Draven's Point Of View
The phone on my desk vibrated with a persistence that suggested the caller wasn't going to accept "I'm busy running an empire" for an answer. I didn't even need to glance at the ID to know who it was. Only one woman possessed the audacity to ring my private line during the witching hour when the rest of the world was asleep.
I leaned back, my chair groaning under the weight of my exhaustion, and swiped the screen. The cool glass felt foreign against my palm after hours of signing documents and making decisions that would reshape territories. "Hell no, Mom. I'm sorry, but it's a hard no from me."
A long, dramatic sigh echoed through the speaker, the kind of sound that usually preceded a lecture on family values and "the importance of togetherness." I'd heard that sigh countless times before… after my first arrest, after I'd refused to attend cousin Marcello's wedding, after every decision that prioritized business over blood.
