The house was too quiet again.

I loosened the tie around my neck, stepping out of the bulletproof black car as the guards nodded in silence. My name echoed in the halls of power, yet my own home didn’t whisper it once.

She was probably upstairs with the kid. Our son.

Contractual marriage. No promises, no affection. Just signatures on paper and a child meant to tie two empires together.

I wasn’t cruel to her. I wasn’t kind, either.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey—neat—and leaned against the kitchen counter. The silence felt heavier tonight. Lonelier.

People think being a mafia boss means constant chaos. But no one tells you about the stillness that comes after. The kind that makes you wonder... what the hell you’re really doing this for.