In a mansion somewhere in Naples, Italy, the living room was filled with tension so thick it felt like a physical weight. Antonio Ferraro sat rigid in his chair, his face a mask of fury. His wife, Elizabeth, stood at a careful distance, and his two daughters were present, one trembling before him.

A sudden, resounding slap echoed through the room. Antonio’s hand had landed hard across his younger daughter’s cheek, leaving a bright fingerprint that contrasted sharply against her pale skin. She shivered violently, pain and fear mingling in her wide eyes. Even Elizabeth flinched, though she remained at a distance.

“How dare you ruin everything?” Antonio’s voice was low but deadly, each word dripping with venom. “Just a very simple task, and you could not do it!”

“I-I’m sorry, Father…” The girl murmured, stammering, her lips quivering.

“Sorry for yourself, that’s what you should be!” Antonio’s voice rose, anger surging through the room. “It was the only chance we had! Just kill this—fucking Massimo—and you failed!”

Elizabeth stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Antonio, please, take it easy on her—”

“Don’t interfere, woman!” Antonio snapped, his eyes sharp and merciless. “You’re just as stupid and useless as your daughter!”

He turned back to his younger daughter, his face hard. “This was the easiest way to get rid of Massimo. He is the backbone of that family, and with him alive, we cannot bring them down.”

Meanwhile, Isabella, the older daughter, stood back, a wicked smile playing across her lips. She moved closer to her father, her posture casual, yet every movement radiated cunning. “Father, take it easy,” she said, her voice soft, almost teasing. “Don’t stress yourself. She’s just too useless, you know I told you before—you should get rid of her… and her unfortunate mother.”

Antonio’s face softened slightly as he looked at Isabella. “Soon, my dear daughter. She still has a lot to do to fulfill.”

Tears streamed freely down Elizabeth’s face and her younger daughter’s cheeks. Her heart pounded as she questioned the man before her: was he truly her father? What had she done to deserve such cruelty? All their lives, she and her daughter had tried to please him, and yet nothing was ever enough.

Antonio’s anger did not waver. He called for one of his men. “Take her away. Lock her in the room. She will not eat for two days, nor step outside. That will be her punishment for ruining our plans.”

Elizabeth fell to her knees, desperation in her voice. “Please, Antonio! Have mercy on her—”

“Do you want to join her?” he said coldly.

The men moved quickly, carrying the trembling girl away. Her cries echoed through the mansion. “Please, Father! Don’t do this to me!” But Antonio did not move or show compassion. Elizabeth, unable to bear it, ran to her room, collapsing in anguish. Isabella laughed quietly as the younger girl was dragged away.

The room fell into silence.

Then one of his men entered cautiously.

“Lord,” the man said, bowing, “there’s an information… The laptop has been taken, and it’s now with Simon.”

Antonio’s wicked grin widened. “Good. Very good,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You may go.” The man bowed again and left silently.

Antonio leaned back, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Giovanni Romano,” he murmured, his voice cold and amused, “just a few seconds away from your destruction...you and your bloody family.”

Then, a deep, loud laugh escaped his chest, echoing through the large living room—a laugh filled with malice.

****

The Romano mansion gleamed under the warm glow of crystal chandeliers, its grand dining room lined with mahogany and antique paintings.

Tonight, the Romano family had gathered as instructed by Giovanni Romano, the patriarch. Every member of the family was present, seated around the enormous dining table.

Bianca, Massimo’s sister, sat beside him, her posture elegant. Across from her, Caterina, Massimo’s aunt, surveyed the room with a sharp gaze, seated opposite Bianca, her children, Serafina and Riccardo, seated beside her.

Massimo was in his usual cold, unreadable expression. He had not wanted to attend this dinner, but it was an order from Giovanni, the only man he truly listened to and feared. The weight of his grandfather’s presence was enough to make even him comply.

Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the quiet shuffle of maids bringing and serving foods and drinks. Then Giovanni’s voice cut through.

“I’m so proud of you, Riccardo,” he said, eyes gleaming with pride. “Massimo, do you know Riccardo is getting married soon? He is engaged.”

Riccardo smiled politely toward Massimo, seeking acknowledgment. Massimo responded with a short, “Congratulations, cousin,” his voice clipped and uninterested.

