The hall beneath Regina was older than law.
Stone worn smooth by centuries of boots and blood, pillars scarred with claw and blade alike. Alessandro stood at its center, unmoving, his shadow stretched long by torchlight like a warning no one dared ignore.
Across from him, Don Vittorio smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile. It was the kind that suggested patience sharpened into cruelty.
"Well," Vittorio drawled, hands folded behind his back, voice echoing faintly, "you've kept us waiting, Alpha."
Alessandro did not return the greeting. "Say why you're here."
Vittorio chuckled. "Straight to business. How refreshingly rude."
A murmur rippled through the gathered packs—unease, irritation, curiosity. Vittorio lifted a hand, silencing them with practiced ease.
"You guard your borders well," he continued. "Almost makes one nostalgic."
Alessandro's jaw tightened. "You crossed three territories without permission."
