Page 2 of His Ruthless Claim

I don't move, continuing to clean beneath my nails with surgical precision. "He'll break within the next thirty minutes."

"Break? BREAK?" Father grabs a hammer from my carefully arranged tools, scattering the rest across the floor. The metallic clatter sets my teeth on edge. "I'll show you how a real Mantione handles business."

The hammer connects with Torres's kneecap. The crack of bone mingles with his renewed screams. Blood sprays across my father's white shirt - amateur. Mother would have known how to remove those stains.

"Where's the fucking shipment?" Another swing, another scream. "Thisis how you get answers!"

I remain motionless, one hand resting on my watch. Each wild blow reveals another tactical error - too much force dispersed incorrectly, vital organs damaged prematurely, information compromised by shock. Torres's eyes roll back as consciousness fades. Inefficient.

My phone vibrates, and I look away from the mess he's making. The message preview catches my attention.

Cappalletti soldiers spotted at the docks. Giovanni demanding meeting - threatens war over territory breach.

Father notices my slight shift in posture. "What? More bad news from your precious 'modern methods'?" He spits the words, hammer dripping gore onto my polished shoes.

I pocket the phone, maintaining eye contact. "The Cappallettis seem unhappy with your recent... expansion efforts."

"Fuck them!" He hurls the hammer. It embeds in the wall inches from my head. I don't blink. It's been so long, I've forgotten what it even feels like to be afraid - and that has left my body without its survival instincts. "You think you're so much smarter than me, with your clean hands and fancy suits. But this?" He grabs Torres by the hair, yanking his head back. "This is who we are. This is what your mother married into. What you are to become."

My fingers trace the watch face, its steady ticking drowning out Torres's wet gasps. "No, Father. This is who you are."

I watch Father storm out, his drunken rage echoing through the warehouse like a child's tantrum. The door slams with enough force to rattle my instruments. Wasteful. His outbursts grow more frequent, his control slipping like sand through arthritic fingers. It's a wonder he even holds it together in front of the other families - and even then it's not well.

Torres hangs motionless, blood pooling beneath the chair. His breathing comes in wet, rattling gasps - Father's hammer did more damage than intended. As always.

I check my watch. Two hours and seventeen minutes wasted. With proper technique, I could have extracted the information with minimal cleanup required. Now the concrete will need resurfacing to remove the stains.

My fingers trace the intricate engravings on the watch face. Mother understood efficiency. She taught me chess, showedme how to think ten moves ahead while others focused on immediate gratification. Father never learned that lesson.

I select a clean scalpel. One precise cut ends Torres's suffering, the blade finding the carotid artery with surgical accuracy. His death is quick, quiet - everything Father isn't capable of anymore.

My phone is already in hand, muscle memory dialing the secure line. "Meeting. One hour. The usual location." I end the call before Carmine can respond. He knows better than to ask questions. That's why he's one of the few that knows what's coming.

Blood seeps into the cuffs of my dress shirt. I'll need to change before the meeting. The watch catches my eye again as I roll down my sleeves. Mother's voice echoes in my mind. "Appearances matter, piccolo. Control what they see."

I straighten my collar, movements mechanical. The crew will fall in line - they always do. Fear is more reliable than loyalty. Father's time approaches its end, like the steady ticking of my watch. The family needs precision, not passion. Evolution, not erosion.

My reflection in the warehouse window shows nothing. No tension, no anticipation. Just empty blue eyes and perfect posture. Mother would be proud.

I dial another number. "Clean-up required. Full disposal." The watch gleams under fluorescent lights as I check the time again. Everything proceeds according to schedule.

Then, I head to meet Carmine, Bas, Mickey, and Ace. The only ones that I trust enough to let know my plans - but that's as far as that goes. They give me updates, and I tell them to keep their mouths shut.

Back in my office, I study the surveillance photos spread across my mahogany desk. She is the reason that my father's lifeis coming to an abrupt end. He can't seem to do one thing right, and I am tired of waiting on it. So, it's time to take action.

Maria's face stares back at me from a dozen angles - her warm brown eyes filled with fear, thick curls disheveled, designer clothes wrinkled from rough handling. Enzo Rossi's tattooed arm appears in the corner of one frame, his grip tight on her elbow as he escorts her into the Cappalletti safehouse. At least she doesn't look hurt.

The crystal tumbler beside me remains untouched, unlike my father who hurls another bottle against the wall down the hall. His slurred curses about Giovanni's latest rejection echo through the building. Three weeks of failed negotiations, each one pushing him closer to the edge I've carefully crafted. I just have to finish slotting my loyalties or I'll have a bit of a war on my hands.

The change of power in the families is always messy, even if a don is retiring. When his son kills him…

Well, we'll see if I need to prove how true my reputation is at that point.

I trace Maria's features in the closest photo. She looks like my mother, not in the features since they weren't technically related, but in the softness in her features and those kind eyes. It makes childhood memories rattle in the back of my mind.

"You ungrateful bastards!" Father's voice booms. "I'll kill every last one of you!"

My fingers brush over my watch face, its steady ticking a counterpoint to his chaos. This is how he handles his position, instead of cutting deals that will actually save his own niece. We have the location of the warehouse she's in - though I'm certain she's been moved based on these photos - and he's arguing with the Don over territory. He thinks he can acquire the place they are holding her. I know what a waste that tactic is.

---