Chapter 5
The study in the lower wing of the estate was a stark contrast to the bright, vivid summer day outside. It was a windowless, soundproofed room paneled in dark, heavy mahogany. The cinematic lighting here was artificial and highly focused, casting long, imposing shadows. A massive oak desk sat at the center of the room, flanked by two heavy leather chairs.
Conrad was forcefully shoved into one of the chairs. He stumbled, catching himself on the armrests, his expensive casual shirt now wrinkled and damp with nervous sweat. Miriam was guided into the second chair, her elegant heels clicking nervously against the polished stone floor. She clutched her pearl necklace as if it were a rosary.
Domenico walked into the room last. He slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket, rolling his broad shoulders before taking a seat behind the desk. He did not speak immediately. He simply sat in the heavy leather chair, his tattooed hands resting flat on the immaculate wooden surface, his intimidating eyes locked onto his cousin.
"You are making a massive mistake, Domenico," Conrad said, attempting to break the suffocating silence. He forced a scoff, though his hands were visibly trembling. "You're going to start a civil war within the family over a frightened toddler."
"I am not starting a war, Conrad," Domenico replied, his low, raspy voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. "I am ending an infection. You swung a steel rod inches from my son’s leg over a toy football. I am a reasonable man, but I am not a foolish one. Anger like that is not born in a single afternoon. Tell me why you truly hate my blood."
"I don't hate your blood!" Conrad protested loudly, leaning forward. "I was stressed! The shipping manifests from the northern docks have been a disaster all week, and the kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Domenico slowly raised a single, heavily tattooed finger. The gesture was so quiet, yet so incredibly dominant, that Conrad’s mouth snapped shut instantly.
"Do not lie to me in this room," Domenico warned, spacing his words with terrifying, cold precision. "If you lie to me again, I will have the guards remove your tongue. We will communicate via pen and paper. Am I clear?"
Miriam gasped, her rosy skin turning a sickly shade of white. "Domenico, you wouldn't dare! We share the same grandfather!"
"And yet, only one of us inherited his mind," Domenico stated, his gaze shifting to the older woman. "You defended him, Miriam. You stood in the bright sunlight, in front of forty guests, and told me that striking my child was a lesson in respect. Why?"
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"Because you are weak!" Miriam suddenly shouted, her aristocratic facade cracking under the sheer pressure of the interrogation. "You coddle that boy! You run this syndicate like a legitimate corporation, but we are not corporate executives, Domenico! We are rulers! And rulers must be feared!"
"You confuse fear with discipline," Domenico said softly. "A common mistake among those who have never actually held power."
