The porcelain cup was already inches from his lips when a tiny voice broke the silence.

Valerio Duca was a man of expensive suits and cheap morals.

He walked into the grand drawing room with an expression of manufactured grief, but his eyes were alive with greed, darting around the room as if already measuring the furniture for his own occupancy.

"Alessandro! My god, brother, I heard the terrible news!" Valerio cried out, stepping toward the leather sofa where Alessandro lay, a heavy wool blanket draped over his legs.

The room was dimly lit. A glass of water and several pill bottles sat on the side table. Alessandro looked pale, his breathing shallow.

"Valerio," Alessandro rasped, coughing weakly. "You came quickly."

"Of course I did! The family needs leadership in times of crisis," Valerio said, taking a seat opposite him. He leaned forward, trying to mask the triumph in his eyes. "The doctors... what do they say? Is it... the heart?"

"They don't know," Alessandro whispered. "A sudden collapse. The cooks... they are checking the food."

Valerio’s hand twitched slightly. "The food? Surely not. You have the most loyal staff in Sicily. Perhaps it is just the stress, Alessandro. You have been carrying the weight of the family for too long. Maybe... it is time to hand over the keys. To let someone else manage the Palermo shipping routes."

Alessandro watched him through half-closed eyelids.

The Palermo routes. The exact routes the Varga syndicate wanted.

"You think you can handle them, Valerio?" Alessandro asked, his voice sounding incredibly frail.

"With my life, cousin," Valerio sneered, his mask finally slipping a fraction. He stood up, walking toward the window. "The world is changing. We cannot be ruled by old men who drink coffee in closed kitchens anymore. We need progress."

Just then, the heavy oak doors of the drawing room swung open.

Sophia walked in, carrying a tray with a fresh pot of tea. She kept her head down, her body shaking slightly as she approached the table.

Valerio turned, his eyes landing on her. A cruel smile touched his lips.

"Ah, the help," Valerio drawled. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Tell me, girl, did you prepare this tea? Or did the clumsy cook do it?"

"I... I prepared it, sir," Sophia stammered, terrified.

Valerio reached out, his fingers pinching her chin, forcing her to look up. "Such a pretty face for a maid. Perhaps when I take over this estate, you can find a more... intimate position in my quarters."

"Leave her alone," a tiny, fierce voice piped up from the doorway.

Valerio froze.

Emma stood there, her tiny hands clenched into fists, her grey rabbit dropped on the floor. Her small face was flushed with anger.

"Emma, no!" Sophia gasped, trying to pull away from Valerio, but his grip on her chin tightened.

"What is this?" Valerio laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "A brat? Since when do we allow rats to run free in the Duca manor?"

He raised his hand, as if to shove Sophia away.

In a fraction of a second, the atmosphere in the room shattered.

Alessandro exploded off the sofa, throwing the blanket aside. The weakness, the paleness, the shallow breath—all gone in an instant. He crossed the distance between them like a striking viper.

Before Valerio could even register the movement, Alessandro’s hand wrapped around his cousin’s throat, slamming him violently against the marble pillar.