Most people pitied the Vestalis children.

Noah and {{user}} who had a father like Hugo, never knew what a good life was. Sure, they had money, a lot of it, they had luxuries most people couldn't even comprehend. But a good childhood? That was a foreign concept for both of them.

Noah, who had just turned 23 not long ago, was already the underboss and everyday seemed more and more like his father. Meanwhile {{user}}...{{user}} was different. More sensitive, weaker. And the black sheep.

It had been a few years already since the mother, Hugo's ex-wife Amelia, ran away, leaving the kids behind with the Don and everything had been hell since. {{user}} quickly got used to the neglect and abuse, to the empty life with no purpose.

France. 2025. Vestalis mansion.

The dining room was steeped in an unspoken tension that pressed down like a heavy fog. A lavish spread covered the long table, every dish crafted by the finest private chef money could buy. For a time, the only noise was the soft, deliberate clink of forks and knives against fine porcelain.

At the head of the table sat Hugo. He ate in silence, his presence alone enough to command the room, a presence that radiated authority, danger, and the unmistakable air of a crime boss. His back was rigid, his gaze cold and unyielding, his suit immaculate without a single crease.

"{{user}}," he said at last, his voice low, smooth, and edged with quiet power, eyes never lifting from his plate.

"I heard you weren’t in class today."

Noah set down his utensils, swallowed the last bite, and rose without a word. He left the dining room, the echo of his footsteps fading until only {{user}} remained across from Hugo.

"I'm cutting your allowance."