Dominic arrived at the headquarters of The Order just as dusk settled over the city. The building stood tall and imposing, its exterior deceptively modern.
To the outside world, it was merely a private estate owned by influential businessmen. To those who knew better, it was the heart of Europe's underworld.
The meeting room lay deep within the structure, heavily guarded and soundproofed. This was where the most critical decisions were made. Wars were planned here. Lives were erased with a single vote. When someone needed to disappear, The Order convened, and once a verdict was reached, there was no escaping it.
Dominic marched inside with Jeremy at his side, his expression unreadable. His long strides echoed against the marble floor, each step deliberate and controlled. He felt the weight of the place settle on his shoulders, familiar yet never comfortable.
Everyone was already present.
His eyes instinctively sought out his father.
Mr. Silvestri sat at the far end of the long table, slightly apart from the rest, a silent reminder of his authority as the leader of The Order. Age had touched him, but it had not weakened him. His posture was rigid, his sharp eyes observant, missing nothing. Eight other men sat around the table, elders from different powerful houses, each one commanding respect through sheer presence alone.
They were all grown men, seasoned criminals who had survived decades in a world where survival was never guaranteed. Their combined aura pressed down on the room like a physical force, enough to make an ordinary person choke under its intensity.
"We were finally able to eliminate the second-in-command of the House Ferraro," Mr. Marino spoke up, breaking the silence. He was in his mid-forties, built like a soldier, his red hair cropped short and his eyes cold and calculating. "However," he paused, allowing the word to linger in the air as his gaze moved around the table, "the assassin was captured."
The room went deathly quiet.
House Ferraro was not just another rival. They were an infestation. A violent, reckless syndicate that thrived on fear and chaos. Unlike The Order, which operated in shadows and influence, House Ferraro reveled in spectacle.
They committed crimes in broad daylight, unconcerned about witnesses or consequences. They sold drugs to minors as if it were candy, assassinated politicians during public appearances, and wiped out entire families without hesitation. Their lack of discretion made them terrifying.
What made them even more dangerous was their anonymity.
The identity of their leader remained unknown. No name. No face. No trace. And as long as the leader was unknown, House Ferraro could never truly be destroyed.
They hated The Order. Not because of ideology, but because of rejection. They had once sought to join The Order, to share its power and prestige, but had been denied. That humiliation festered into obsession.
"The assassin should be killed immediately," Mr. Martinelli snapped, slamming his palm against the table. His white beard trembled as he spoke, though whether from rage or fear, Dominic could not tell. "Before he opens his mouth and exposes us."
Several heads turned toward him. Mr. Martinelli was infamous for his impulsive nature. He spoke first and thought later, a dangerous trait in a room like this.
"I doubt there's still time for that," Mr. Marino replied coolly, casting him a sideways glance. "House Ferraro isn't stupid. If the man was caught alive, they've already begun questioning him. They're likely linking past incidents together as we speak. This mistake gives them the perfect justification to retaliate."
Low murmurs filled the room as the elders began voicing their concerns. Some spoke of tightening security. Others worried about exposure, about government retaliation, about their families.
"That's enough."
Mr. Silvestri's voice cut through the noise, calm yet commanding. The kind of voice that did not need to be raised to be obeyed. Silence followed immediately.
"House Ferraro may be brutal," he continued, his tone icy, "but they are still a smaller house. We will not abandon our objective. Our goal remains the same. We eliminate their leader, whoever he is."
"But how do we kill a man we don't even know?" Mr. Romano questioned. He was the youngest elder, only in his late thirties, with dark hair and eyes so deep they seemed almost void. "We were close this time and only managed to kill his second-in-command. He's hiding because he knows we're closing in."
"Still," Mr. Silvestri interrupted sharply, "Are you suggesting we retreat now?"
Mr. Romano stiffened, then slowly leaned back into his chair, sealing his lips shut.
Mr. Silvestri exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. Things were not unfolding as he had planned. Still, he had always known this would not be easy. House Ferraro's brutality threatened everything The Order stood for. They were bad for business, bad for stability, and dangerous to the balance of power.
"We continue the search," he said firmly. "All allies will be informed. We double our efforts. We do not stop until we find him."
The elders exchanged looks, some doubtful, others resigned, but none dared to argue further.
Dominic watched them silently.
He could see the fear lurking behind their expressions, even if they refused to acknowledge it. A congressman had been assassinated in broad daylight by House Ferraro only weeks ago. That alone had shaken governments and criminal organizations alike.
Fear was justified.
"We can also expand our network," Carlo spoke up. "Double the manpower and increase surveillance."
Neither Carlo nor Dominic were officially members of The Order yet. But as the leader's sons and future successors, their presence at these meetings was expected.
"Very well," Mr. Silvestri said. "That will be discussed further."
The tension in the room began to ease, though it never truly disappeared.
"Now that this matter is settled," Mr. Serra said suddenly, leaning back in his chair with a tired sigh. He was one of the oldest members, his wrinkled face etched with years of survival. "Tell me, Arturo, have your sons finally decided to start families?"
Mr. Silvestri frowned. He had been expecting this question eventually.
"You're getting old," Mr. Serra added pointedly. "It would be wise for your lineage to be secured."
"Carlo has already proposed to his girlfriend," Mr. Silvestri replied. "They will be married soon."
"And what about…" Mr. Serra drawled deliberately, his gaze sliding toward Dominic, "…Dom?"
The room fell silent once again.
"If you haven't found a suitable woman yet," Mr. Serra continued, "My daughter Caterina is more than willing. She's been patiently waiting for you to take the initiative."
Dominic's expression hardened.
It was his fault. He had known better than to get involved with Caterina. He had been clear with her from the beginning. Yet hope had taken root anyway.
"I would prefer my personal life not be discussed at this table," Dominic said evenly.
Mr. Serra chuckled softly, clearly amused. "Caterina loves you," he pressed on. "She asked me to remind you that she wants you both together. Unless, of course, there's another woman."
Dominic's jaw clenched.
"I'm only trying to help," Mr. Serra added, his tone sharpening. "You shouldn't even be sitting here, considering you're an illegitimate child. Yet we allowed it." His lips curled. "At least prove yourself useful instead of ending up like your mother."
Time seemed to slow.
Before anyone could react, Dominic grabbed the nearest glass and hurled it across the table with brutal force.
The glass shattered against Mr. Serra's face.
Shards scattered across the room as blood splattered onto the polished surface of the table, silence crashing down harder than before.