2026-04-11 20:03:08
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Ch 58. Lunch of Kings
The sharp clink of silverware against porcelain rang through the silence of La Luna. Don Vladimir had just finished the last cut of his medium-rare wagyu steak. He dabbed the corner of his lips with a white linen napkin as if there weren’t a sniper rifle possibly trained on his skull from two kilometers away. Eduardo remained still. He hadn’t touched the red wine in his glass. His sunken, bloodshot eyes stayed fixed on Vladimir, trying to dissect whatever lay behind that kindly old man’s face. “You know, Eduardo,” Vladimir broke the silence in smooth Italian, his gaze sharp as a razor, “most men in your position would pull the trigger the moment they stepped into this room. They think courage is measured by how quickly you can kill. But you… you sit here, speak my language fluently, and wait for me to finish my meal. That’s rispetto. Respect.” Eduardo leaned back against the heavy wooden chair. “I didn’t come here to make a lunch date, Don. I came to define my territor
Ch 57. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
That morning, on the top floor of Sark Tower, the air felt colder than usual. Not because the AC was set too low, but because of an ivory-white envelope sealed with red wax, stamped with the head of a wolf, lying on Eduardo’s desk. It didn’t explode. It wasn’t poisoned. But what it contained was far deadlier than any high-caliber bullet. “He wants a meeting, Ed. Neutral ground. Restaurant ‘La Luna’ on the edge of the city,” Belerik said, pacing back and forth, his fingers tapping nonstop against his tablet. “This is a trap. I’d bet my kidney on it. A pure trap.” Eduardo stared at the envelope, eyes hollow. “Vladimir isn’t Claude, Rik. He doesn’t need cheap tricks to kill me. If he wanted me dead, he’d just send a squadron of the Praetorians to level this building.” “But ‘diplomacy’ is just mafia code for digging your grave,” Gord cut in, cleaning his shotgun in the corner. “We should hit them first, Boss. My luck’s been great lately.” “No,” Eduardo shook his head s
Ch 56. The School of Monsters
The morning sunlight that streamed through the glass windows of Sark Tower felt razor sharp, stabbing into Eduardo’s eyes, still sensitive from the lingering migraine caused by yesterday’s ordeal in his subconscious. He sat at his desk, staring at a glass of water and a stack of untouched intelligence reports. His mind kept echoing his grandfather’s words. Your vessel is already cracked. You need a blood heir. The office door opened quietly. Belerik stepped in, his face more worn than usual. He wasn’t carrying financial reports this time. “Ed, you feeling any better?” Belerik asked as he sat across from him. “Just get to it, Rik. What is it?” Eduardo replied flatly. His voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion. Belerik let out a long breath and scratched his head. “St. Jude International. Chloe’s school. The principal just called me… five times in one hour. They want you there right now. There’s a ‘serious incident.’” Eduardo pinched the bridge of his nose.
Ch 55. The Grandfather’s Ultimatum
The world felt like it was being dragged into a narrow drain. Eduardo couldn’t feel his fingers, couldn’t feel his own heartbeat. There was only a low, humming silence. Then, slowly, the smell of aged wood and neglected library dust crept into his senses. Eduardo opened his eyes. He was no longer in the smoking ruins of the casino. He stood in an endless white room filled with piles of antiques, wall clocks ticking out of sync, and photo albums floating in the air. At the center of the room, sitting in a creaking rocking chair, was the “Grandfather.” But this time, he didn’t look eccentric like usual. No sunglasses. No cigar. He sat upright, his eyes glowing red, his aura so oppressive that Eduardo felt his chest tighten. “Are you actually stupid, or do you just not have a brain anymore, Grandson?” the Grandfather’s voice rumbled like restrained thunder. Eduardo tried to stand, but his knees buckled. “I saved my man’s life, asshole. What’s it to you?” “Your man
Ch 54. Luck Running Out?
The dull stench of burned carpet and the metallic tang of fresh blood filled the air inside The Royal Flush casino. Crystal chandeliers that once symbolized luxury now swayed unevenly, casting weak flickers of light before finally shattering under the heat devouring the velvet walls. Gord gasped for breath behind an overturned baccarat table. His expensive white shirt was torn apart, soaked in soot and a widening stain of red across his abdomen. In his hands, a compact Uzi felt impossibly heavy, as if the metal had turned to lead. “Damn… is my luck really out or what?” Gord rasped, trying to cock his weapon. Click. Jammed. “What the fuck! You jam now too, you piece of shit?!” Outside, the sound of steady, tactical footsteps approached. Not the chaotic scrambling of street thugs, but the firm cadence of military boots. The Praetorians. Don Vladimir’s elite force, trained to feel no fear, and more importantly, trained to eliminate targets with machine-like effici
Ch 53. Flight into Darkness
The private elevator of Sark Tower dropped at a speed that should have turned Eduardo’s stomach, but he didn’t blink. He stared at his reflection in the cold stainless steel walls. His expensive suit was still immaculate, but beneath it, he felt like a corpse forced to stand. The sound of Emily’s laughter and the jazz music from the penthouse slowly faded, replaced by the dull, monotonous hum of the elevator. Bang! Eduardo slammed his fist into the wall. Pain shot through his knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest from Emily’s words. “A walking ATM,” Eduardo hissed. Then he laughed, a dry sound that was closer to a sob. “Incredible. I killed my humanity so she could buy silk curtains, and that’s what I am to her?” The elevator chimed at the ground floor. The doors opened onto a quiet lobby. Eduardo stepped out, ignoring the respectful greetings from two armed guards near the exit. He got into his black SUV parked in the VIP lane. “Boss? B
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