There was a beat of silence. Then—his father laughed.
It was a low, bitter sound, one that carried no real amusement.
"So you finally admit it. You abandoned your family, betrayed your own name, and now you come back, expecting me to hand you everything?"
Vincent didn't flinch.
"No," he said calmly. "I don't expect you to hand me anything. I will take what I need."
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
The King of Mafias studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, for the first time in years, he smiled.
It was a cold, cruel smile—one that spoke of understanding.
"Very well," his father said softly. "Then show me what you're capable of."