."
Rosario's blood turned to ice. His pulse hammered in his ears.
Me? Command… this?
The stench of blood clung to the air, heavy and suffocating.
And in that moment, Amera knew the truth.
This wasn't just a bad dream or a twisted prank by fate. She had woken up in the middle of a world where lives were snuffed out like candles, where her new father's approval was written in gunfire and death.
If she wanted to survive here—if she wanted to live long enough to maybe escape—she would have to learn how to play the mafia's game.
Even if it killed her.