Don Federico Luchese's POV
The click-clack of ivory tiles was the only sound that dared pierce the suffocating silence.
Don Federico couldn't hear the music and laughter from the dinner party on the fourth floor.
It's where he had been earlier that evening—before everything turned into a shitshow.
Irritation was clearly written in his sharp, pale brown eyes.
His thin jaw was clamped tight.
The old lines on his face deepened.
He should've been touching soft, milky flesh right now—not ivory tile!
If it hadn't been for Leandro's call earlier..
'That damned call!'
Interrupting his speech in the grand room—
Ruining his scheduled meeting with his important clients—
And worst of all, cutting short the unwrapping of his gift!
He gritted his teeth.
Seething.
They'd asked him—HIM—to set up a mahjong table, like he was some hotel clerk.
As if the Luchese were at Santa De Leones' beck and call.
And Federico, like an old fool, had actually arranged one.
Leaving his own party and his guest!
'It's been five decades!' he thought bitterly.
'And I still can't get out of that damned family's shadow!'
He should've refused.
But when it came to that lion—Leon.
Federico blinked hard.
Saying no never came easy.
It was like something ingrained in his bones.
Cultured and refined through the years!
Like he was born to obey the Santa De Leones.
'Well, I'm no goddamn peasant!'
He clenched his wrinkled fists until his knuckles turned white.
'Damn you Leon!' he cursed inside his white-haired head.
And now he had to entertain them down here!
People whom Leon shouldn't see.
Friends, business partners—
Even old enemies—
Once sworn to Santa De Leones.
It was not because he was afraid of Leon.
It was because, it's not the time—yet.
He breathed in and out.
And now here he was.
Two of his trusted men stood behind him.
Close.
While all Leon's men were outside.
Surrounding the perimeter.
As if to say, that even if it's only the three of them inside, they can easily neutralize Federico and his men.
'Too arrogant!'
He could've been upstairs by now—satiated, satisfied.
'Ha! goddammit.'
He adjusted his position in the damn wheelchair, trying not to wince.
Controlling his emotions.
'The doctors said I should take it easy..' he inhaled through his nose.
Relax.
'Goddammit!'
His rage was palpable.
But the people in front of him didn't care.
They continued to play.
'This is a blatant insult to me, and the Luchese.'
Even if he sat here with thumbtacks under him, he could've easily tolerated this nonsense—if he had already claimed his gift!
He breathed in and out again.
Smoke coiled lazily from a crystal ashtray.
Four glasses of brandy glowed like molten amber on each corner of the table.
Some half full.
Some with only a gulpful left.
Four men sat at the green felt mahjong table under the golden chandelier of the hotel's cleared out restaurant on the ground floor.
Its front walls were made of glass.
From where he sat, Federico could see the faint outline of the distant building and mountains through the black windows of the six story Hotel Valgrande.
He glanced—again—for the umpteenth time at the wall clock hanging near the kitchen door.
Its hands had just struck three in the morning.
He was getting antsy.
He'd been sitting here for hours!
Trying to comfort himself, his sadistic mind wandered.
It climbed the stairs to the dimmed suite upstairs—third floor.
Imagining the soft hands of his gift.
Angel.
Bound.
Tied.
Gagged.
Tears in his eyes.
Begging.
The sound of a leather cracking against his flawless skin.
Mercy trembling on his lips.
Blood complimenting his purple eyes.
Federico found himself salivating at that vivid thought.
His mind spun with crueler things he wanted to do to the boy.
He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.
He should've been there.
Not here!
Entertaining the bloodline of a man he'd spent all his life fearing.
Even in his death!
His eyes dropped back to the table.
Across from him sat Leon.
The current lion of the Santa De Leones.
Son of Federico's own mentor.
Heir to an empire Federico once bowed down to.
'The old lion will always be this man's father—the original Don.'
He'd known Leon since they were boys.
And he remembered the old man's warning.
Saying, "My son and his future heir will be the kind of man whose enemies forget to breathe when he walks into a room."
Federico hadn't believed it back then.
Now, he did.
Leon leaned back into his chair.
A lit Cuban tobacco smoldering between his fingers.
'His presence is eating the room!'
The fedora and coat were now gone, revealing his salt and pepper hair and a broad, battle tested frame.
'It's like his body has never gone old.'
Then he looked down at his own body.
'Unlike me who had gone frail. Old. Weak.'
His eyes went back on observing the damn lion.
Leon's expression was unreadable.
But his stillness made men twitch.
Federico's mouth went dry—like earlier, when he couldn't speak.
