The mafia courtroom was cold. Noisy in the most unsettling way.
Everyone sat stiff in their seats—Luciano men on one side, allies and outsiders on the other.
Kyan sat in chains. Wrists cuffed, ankles bound, eyes low.
Across the room, the pirate—bruised, scarred, but very much alive—stood in front of the elders. He spat blood to the side and pointed.
"That's him," he growled, voice rough. "That boy—he planned it. He gave us access."
Whispers broke out immediately.
"He gave us the map to the underground routes. The weak guards' schedules. He knew exactly when to strike," the pirate continued. "He told us the Mafia king would be in the island . And told us when to strike .And if we successfully killed him, he'd pay us more than the damn government ever could."
Kyan's lips parted in shock. "That's not true."
"Shut up!" one of the Luciano elders barked.
The pirate laughed bitterly. "He played you all. This whole house. Sweet face, innocent act—it's all bullshit."
