Chapter 3 - The Blood-Stained CrownDominic looked immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, his silver-streaked hair combed back, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He didn't look like a grieving brother; he looked like a king claiming his throne.
"Well, well, big brother," Dominic chuckled, stepping further into the room while Luca kept his gun trained steadily on my chest. "I always wondered how long it would take for that old Sicilian witch's magic to unravel my masterpiece. Turns out, it just took a three-year-old with a wet rag."
I slowly stood up from behind the desk, keeping my movements deliberate. Years of street survival instincts kicked in, freezing my rage into a razor-sharp focus.
"You killed my wife," I said softly. The quietness in my voice made even Luca flinch.
"Elena wouldn't listen to reason," Dominic sighed, shrugging his shoulders as if discussing a bad business merger. "I offered her everything. Power, wealth, a life outside of this cage you built for her. But she chose you. And then, when she found out I was siphoning funds from the shipping docks to build my own army... she threatened to tell you."
He took another step forward, his eyes gleaming with mad ambition.
"She had to go, Dante. Just like your little girl's legs. I had her car rigged. I thought the crash that paralyzed Isabella would break your spirit enough for me to take over smoothly. But you just got angrier. Harder." Dominic shook his head. "A terrible waste."
"And you thought you won," I said, my lips curling into a dark, predatory smile.
May you like
Dominic frowned, his smirk faltering slightly. "You're standing in your own study, surrounded by my men, looking down the barrel of a gun. What part of this looks like I lost?"
"You forgot one crucial detail, little brother," I whispered. "I taught you everything you know about this life. But I never taught you everything I know."
