The Don didn't wait for Nico to reply.
He just gave him a hard look—one that made Nico feel ten years old again—then turned and walked out of the room, his heavy steps echoing like thunder.
Nico stood frozen, heart pounding, staring at the whip still lying there on the table like a cursed memory.
Minutes later, the Don's voice rang loud through the mansion.
"Call for a meeting. Now. The Luciano bloodline—every last one of them."
—
The great hall filled up fast. Long, dark table. Leather chairs. Silent tension.
Nico walked in last, still quiet, still shaken. But the room was already buzzing. Some of his brothers had arrived before him—and not the ones who had his back.
They were already seated. His stepbrothers. The ones from different mothers. Same father, different hearts.
Ricco leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. He never liked Nico—never even tried to hide it.
As teenagers, they'd fought all the time. Fists, knives, words. Ricco was older, louder, meaner. He always thought the crown should be his. And now that Nico had it, he was just waiting for him to mess up.
Another one, Marco, scoffed and spoke loud enough for the whole table to hear. "If he can't even kill a servant, what kind of king is he?"
"Agreed," Ricco added sharply. "If Nico doesn't execute the traitor today, he should step down. That's how it's always been done."
Someone else muttered, "He's not built for this. He was always the soft one."
It stung. They were saying it like it was a fact. Like they had been waiting for this moment all their lives.
And deep down, Nico knew—they never wanted him as king in the first place. He was the one the Don chose. Not the strongest. Not the oldest. But the smartest. The calmest. The most dangerous, when he wanted to be.
But right now?
The room was filled with sharks. Hungry ones. And he was bleeding.
The Don slammed his hand on the table. "This is the last meeting I'm holding," he said, his voice sharp like broken glass. "We're going to the execution site. We end this today. No more talk."
He stood up, pulled a silver-plated gun from his jacket, and handed it to Nico.
"Here, son."
The room filled with cheers. The brothers clapped. Some even whistled. They were fired up, bloodthirsty. Ready to see someone fall.
Nico took the gun slowly. His fingers curled around the cold metal.
He didn't look up right away. But when he did, his eyes met the Don's.
And then, in a low, husky voice—one that silenced the whole room—he spoke.
"Father…" he said, his grip tightening. "I'm king. Why don't I make the law?"
The room went still.
Nico took a step forward. "Give me two nights to prove his innocence. If I fail…" His jaw clenched, his stare unflinching. "I'll step down as king."
Gasps. Whispers.
But he didn't waver.
The Don just stared at him—eyes unreadable, jaw locked tight.
The Don turned his back, his voice deep and final.
"Fine, son. Two nights."
And just like that, he walked out.
The heavy door slammed shut behind him, but the tension in the room didn't leave with him.
Nico stood still, the gun still in his hand.
Then came the snickers.
One of his stepbrothers—Luca—chuckled under his breath. "Two nights? Softie king's buying time for his little crush."
Another one, Matteo, leaned closer and muttered with a mocking smile, "Guess some people weren't built to carry the Luciano name after all."
They laughed together as they walked out one by one, shoulders brushing past Nico like he was just... nothing.
But Nico didn't flinch this time.
He stared ahead, lips pressed, chest rising slowly with every breath.
Let them talk.
He had two nights. And he was going to use every damn second.
***
The iron dungeon door creaked open.
Nico stepped in, his coat already coming off as he tossed it to the side. His eyes scanned the cell—then froze.
Kyan was slumped against the wall, blood on his lip, wrists chained, a fresh bruise blooming across his cheek.
And beside him, a guard raised his fist again.
Nico's voice cut through the air like a knife.
"How dare you."
The guard jumped, quickly lowering his hand.
"S-Sir... it—it was an order from the Don—"
"Did I say you could touch him?" Nico's voice dropped, calm and deadly.
The guard's eyes widened, his knees trembling. "I-I thought—"
"Shut up." Nico pulled his gun slowly, cocked it, and pointed it straight at the man's face.
"Should I shoot your tongue off? Or maybe one of your hands? Let's see if the Don protects you then."
The guard paled instantly. A dark stain spread across his trousers as he lost control of his bladder right there.
Nico stepped forward, his stare cold and cruel.
"Get. Out."
The guard dropped the keys in a panic and ran, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Nico turned back to Kyan, crouching beside him. His voice softened for just a second.
"I'm here now, you softie. You don't have to be scared."
Kyan slowly opened his eyes, those big, tired, terrified eyes—and for a second, Nico's breath caught.
He quickly looked away, jaw clenched, and his voice snapped back to cold.
"Don't look at me like that." He pulled the chains loose, helped Kyan sit up against the wall. Then he stood and paced the room once, before stopping in front of him again.
"No more games." Nico pulled out his gun and pressed it against Kyan's chest.
"I'm giving you one chance. Confess. Tell me the truth. Or I swear I'll end it right here."
Only the sound of Kyan's weak breaths filled the room.
His lip trembled, hands weakly gripping Nico's shirt.
"I-I didn't do it, Master," Kyan whispered, voice barely holding itself together. "I swear… I didn't…"
Nico grabbed a fistful of his hair from behind, yanking his head up to meet his eyes.
"Then who did it ?" he growled, voice low and filled with warning
Kyan flinched at the rough grip, blinking through the tears that threatened to spill.
"I… I only cooked what the kitchen maids told me to. I promise, I didn't add anything—I swear on my life!"
Smack! Nico punched him fast.
Not too hard to knock him out, but just enough to break the last thread holding Kyan together.
Kyan choked on a sob, a tear sliding down his bruised cheek as he hunched over, curling in on himself.
"I didn't do anything wrong," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Why won't you believe me...?"
Nico froze.(Damn I don't like when he cries)
He looked down at Kyan—shaking, crying, lips trembling—and something twisted in his stomach.
He knelt down slowly, grabbed Kyan's chin, forcing him to look up again.
Those same damn eyes. Soft, scared, too pretty for his own good.
Nico clenched his jaw.
"You better not be lying to me," he murmured darkly, but his grip had softened.
"Because if you are… not even those eyes will save you."