Dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit that emphasized his massive frame, he looked less like a returning son and more like a king surveying a crumbling colony. From this height, the servants were ants, scrambling blindly over a field of silver and linen.‘What did he do to them?’ Zarek wondered, eyes tracking a maid who nearly tripped over her own skirt in her haste. ‘How do you break a human being so completely that they treat a simple breakfast like an execution?’He had seen men face firing squads with more dignity than these servants showed while plating eggs.It wasn’t just fear of being fired; it was deep, systemic terror, meticulously cultivated over decades. To Robert Sullivan, a late cup of coffee wasn’t a mistake; it was treason.Zarek shifted his gaze to the double doors at the far end of the hall. The family would arrive any moment: the wives, the brothers, and the man holding the leash.His hand brushed the black envelope tucked into his inner jacket pocket. The lac

Robert didn’t look at his wives.He kept his eyes locked on Zarek at the far end of the table. A dark, jagged smile crossed the patriarch’s face, the look of a man who had finally lost patience with a disobedient hound.“You think this is a choice, Grisha?” Robert whispered, the softness of his voice more terrifying than a shout. “You think you can just decide where you belong in my house?”Robert snapped his fingers. The sound was sharp, a signal rehearsed a thousand times.From the shadows behind the heavy velvet curtains, three men stepped out. They weren’t the standard house guards. These were Robert’s personal Enforcers, men built like stone blocks, dressed in tactical black, their faces void of emotion.“Bring him,” Robert commanded, gesturing to the empty chair at his right hand. “Put the heir where he belongs. If he wants to act like a beast, treat him like one.”The three men moved in perfect, lethal unison, closing the distance toward the foot of the table where Zarek sa

The air in the room was thick enough to choke on.The mention of the Selection Trials had transformed the dining hall from a place of cold tension into a sanctuary of raw, unadulterated fear.“The Trials?” Giorgia finally spoke.Her voice, usually so controlled and melodic, cut sharply with a jagged edge of panic. “Robert, you haven’t invoked the Trials since your own father took the seat. You’re talking about open warfare between your own children. This isn’t a test; it’s a purge!”Her gaze swept down the table… Marcello, Lucian, and the others are taking in the tremor in their hands.Unlike Alessandra, who led with fire, Giorgia led with calculation, and every calculation told her the same thing. Her sons were not prepared for the sheer brutality Zarek represented.Even Alessandra looked genuinely shaken.Her eyes darted to Victor, then to Dante.Bandaged, injured, nursing broken pride, there was no way her children could survive a hunt in their current condition. To her, this wa

Seeing Zarek standing there and hearing his words, Giorgia’s face twisted instantly. There was no chance she would listen to him. When her gaze flicked to Gia and caught the understanding dawning in her daughter’s eyes, her frown snapped into pure rage.“Get out!” Giorgia screamed, her voice cracking under the strain of terror.She lunged across the room, planting herself squarely in front of Gia like a living shield.Her face was flushed, the bruise on her cheek standing out in sharp, ugly relief.“Get out of my sight, you animal! My daughter is not going to those docks! You’ll use the first excuse you get to kill her, then you’ll tell Robert she died in the crossfire, so you’ll have one less rival to worry about!”Gia shrank deeper into the velvet cushions, eyes wide as her mother’s chest heaved.“She is nineteen!” Giorgia shrieked, pointing toward the door with trembling hands. “She is a child! She has no business in the shipyard with the Marcones, and she has no business with a

Zarek’s frown deepened.Ever since he’d hauled Gia over his shoulder like a sack of grain, his mind had been a blur of tactical timers and exit routes.He hadn’t stopped to gauge the depth of her terror, but looking at her now, trembling, wide‑eyed, fumbling with the heavy fabric, it was clear she was drowning.“Learn. Fast,” he repeated, but his voice lacked its usual bite.Patience wasn’t a luxury he could afford. The last hour had been spent watching the civilized Sullivans tear each other apart over toast and titles.His patience hadn’t just run thin; it had evaporated.‘They’re all just noise,’ Zarek thought, his eyes fixed on the red, pulsing icon of the kill‑switch. ‘Robert, the wives, the brothers… they’re all just ghosts in a house that’s already burning. They think this is a game of chess. They don’t realize I’m the one flipping the table.’She fidgeted with the vest, unable to get it on, and the sight drew a deeper scowl from him.Without any more hesitation, he reached ov