Dominic Bianchi was dead.
The war was over. Matt had won.
But victory didn't come with celebration—only silence.
Matt sat in his penthouse, staring at the city below. It was his now. Every street, every racket, every man who had once sworn loyalty to Dominic now answered to him.
And yet, he felt nothing.
Miriam poured herself a drink, watching him. "You should be out there. Letting them see their new boss."
Matt exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "They'll see me when I'm ready."
She leaned against the bar. "That's what Dominic used to say."
Matt's jaw tightened. "I'm not him."
Miriam sipped her whiskey. "Aren't you?"
The words stung more than they should have.
Luca walked in, tossing a folder onto the table. "Cops are backing off. Our guys handled it. No heat, no witnesses."
Matt barely glanced at the file. "And the last of Dominic's men?"
"Some ran, some pledged loyalty," Luca said. "A few are still holding out."
Matt looked up. "Then handle it."
Luca hesitated. "You sure? Some of them—"
"Handle it."
Silence. Then Luca nodded. "Alright, boss." He left without another word.
Miriam swirled her drink. "You're cleaning house."
Matt leaned back. "It's necessary."
Miriam studied him. "And when do you stop?"
Matt didn't answer.
Because deep down, he already knew.
He wouldn't.
The Cost of the Throne
Days passed. Then weeks.
Matt ran the family ruthlessly. He expanded their business, secured alliances, eliminated threats before they could rise.
But with every move, he became more like the man he had killed.
One night, Miriam found him in his office, staring at an old photograph.
Him. His father. Dominic. Back when things were simpler.
She leaned against the desk. "You don't have to do this alone."
Matt exhaled. "That's the thing, Miriam." He looked up at her, eyes colder than ever.
"I already am."
She held his gaze. And in that moment, she knew—
The Matteo Bianchi she once knew was gone.