NOVARIA’S POV
The tension in the room was suffocating.
Fredo looked barely able to stand as he leaned heavily against the doorframe, one hand clutching his side while blood dripped steadily down his arm and onto the polished floor beneath him. His breathing came out rough and uneven, chest rising violently beneath his torn black shirt.
The moment Sylvester saw him, his chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood.
“Fredo,” he called sharply, striding toward him. “What the hell happened?”
Collins straightened from where he sat, his expression instantly darkening.
The atmosphere inside the room shifted so quickly it felt like the air itself had gone cold.
Fredo tried to speak, but a cough interrupted him first. He winced painfully before forcing the words out.
“I….It was Marc