He could only nod like a damned mute!
Unlike Leon.
But even without speaking, his presence alone spoke volume.
Every damn move.
Gesture.
It's overwhelming.
His steady, tanned, scarred hands—shaped by decades in the field—held a single ivory tile.
Hands that had once commanded death like an orchestra.
Federico breathed in and out again.
Then his eyes looked to his right.
Leandro.
Leon's eldest son—his right hand man.
Coat and jacket off, sleeves rolled, arranging his tiles with the cold precision—
A man who let nothing bleed through.
And on Federico's left, Alvaro.
The grandson.
Still young.
Still soft.
'Second born, wasn't he?'
Didn't matter.
He wasn't Federico's type.
Federico preferred those with rare features.
For a second, he wondered where the first born had gone—
The boy with silver eyes.
The only one who inherited the Santa De Leones's signature trait—silver eyes—like liquid mercury.
Like Leon's old man.
He hadn't seen or heard of the boy in years.
These ones now?
They only have gray dull eyes.
Forgettable.
He observed Alvaro again.
Nervous.
Skittish.
Eyes like a shy cat.
He wondered—would Leon let him break this one?
His perverted nature surfaced.
Then his gaze met Don Leon's.
He was also studying him!
And that look said it all:
'Try it. I dare you. And I'll put a bullet in your eye.'
Federico swallowed hard.
His eyes dropped.
A bamboo tile clicked on the felt.
Alvaro's move.
"Thanks old man," the boy murmured, not even glancing at him.
'Old man?'
Federico narrowed his eyes.
But he said nothing.
He just took a long sip of his brandy and let the fire settle in his chest.
Bernardo had told him Leon wouldn't attend his dinner party.
He'd made sure of it.
Telling Federico:
"The old coot was tired. He never attended any parties in a long while."
"Must be because of his grand firstborn twins."
"One was dead. One was a runaway."
Bernardo always spoke in half truths.
But that's what Federico liked about him.
Leon's adoptive son—his second wife's boy from another man—Bernardo.
While Leandro came from his first wife, the one who died early.
Leandro and Bernardo were close in age.
In fact, Bernardo was two months older.
But they treated him as younger.
Because he wasn't Santa De Leones blood.
And they have this crazy tradition of naming first born children as heirs even if one was adopted.
Even go as far as manipulating Bernardo's birth certificate just so Leandro would be the sole successor.
'Ensuring that Bernardo would have no way to contest it once Leon was gone.'
The Santa De Leones were always one step ahead.
And that's why Federico feared them.
Another tile dropped.
The game was awfully slow.
Almost ritualistic.
But no one spoke.
'I'm wasting my time here!'
Then came the voice—
Low.
Gravelly.
Unmistakable.
"I always knew you had a very close relationship with Bernardo."
CLACK
A bamboo tile slammed the table.
Federico froze.
His fingers hesitated on a circle tile.
He forced himself to look up—
At the lion.
His heart—the one he got a surgery on—started thundering.
He forced a thin smile.
"What do you mean?" Federico asked.
He couldn't come up with anything to say.
"He's your son.. so I should be right?"
Leon just shrugged.
Flicked ash into the tray.
Federico added:
"I was also close to Leandro, right?"
Trying too hard to sound casual.
A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
He placed a red dragon tile without looking.
CLACK
Federico blinked.
'Does he know?'
How much does he know?
Does he know about the secret meetings in empty warehouses before he left for his surgery?
The friends, clients and foes that Federico blackmailed and sweet promises that he made?
Their businesses and goods that he got behind their backs?
Does he know that Bernardo has spent all his life scheming against him?
And that Federico poured fuel into it?
He tried to test the waters.
"You think he resents you? He walks in your and Leandro's shadow like a prisoner."
Leon didn't respond.
He just placed a white dragon tile.
Calm.
Unbothered.
The silence grew taut again.
Then, just when Federico thought Leon might not say something anymore—
Leon lifted his glass and murmured:
"Don't be a glutton, Federico."
A beat.
He sipped his brandy.
Then—
"Someday, you'll end up with a bullet in your gut."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a truth.
Plain.
Cold.
Ancient.
Federico could do nothing but chuckle.
But the sound rang hollow.
Outside, lightning flashed in the mountains and across the neighboring building.
Red dots glowed.
Unmoving.
Trained.
Somewhere far above, the party kept laughing.
Oblivious.
And somewhere below that party, Angel slept—
Soundly..
Peacefully.
And at the center of it all—
Tony.
Getting closer.
**
AN// Eight chapters to go! Then side stories!