“He is my blood, not a bastard, Cristiano. Mind your language. You both are my sons,” Vittorio scolded sharply.
Cristiano’s glare burned like hell, his stormy eyes dark with disgust. Vittorio’s voice softened instinctively—he knew how dangerous his son’s anger could be. If Cristiano lost control, Gino might not live to regret it. Cristiano was ruthless, indifferent to emotions or ties. Blood and family meant nothing to him.
“There will be a way to end this rivalry between you two. You are brothers, for God’s sake,” Vittorio said, his tone heavy with defeat.
“Hand over everything to me,” Cristiano said, his voice cold and calm, controlled yet deadly. “Then he’ll stop scheming. Once he knows there’s nothing to gain after my death, he’ll stay in line.”
Vittorio’s eyes snapped to his son.