Bianca’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Wow! I’m so happy for you, Riccardo. Congratulations!”

Riccardo, sensing Massimo’s continued indifference, simply replied to Bianca with a soft smile, “Thank you.” Massimo’s lack of concern was a sharp reminder: he was the favored grandson, and everyone knew it. Riccardo, despite his engagement and accomplishments, still felt overshadowed.

Caterina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. She had always wanted her son, Riccardo, to excel in everything, but Massimo’s position as first grandson and Giovanni’s clear favorite frustrated her to no end. Anything Riccardo wished to do in the family business required permission from either Massimo or Giovanni—a constant source of jealousy and hatred.

Giovanni’s eyes swept over Massimo next. “You should also consider marriage, Massimo. When will you settle down? You are not getting any younger.”

Caterina leaned forward, her tone pointed yet polite. “It is true, Father. He is not getting any younger. I think Massimo and Camilla would be a good match. It would strengthen family ties, and the bond would be solid.”

Massimo finally lifted his head, eyes flashing cold. “Caterina, when did you start poking your nose into my affairs? You should know your limit.”

Caterina swallowed, trying to maintain her composure. She knew better than to push too hard, yet she could not hide her desire for influence. Massimo hated her interference; she has always wanted to act like his mother. But He was Massimo Romano—no one had the right to make decisions for him, no one.

The tension at the table thickened, almost suffocating. Caterina forced an awkward smile, attempting to redirect the conversation. “Then… Riccardo will be the first to give an heir to this family.”

Massimo’s voice, flat and dismissive, cut through the air. “Whatever.”

A heavy silence followed.

Giovanni Romano’s voice, calm yet commanding, broke the silence again.

“What Caterina said isn’t bad,” he began. “You can consider it a trial. I want great-grandchildren. As you all know, the first to give me great-grandchildren will have… more access to my position in the clan. I am getting too old already.”

Giovanni was in his mid-sixties, but he looked healthy, fit, and handsome, but he can't be the head forever.

Caterina smiled, her eyes sharp and knowing. “Don’t worry, Father. If Massimo isn’t ready, Riccardo is fully prepared. Isn’t that right, my son?”

Riccardo leaned back slightly, smirking as his gaze flicked toward Massimo. “Yes, Mother,” he said, the smirk carrying both amusement and challenge.

Caterina’s eyes followed, giving Massimo a knowing look. Massimo’s response was just a calm, cold, unreadable stare.

At the table, Bianca and Serafina ate in silence, their expressions carefully neutral. The meal continued in silence.

When the plates were cleared, Serafina leaned slightly toward Bianca as they moved toward the living room. “Bianca,” she said lightly, a teasing edge in her voice, “you look chubbier than the last time I saw you. How are you doing?”

Bianca, who had greeted Serafina at the dining table but pretended like she didn't hear her, now ignored her comment and offered a tight smile. “I’m fine, as you can see.”

Serafina returned the smile, eyes glinting with mischief, before letting it drop as the family began to disperse.

“Massimo,” Giovanni’s voice called from the end of the room, “come with me to my private study upstairs. There’s something important to discuss.”

Massimo followed silently.

Once inside Giovanni’s study, he closed the door and leaned on the carved desk, looking directly at Massimo. “There’s a problem,” he said evenly.

“What problem?” Massimo asked, voice calm, betraying no emotion.

“The laptop has been stolen,” Giovanni said, his eyes narrowing. “It contains too much private information. We need to get it back immediately.”

Massimo’s expression remained. There was no surprise in his eyes or trace of panic. “Do not worry, Old One,” he said quietly. “We will get it back.”

Giovanni’s glare at him, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “I’ve told you many times, do not call me that again.”

Massimo’s lips curved into a small chuckle. “Fine, Grandfather… young one.”

Giovanni studied him carefully, taking in Massimo’s unbothered face. He had always been like that—calm and collected, right from his young age.

But when Massimo promised, Giovanni knew it was more than words. The laptop would be recovered.

“One more thing,” Giovanni said, his tone softer but no less serious. “Please, Massimo… make sure it is seen.”

Massimo inclined his head slightly, assurance in every movement. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calm, unshakable.