The car pulled up in front of the Riegrow mansion, its headlights washing over the stone steps and towering iron doors. A guard stepped forward at once, pulling the back door open.
"Young Master, your father is waiting," the guard said with a respectful bow.
Chaos merely nodded and stepped out.
The mansion was silent as he entered, the kind of silence that felt too polished, too controlled.
He crossed the grand foyer without sparing the chandeliers or marble floors a glance, then turned toward the staircase leading down into the underground level of the house.
The farther he descended, the colder the air became.
The walls narrowed around him, the scent of smoke, iron, and damp concrete growing heavier with every step. Somewhere below, a man's muffled cries echoed through the corridor... weak, broken sounds that had clearly been going on for a while.
Chaos stopped in front of a steel door and pushed it open.
Inside, a man was chained to an iron chair. His clothes were soaked with blood, his body battered beyond recognition. Two fingers were missing from one hand, blood dripping steadily onto the floor beneath him. A gag had been stuffed into his mouth to stop him from screaming.
Standing over him was Caesar.
His white shirt was stained with blood, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A cigar rested between the fingers of one hand, while a pair of pliers hung loosely from the other.
"Caesar," Chaos called softly.
His gaze flickered briefly to the tortured man.
Caesar turned. "Ah… you're here." He motioned toward one of the guards. The man stepped forward immediately, and Caesar handed him the pliers. Then Caesar bent down, wiped his bloodied hand against the captive's clothes, and tapped the man lightly on the cheek.
"Be good," Caesar said, his voice almost gentle. "I don't want to hear a sound from you while I talk to my son, mm?"
The prisoner nodded frantically, his eyes wide with pain and terror.
Caesar smiled. Then he straightened and faced Chaos. "How was school?"
"So-so," Chaos replied.
Caesar studied him for a moment.
He knew Chaos hated the school, his son found the whole thing insulting, and unbearably beneath him. but there was something amusing about watching his son try to blend in with ordinary people. With a faint chuckle, he took a drag from his cigar.
"Everything has already been arranged," he said. "You can leave in a few weeks."
Chaos tilted his head slightly. "That soon? You said I had to wait a year."
"I changed my mind." Caesar exhaled smoke. "I worked it out faster than expected. Besides, you hate it here."
Chaos did not know what game his father was playing.
One moment, Caesar was terrifying. The next, he acted like a concerned father. The switch was irritating, but not surprising. Caesar Riegrow had always worn whatever face suited the room best.
It did not matter. Chaos wanted to leave anyway. He was tired of pretending to be normal among civilians.
"When do I leave?" he asked.
"Two weeks," Caesar said. Then his gaze shifted back to the prisoner. "Maybe less."
Chaos followed his gaze.
"The Gullians are growing bolder by the second," Caesar continued. "Clean them up, and you can leave sooner."
Chaos looked at the bloodied man in the chair. "He is one of theirs?"
The Gullians were a drug cartel operating near Caesar's territory. In the past, they had known their place. They moved quietly, paid respect, and kept their hands away from Riegrow affairs. Then their old boss died and his son took over.
And foolishness, as Caesar often said, was usually inherited louder than wisdom.
Since then, the Gullians had grown reckless. They had interfered with shipments, disrupted arrangements, and begun circling too close to Riegrow interests.
Caesar hummed. "Mm. I was stressed and needed somewhere to pour it. Fortunately, this fool was seeking death. The men caught him snooping around our area."
Chaos walked toward the table at the side of the room.
Several weapons were laid out neatly across it. Knives. Guns. Blades. Tools meant for pain, interrogation, or both. He picked up a gun. "I wondered why you were doing the torture yourself," he said, cocking it as he turned back to Caesar.
Caesar spread his arms with a shrug, cigar still between his fingers.
"Stress, my boy. It happens to the best of us." His smile sharpened. "You should try it. It is healthier than bottling everything up."
Chaos frowned. "I do not bottle anything up."
