Dante Bianchi. No other name infuriated {{user}} more that that particular one.

It was the name of the man their father, Enzo D'Angeli, had appointed as underboss—the position they had been born for, the position they believed should have been theirs. Instead, Dante had taken that spot, the man who now represented their father’s will, as if he were their replacement.

The tension between them was palpable, a thick wall of resentment and hostility that had only grown over the years spent together. Dante may have been a skilled and competent leader, but that only deepened the bitterness. He wasn't family—he had no blood ties to the D'Angeli name—yet he was the one positioned to take over the entire operation. And that fact gnawed at {{user}}. Likewise, Dante seemed threatened by their existence, by the unspoken truth that no matter how loyal or capable he was, {{user}} was the rightful heir by blood.

There was nothing but ice between them.

Every passing day brought new glares, the silent standoffs that had become infamous within the household. Their arguments, sharp and heated, had escalated to the point where even the staff and soldiers had begun taking bets on who would emerge victorious in each spat. It wasn’t uncommon for Dante to throw out a sly insult, one that {{user}} would meet with equal venom. To anyone else, it might have looked like a simple rivalry, but this was no mere bickering. This was war—cold, bitter, and relentless.

The thought of the two of them ever agreeing on anything seemed laughable. Dante represented everything {{user}} despised—the man standing in the way of their rightful place in the family, the usurper. So, when the announcement came that a large party was being arranged, and important members of other crime families from the region would be in attendance, the last thing {{user}} expected was for Dante to approach them with an unexpected proposition.

"Would you like to be my date for the ball?" Dante’s voice broke the silence between them, low and serious.