Page 34 of Cat and Mouse

"Then we'll make our own," I say, my voice cold. "I want Rossiani's head on a plate. Find out everything he's planning and crush it. Leave no room for error."

Matteo nods. "I'll get on it."

I look at the wreckage of my father's desk, the papers scattered like confetti. "We're going to show everyone what happens when they cross the DeLuca family. No more games."

As Matteo leaves, I feel the enormity of what's ahead. My father's death has lit a fire in me, a fire that won't be extinguished until every last threat is dealt with. I'm not just seeking revenge—I'm consolidating power, ensuring that anyone who dares challenge us will regret it.

I grab a glass of whiskey from the minibar, taking a long swig. The burn of the alcohol matches the rage in my chest. I'm ready to do whatever it takes to secure our place, to honor my father's memory with a reign of iron.

The war is just beginning, and I'm ready for it.

The next morning, I'm up early, standing in front of the room where everything changes. The air is thick with the kind of tension that always comes when power shifts hands. My men are gathered, some of them still shaking off the bloodshed from the night before, but they know what's coming. Hell, we all do.

I step into the middle of the room, letting the weight of my presence do the talking for a second. There's a murmur, low and anxious, like they're waiting for a storm to hit. And they're right.

I raise my hand. Silence.

"My father," I say, my voice hard as steel, "is dead."

There's a beat, a collective breath held in the room. Then whispers. Shock. Anger. I slam my hand down on the table, rattling the whiskey glasses.

"He was pragmatic," I continue, my eyes sweeping across the room. "Careful. Calculated." I pause, letting the tension build. "But I'm not."

The room stays quiet, every set of eyes on me. They know what's coming. They can feel it, just like I can, the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

"I'm not going to run things like my father did. We're not playing chess anymore. We're not negotiating. From now on, we do things my way."

I take a step forward, locking eyes with Matteo. His face is unreadable, but I know he's ready. He's always been ready for this day.

"The streets will flow with Rossiani blood," I say, my voice low but deadly. "I'm done playing games. They took something from me, and now I'm going to take everything from them."

A few nods, some murmurs of approval. I can see the hunger for violence, for revenge, rising in the room.

"Marco Rossiani thought he could fuck with us," I continue. "He thought killing my father would make us weak. But all he did was give me a reason to wipe his entire fucking family off the map."

I look around the room, seeing the fire in their eyes now. They're with me. They want this as much as I do.

"We start today," I say, grabbing the bottle of whiskey off the table. I pour a shot into my glass, the amber liquid catching the light. "To my father. The king. The man who built this empire. But now…" I raise the glass, smirking. "Now it's my fucking empire."

There's a pause, and then everyone's reaching for their glasses, pouring whiskey like it's water.

"To the king," Matteo says, lifting his glass.

"To the fucking king," I echo, and we all drink, the whiskey burning down my throat like the fire I feel in my chest.

The clinking of glasses and the low hum of voices fill the room, but my mind's already moving on. My father's death is just the beginning. There's work to do.

"Matteo," I say, pulling him aside. "Get the funeral processions started. I want my father buried properly. Tonight. No delays."

He nods, not needing to ask any questions. "It'll be done."

"Good." I look around the room, at the men who are ready to go to war for me. "After the funeral, we strike. I want every one of those Rossiani bastards dead by the end of the week."

Matteo smirks. "You've got it."

I drain the rest of my whiskey and slam the glass down on the table. The room is alive with the buzz of revenge, of the blood that's about to be spilled.

Tonight, my father will be laid to rest, and then… Then, it's war.

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