FRACTURED CONTROL

Russo's point of view

I sat in my room, the weight of the day pressing down on me like an invisible shroud. The confrontation with Cleopatra had been intense, and while I had maintained control, her words had dug deeper than I cared to admit. The word “pathetic” echoed in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

But as I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence and warmth of the room envelop me, my thoughts were interrupted by the sudden buzz of my phone. The number on the screen made me sigh, it was my grandfather, the Don of our family, the man whose legacy I was meant to carry forward.

I knew why he was calling. The pressure had been mounting for months, and I had done everything to keep the inevitable at bay. But there was only so much I could do before the old man’s patience wore thin.

With a resigned breath, I answered the call. "Nonno," I greeted him, keeping my voice respectful.

“Enzo,” his voice came through the receiver, strong despite his age. There was no warmth in it, only th