Mark shot Matteo a pointed look, silently pleading with him to calm down.
Matteo didn't say another word.
He turned on his heel and walked into the living room, his expensive shoes clicking against the marble.
Marco took his seat across from Matteo, unhurriedly, as if he owned the space. "You look relaxed for a man who's starting to lose control," Marco said coolly.
Matteo didn't look up from his phone. "If you have something to say, Marco, say it and leave. I have a busy morning."
Marco gave a faint smile. "I'll get straight to it. Our father's shipping port in the north, the one you've been overseeing. The numbers are down, and your attention is clearly… divided."
He paused, letting the words settle. "I'm here to tell you to step back. Hand it over to someone who can actually carry the weight, since you obviously can't."
Matteo finally looked up. His expression was cold as he held Marco's gaze. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
