ined the street like silent sentinels, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim glow of streetlights. The cold night air bit at Luca's skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was

it? That he was too young, too inexperienced, too soft to lead. His uncle, Alessandro, chuckled darkly. "The kid doesn't even know how this world works, yet here we are, treating him like a king." He turned to the others. "Is this really what we're doing? Handing over an empire to a boy who's never shed blood?" The group murmured in agreement. Luca felt the weight of their stares, their doubt, their hunger for power. His father's body wasn't even cold yet, and they were already picking apart his throne. Niccolo stepped forward, voice like steel. "The Don chose his successor. We honor his decision." But honor meant little in a world built on greed and blood. Luca knew that much. He took a slow, steady