Two of the Orange Group's minority shareholders—present at the funeral at Luca's request—immediately caught on. Their eyes flicked to Dragan, uncertainty tightening their faces.
It was no small irony: when Dragan had been ousted from Orange Industries, he'd walked away with nothing. Not a single share. Not even the right to attend a shareholder meeting. So why the hell did he look so sure of himself now?
Dragan's smile faltered. His tongue darted over dry lips, confusion clouding his thoughts.
"Kid," he rasped, voice wavering, "you'd better be sensible…"
He cut himself off. His darting eyes locked onto something—or someone—over Luca's shoulder.
Suddenly lucid, he sucked in a sharp breath and clawed at Samira's hand gripping his collar. "You stray dog! Let go! This isn't your fight!"
But his body—wasted by drugs and years of self-destruction—had no strength left. Against Samira's iron grip, he was nothing.
Luca watched for a beat longer. Seeing no real threat—just a broken man flailing—he gave a small shake of his head.
This idiot probably doesn't even know what he's saying.
With a wave, he signaled Samira to release him. Then, cool and level, he said to Dragan, "Get lost. You're not welcome here."
Dragan flinched, taking a half-step forward—then froze at the sight of Samira's fists tightening. He shrank back instantly, muttering curses under his breath as he shuffled away, ignoring the stares.
But his outburst had done its damage. The fragile solemnity of the funeral was shattered.
A cluster of Orange Industries' closest partners closed in.
"Luca… is Ms. Orange really not waking up?"
"What that man said—was there any truth to it?"
Gina Orange wasn't just a CEO; she was the spine of the company. If she was truly gone, alliances would shift overnight.
Luca first gave Samira a quiet nod—I'm okay—then stepped forward. He clapped his hands once, sharp and clear, drawing everyone's attention.
"My apologies for that spectacle," he said, voice calm but firm. "My mother, Ms. Gina Orange, is under expert care and may regain consciousness at any time. Should her condition change, the company will release an official statement. Until then—please, trust the process."
Without waiting for follow-ups, he turned and led Samira toward a quiet corner.
Most guests held back. He was only fourteen, yes—but the steel in his bearing made it clear: pressing him further would be pointless. Better to wait for an official update… or reach out through proper channels later.
Meanwhile, after steering Samira aside…
Luca watched Dragan's unsteady figure vanish into the crowd. Leaning close, he whispered in Samira's ear,
"Aunt Samira, could you follow him? Find a secluded spot—if possible—and keep him under watch."
"Should we kill him?" she replied instantly, her voice low and edged with steel.
Luca flinched. I didn't expect her to be so… direct.
That was his uncle—blood, however tainted.
But… maybe it's not entirely out of the question?
After a beat of hesitation, Luca steadied his tone.
"No. Not yet. Capture him if you can. Find out why he showed up today—what he knows, who sent him. And if he resists…" Luca's voice dropped. "Break his arms and legs if you have to. Drag him back. We'll deal with him ourselves."
He wouldn't have let Dragan walk away at all—if not for the funeral. The cemetery was packed with New York's elite: senators, CEOs, Stark Industries liaisons, even a few SHIELD observers in civilian dress. Causing a scene here would draw too much attention—attention Luca couldn't afford right now.
He'd sent Samira not out of malice, but necessity. Dragan was a known addict, unstable and desperate. For him to show up at Herman Oranje's funeral—daring to make eye contact, even smirking—meant he was either stupid… or playing a deeper game.
But now Samira hesitated.
"Young Master Luca… you'll be alone here."
Luca gave a curt shake of his head.
"It's fine. There are hundreds of people around. I'm not going anywhere."
He tapped the small bulge at his waist—concealed beneath his suit jacket.
"Besides… I'm not defenseless."
"Go," he urged. "He's already slipping away."
Samira gave a sharp nod and melted into the periphery, tracking Dragan with the quiet precision of a predator.
A few guests noticed her departure—some curious, others wary—but no one intervened. In this city, especially after the Battle of New York, people had learned to mind their own business.
Once they were gone, Luca exhaled slowly, his thoughts turning inward.
He needed Orange Industries—badly.
His "cheat," as he privately called it, was artifact synthesis: the ability to combine mystical or technological components into functional weapons or tools. But raw talent wasn't enough. He needed resources—labs, supply chains, funding. And Orange Industries, though mid-tier, had all three. More importantly, it was his—or it would be, if he could hold onto it.
Before the attack on New York, the company had been split: his mother, Gina, handled operations; his father, Herman, led R&D. At fourteen, Luca had been kept at arm's length—tutored, observed, but never allowed real authority.
Now?
His father was dead. His mother lay in a medically induced coma at Metro-General, stable but unresponsive. Two minor shareholders had died in the Chitauri assault. The board was paralyzed. For a week, the company had run on autopilot—fortunate, given the citywide chaos. No emergency shareholder meeting had been called… yet.
But that reprieve wouldn't last.
Under normal circumstances, Herman's estate—and his controlling shares—would take up to a year to settle: will validation, tax filings, court oversight. Gina, as co-owner and spouse, was entitled to a significant portion. As long as she remained alive and hadn't been declared permanently incapacitated, she retained her rights—even in a coma.
Only if she were legally deemed vegetative would the full inheritance default to Luca… under the terms of their joint estate plan.
And that opened another can of worms: guardianship.
At fourteen, Luca couldn't legally control a corporation. A court-appointed guardian—ideally a trusted family friend—would step in. But if someone like Dragan pushed for custody…
Luca's jaw tightened.
That cheap, drug-addled fool… is he really trying to claim guardianship just to seize the company?