"The first time was grace, Step-mother. The second time is a missing hand."
The air in the room didn't just break; it died.
The heavy, rhythmic thud-click of a polished cane against the marble floor echoed from the hallway, slow and predatory. It wasn't the sound of an old man walking; it was the sound of a judge approaching the bench.
The servants didn't just step back—they vanished into the shadows, their heads bowed so low they were almost touching their chests. My stepmother's hand, still trapped in my grip, began to tremble violently. Safiya looked like she wanted to melt into the floorboards.
"What is this filth?"
The voice wasn't a shout. It was a low, guttural rasp that seemed to vibrate the very glass on the table.
Don Caruso stepped into the frame. He didn't look like a father; he looked like a monument of cold, hard-carved stone. His tailored suit was as black as the ink in a death warrant, and his eyes…the same eyes I saw in the mirror every morning…were devoid of any human warmth. They were the eyes of a man who had ordered more deaths than he had given hugs.
He stopped two paces away. He didn't look at the mess on the table. He didn't look at his wife's bruised wrist. He looked directly at me, his gaze heavy enough to crush a weaker soul.
"Don…" Step-mother's voice was a shattered whisper. She looked like she was facing her executioner.
He didn't acknowledge her. He didn't even blink. He simply lifted his heavy, silver-topped walking stick and slammed it once against the floor. The crack was like a gunshot.
"I have spent thirty years building a name that makes men tremble," he began, his voice dangerously soft, yet filling every corner of the room. "And I come home to find my own blood acting like street trash over a cup of tea?"
He took one step closer, his shadow falling over me like a shroud. The scent of expensive tobacco and old blood seemed to cling to him.
"I have condoned your insolence, Sin. I allowed you into this house out of a momentary lapse of pity for the woman who birthed you. But do not mistake my patience for weakness." He leaned onto his cane, his knuckles white. "I gave you this life. I provided the very walls that shield you from the wolves outside. Do not forget that I can strip it all away with a single breath. Do not bring this family down, or I will bury you so deep the earth itself will forget you existed."
The pressure in the room was immense, a physical weight on my chest. Any other person would have been on their knees, begging for mercy. The old Sin would have been shaking.
I chuckled.
The sound was small, dry, and utterly out of place in the face of his fury. I watched his silver-gray brows furrow in genuine disbelief. No one laughed at the Don. No one.
I took a step forward, closing the final inch of the space he used to keep me out of. I let the ghosts of every beating, every cold look, and every night spent wondering why he hated me fuel my steps.
"I have just one thing to say, Father," I whispered.
I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. Up close, I could see the fine network of wrinkles around his eyes, the slight tremor in the hand holding the cane. The titan was still made of flesh. He was still mortal.
"I want something," I breathed into the silence. "I'll bring down the Ricci. Every single last one of them. I will feed you their hearts on a silver platter. And you will watch me do it. And when I am standing over their ruins, Father, you are to hand over the company to me…the child it rightfully belongs to…or else…"
I pulled back, my smirk wide and venomous, a perfect mirror of the man standing before me. I didn't wait for his reaction. I didn't need to. I could feel the heat of his stunned silence on my back as I walked away.
Or else… I shall bring down your entire empire too, and I'll make sure you're the last one left alive to watch it burn.