INFERNO 18+

Gabriel De Santis Raffaele’s words hung heavy in my mind. I don’t know why I reacted the way I did—maybe because a part of me knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Still, the irritation simmered beneath my skin. Even with the AC blasting at the highest limit it could reach, sweat rolled slowly down the side of my face. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, cursing under my breath. Who the hell came up with this ridiculous rule that the heir must be married before turning thirty-six? Thirty-six. Why that odd, stupid, unnecessary number? Of all the traditions in our blood-soaked legacy, this one had to be the most annoying. Not that I had much time to think about it. If I didn’t comply, the territories—my territories—would be handed to my cousin. And while that wouldn’t exactly crumble the empire, losing them would be a significant blow. Those territories brought in most of our income, and I wasn’t ready to let them go. Speaking of the devil… My phone vibrated on the small table behind me. The soft buzzing cut through the quiet moment I was trying to enjoy. I had been admiring the view of the sea—if staring blankly at the waves counted as “connecting with nature.” Either way, the intrusion annoyed me. I grabbed the phone. “Speak,” I said flatly. “Hello to you too, dearest cousin,” Raffaele’s overly amused voice filtered through the line. “I’m busy,” I lied without hesitation, keeping my tone as cold as the AC that wasn’t doing a damn thing. “Your presence is required in New York,” he continued. “I’ve finally managed to schedule a meeting with the South African mafia.” That pulled me upright. “Good. Text me the date and time.” I paused, rubbing my jaw. “And I expect you to receive my guests with nothing but the best.” “Of course,” he replied, smugness dripping from the edges of his words. I hung up before he could say anything else. A long breath escaped me as I leaned back into my chair, sinking into the cushions. The sea spread out endlessly in front of me, but suddenly the tranquility of the view felt secondary. A deal with the South Africans. Finally. If this went well, it would secure my position beyond any question. The marriage rule would become a formality I could deal with later. But this… this alliance… it was the real power play. And nothing—not family, tradition, or time—was going to stand in my way.