"Yes, yes." Caesar waved him off.
Without looking, Chaos raised the gun and pointed it at the man in the chair.
Bang!
The shot echoed through the basement. The man's body jerked once, then went still.
"That's one down," Chaos said coldly.
"A whole lot more to go," Caesar finished for him.
Chaos looked at him and smiling coldly. "Four days," he said. "If my jet is not ready by then, I will add you to the pile, Father."
The guards immediately shifted, weapons rising at the perceived threat, but Caesar lifted a hand and stopping them.
"Are you lot crazy?" Caesar barked. "This is family bonding time."
The guards lowered their weapons at once and stepped back.
Caesar turned back to Chaos, his smile returning.
"Deal."
Chaos turned to leave but stopped. His hand remained on the gun at his side, but his expression had shifted into something quieter.
"What does it take to climb the ranks of society?"
Caesar raised a brow. That was not a question he had expected from a son who had been so determined to run away from society.
"Not much," Caesar said slowly. "If you have the right name, the right money, and the right people kneeling in the right places."
Chaos turned back to face him.
"I want that."
Caesar's amusement deepened. "Oh?"
Chaos held his gaze.
"Why?"
For a moment, Chaos did not answer. The thought had come suddenly. Too suddenly. He could not trace its full shape yet, but it was there... cold, clear, and growing.
Society, influence, a name that did not only move in shadows.
A place at the table where the clean-handed monsters smiled, negotiated, and pretended their wealth had never smelled of blood.
Chaos exhaled softly. "You clearly want to dive deeper into society," he said. "I want that."
Caesar watched him closely.
"If you want that," Caesar said, "then you will have to associate with a great many people. Blending in will not be enough. You will have to become one of them."
Chaos did not look away.
"Do you understand what that means?"
"A legal business," Chaos said. "One standing away from the bloodied empire of the Riegrows. I will build it."
Caesar's smile vanished.
The Riegrows had always mixed their mafia operations with a few legal businesses, but they had never crossed fully into the light.
Caesar had political connections, yes. Influence, certainly. But had he ever imagined himself as a respectable businessman with clean hands?
Never.
Caesar had no interest in pretending to be a humble businessman. He was involved with politicians, judges, financiers, and men who wore expensive suits over rotten souls, but he had never once believed himself to be clean.
So why was his son suddenly interested in clean money?
Why now?
"I can't tell what you're thinking, Adrian," Caesar said, walking toward him. He stopped close enough to tower over him.
Caesar was a tall man, broad and imposing. He slipped one hand into his pocket, brought the cigar to his mouth, and blew smoke directly into Chaos's face.
"But if that's what you want, I can help you. What do I get in return?"
Chaos's answer came without hesitation. "Me."
Caesar said nothing.
"I need an empire," Chaos continued. "You need a son who can raise hell for you. Give me a legal stand in society, and I will make sure no one ever crosses us."
Caesar stared at him. The silence stretched between them
Then he burst into laughter, the sound filled the basement, loud and delighted, echoing off blood-stained walls and cold stone.
"Hahahaha…" He lowered the cigar from his lips.
The guards kept their heads lowered.
Chaos only watched him. Caesar laughed until he seemed satisfied, then pointed his cigar toward his son.
"Good."
His eyes gleamed. "You have four days. The men will assist you."
Chaos bowed, then turned and left.
Caesar watched him go, the amusement slowly fading from his face.
Adrian had always been detached from most things. Caesar had assumed his son would eventually run the clan quietly from the shadows, ruling beneath the surface like a ghost.
But now it seemed Chaos had set his eyes on something larger.
A public empire with a clean throne built beside a bloody one.
Caesar's smile slowly disappeared. Whatever the reason, it did not matter. As long as it did not weaken the Riegrow name, Caesar would allow it.
"You can have my support," Caesar murmured, his eyes darkening as the door shut behind Chaos. "But whether it rises or falls… that is entirely up to you, Chaos."