The Prototype

57. Deadly Storm Burned Bridges

MARCELLUS

The muted hum of the air conditioning was the only sound accompanying me as I walked down the long corridor of the fifth floor of the technology building. My footsteps echoing against the polished marble, each step sharp, deliberate, cutting through the silence like a blade. The faint scent of industrial cleaner clinging to the air—sterile, cold, an unfriendly reminded of the clinical precision demanded within these walls.

Glancing down at my Rolex. 9:55 a.m. Five minutes to spare before the scheduled first of the month meeting.

Five minutes before I was about to see her again.

Ever since our last interaction at Nino's final street racing event, I've been away, removing myself from temptation. From the urge to do something I would regret. To kill her. To ruin everything I've built.

Her words from that night still echoing, piercing through me, keeping the anger inside me ignited. The fucking audacity of her. The fucking nerve. Without realizing it. I gave Tempest as much power and control on this estate as I have, and she threatened to burn it all to the ground. She put up a boundary, challenged me, dared me to cross it just to watch me self-destruct.

No one on this earth ever pushed me as far as she has. No one never tested my limits the way she did that night. And for the first time in my reign as Mafia King, I was put in a situation that could tarnish me.

No one has ever gone against me and succeeded in removing me from my throne. No one has ever fucking beaten me at my own game of chess, never outmaneuvered me, never forced me into a checkmate. And yet, not only did she win, she turned the entire fucking game board upside down, she dared me to challenge her. She put up a boundary, drew a fucking line, looked me dead in my fucking eyes and dared me to cross it. She wanted me to step out of line, to prove that I was a man who bowed to no one—so she could end me with my own arrogance.

And the worst part? She fucking knows it.

She knows exactly what cards she holds. She knows exactly how much power I've given her. She knows what this estate is. The power it holds. The secrecy of it. The exclusivity. The system that my family has safeguarded for generations. And because of me—because I underestimated her, because I thought giving her that control would be a show of compromise—she now holds access to the very thing that could destroy me.

Putting me in a useless position.

The thought alone sent ripple of fury through my veins, twisting something dark inside me.

That night, I wanted to kill her. More than ever before. I didn't sleep after our interaction. I drowned myself in whiskey, drunkenly venting to Godmother and Uncle Galilei about everything she said to me, about the way she had backed me into a corner without lifting a single fucking finger. They both suggested the same thing—leave. Step away before I did something that would unravel generations of secrecy.

So I left.

Now it's August, and it's our first time since then being in the same room together.

Adjusting the cuffs of my suit jacket, I smoothed the fabric over my wrists, ensuring perfection. The rich, dark material of my suit reflected power—a subtle shine under the sterile corridor lights.

The lab room door loomed ahead, its metallic monolith standing between me and what waited inside. My fingers curled around the handle, the cold metal biting against my palm as I twisted it slowly. The lock disengaged with a muted click, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade to flesh.

I stepped inside.

The fluorescent lights stark and unrelenting, pouring over the room in a harsh glow, casting jagged shadows against the walls. At the center of the room, a single white-topped table stood like a throne awaiting its ruler accompanied by a single gray swivel chair. Every other chair and table shoved aside, leaving nothing but space that quickly became our battlefield.