Tony was hosting another of his infamous, opulent parties. The estate was filled with elite guests, employees and friends, all enjoying the shimmering pool, endless drinks, and extravagant food. Tony, meanwhile, wasn’t just reveling in the celebration—he was savoring his latest triumph: publicly ruining Declan O'Hara, branding him a drunk and violent fool. His reputation was soaring, and today was proof of that.

Dressed in a black button-up shirt adorned with intricate golden designs, paired with crisp white knee-length shorts and black loafers, Tony looked every bit the image of effortless power. His dark sunglasses, so reflective they mirrored back anyone who looked at him, shielded his gaze. A high-end cigar rested between his fingers as he mingled, effortlessly maintaining his air of charm and control.

Tony had made sure his children were either sent to their rooms or elsewhere; this party was no place for distractions. But as he glanced around, he spotted Jefferson, his youngest, playing with a remote-controlled helicopter. A flicker of irritation crossed Tony’s face, though his sunglasses concealed it well.

Moving with deliberate steps, Tony approached his son, exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke as he came to a stop beside him. “I told you to stay out of here, Jefferson” he said, voice calm but with an unmistakable edge. He didn't look at his son, but rather at the helicopter he was controlling, seeing it fly in the air.