The morning sun rose over the Franfurt estate, painting its marble walls in gold. But inside, the air was tense, heavy, alive with the hum of preparation.Denilson stood in the training yard, pistol in hand, Carver pacing behind him. Targets were set up along the far wall, human silhouettes marked with red circles at the heart and head, “Again,” Carver barked.Denilson raised the gun, his wound pulling with each movement. BANG. BANG. Two shots ripped through the targets, one clean, the other slightly wide.Carver exhaled smoke. “Too slow. You hesitate when the pain kicks in. Pain is a teacher, but only if you learn fast.” Denilson’s jaw tightened. “I’m learning.”Carver smirked, stepping closer, his voice low. “Then learn this: trust no one. Not even me.” Denilson’s brow furrowed, but Carver clapped his shoulder and walked off before he could reply.Inside the mansion, Jenna sat alone in a dim parlor, her hands wrapped around a glass of water. She hadn’t touched food in two days. The

The grand hall was a furnace of fire and blood. Flames crawled up velvet drapes, smoke curled beneath the chandeliers, and corpses littered the marble like broken statues.And through it all, Victor walked as if he owned the fire. His scarred grin cut through the smoke, eyes burning with amusement.“Denilson Franfurt,” he called, spreading his arms wide. “The boy heir. The dog turned wolf.” His laugh echoed, harsh and cruel. “I killed your father, and you think you’ll do better than him? Come, then. Show me your teeth.”Denilson’s grip on his pistol tightened until his knuckles whitened. His voice was a blade. “You won’t leave this hall alive", Victor tilted his head, chuckling. “Bold. Just like your father. He begged, you know. At the end.”Something inside Denilson snapped. A roar tore from his chest as he fired. BANG.The bullet sang through the smoke missed by inches as Victor moved with predator’s grace. His men opened fire, chaos exploding anew.Marcus surged forward like a stor

The warehouse echoed with the rumble of voices. Men leaned over maps, cigarettes glowing, glasses of whiskey trembling as the council argued,“He’s too green,” one man snarled, jabbing a finger at Denilson. “Barely standing from his wound. You’d send us to follow a bleeding pup?”, Denilson sat rigid, the ache in his side gnawing at him, but his eyes locked on the man. “Better to follow a bleeding wolf than a coward too fat to fight.”The hall went silent. The insult hung heavy, Marcus’s lips curved faintly. He said nothing only watched, waiting. The man’s face darkened, but he said no more.Denilson leaned over the map, voice steady. “Victor owns the northern docks now. That gives him ships, trade routes, and leverage. We cut him off before he digs in. We hit the shipment he’s expecting tomorrow night.”Another voice rose. “And if it’s a trap?” Denilson’s gaze burned. “Then we spring it and bury his men in their own net.” Marcus finally spoke, his voice low, satisfied. “So let it be.

The dock shook beneath their boots as Denilson charged, his pistol spitting fire. The roar of the sea and the thunder of guns merged into one endless scream. “Forward!” he bellowed, his voice ripping through the chaos. “To the ship!”At first, only a handful followed. But as Denilson cut through the first wave of soldiers, as his fury tore men down like wheat, more surged after him. Their fear broke. Their blood boiled.The Franfurt men became wolves, Bullets sparked off steel crates, blood sprayed the mist, bodies tumbled into the black water.Denilson leapt onto the gangway, firing point blank into the guards. His side burned with every step, but he didn’t slow. Behind him, his men howled as they poured onto the ramp, The ship groaned under the weight of battle.On the convoy line, Jenna’s world dissolved into screams. Victor’s soldiers swarmed, smashing glass, dragging men from the cars. A blade slashed across her shoulder as she shoved the door open and stumbled into the night.A

Denilson stood at the head of the table, blood still crusted at his temple, his coat torn, his body aching. But his eyes his eyes burned. “Say that again,” he growled.The lieutenant stepped closer, towering, his scarred face twisted. “You are a curse. You’ll get us all killed. Marcus props you up like a puppet, but you’re nothing. Not your father. Not even half the man he was.”The council erupted in shouts, some for Denilson, others against, Denilson didn’t move. He only stared, Then, without warning, he drew his pistol and pressed it to the man’s forehead, The room froze. “Say it again,” Denilson whispered.Silence. Only the ticking of the overhead light, The lieutenant’s jaw worked, but no sound came. Sweat trickled down his face, Finally, he muttered, “Wolf.”Denilson’s finger eased from the trigger. He holstered the pistol, his voice cold as winter, “This is war. Doubt me again in front of my men, and you’ll bleed before Victor gets the chance.”He turned, slamming his hand down