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Lazaro Galanis

The heavy crystal tumbler shatters against the mahogany wall, shards of glass raining onto the polished floor. The rich, golden hue of my whiskey bleeds into the wood panels, but I don’t give a damn. My chest heaves with fury, my hands clenched into fists as I glare at my daughter.

“Useless!” I roar, my voice reverberating through the opulent study. Bella flinches but keeps her chin high, though I can see the tremble in her delicate frame. “Your one duty, your only purpose, was to make Aithan Vasilios yours! And yet, you let that Russian whore take your place?”

“Father—” Bella’s voice quivers, but before she can utter another pathetic excuse, my palm strikes her face repeatedly with brute force. The sharp crack echoes through the room, and she stumbles back, clutching her cheek, her amber eyes wide with shock and unshed tears.

A guttural sound of disgust rumbles in my throat. “You are a disgrace to me. I have spent years crafting this plan, laying the foundation, ensuring that Aithan would fall right into our hands. And what did you do?” I take a step forward, my voice lowering into something far more dangerous. “You whored yourself out to him for five years, and still, you couldn’t get him to marry you?”

Bella recoils, but I see the flicker of defiance in her eyes. “He was never going to marry me,” she spits, her voice thick with frustration. “He doesn’t love anyone. I tried. I did everything you asked.”

“Not enough,” I hiss, towering over her. “Not nearly enough.”

“Please, Lazaro,” my wife’s voice cuts in, soft and placating, as she steps between us, her elegant hands raised in a desperate attempt to calm me. “This isn’t Bella’s fault. Aithan is as ruthless as his father. He was never going to be manipulated that easily.”

A snarl rips through my lips. Without hesitation, I raise my hand and strike her across the face. Her head snaps to the side, and she gasps, stumbling slightly before catching herself.

My patience is at its end. “Do not defend failure,” I warn, my voice like steel. “I have spent a lifetime building our power, ensuring our name is one of fear and respect. And now, because of both of you, my entire plan is on the brink of collapse.”

Bella breathes heavily, her fingers pressing against her burning cheek. “What are you going to do?” she asks, her voice shaking but determined.

I smile. A slow, sinister smile that promises destruction. “What I should have done from the beginning.”

I move to my desk, my fingers tracing over the sleek, dark surface as I grab a folder and toss it toward her. She catches it hesitantly, her eyes scanning the contents. Pictures of Yelena, reports on her movements, details of her routines.

“She should never have been his wife,” I say coldly. “I am going to take her out of the picture.”

Bella’s face pales. “You can’t be serious.”

I arch a condescending brow at her. “You think I’ve come this far just to watch from the sidelines? Do you think I instigated the council to demand that Aithan get married just so that he can bring in that Russian brat? No, Bella. This is a war. And if Aithan Vasilios believes he can usurp my plans and still walk away unscathed, then he is more of a fool than I thought.”

My wife, ever the meek, sniffling woman she is, speaks up, her voice wavering. “Lazaro, this could start a war with the Bratva.”

I scoff. “And? The Greeks and Russians have always danced on the edge of war. Aithan’s father may have orchestrated this pathetic alliance, but I will burn it to the ground. One move at a time.”

Bella shakes her head. “If you touch her, Aithan will never forgive you. He’ll hunt you down.”

I step closer, my eyes narrowing as I regard my daughter with disdain. “Let him try.”

Her lips part as if she wants to argue, but she knows better. I have spent decades caving and shaping my own little empire, making calculated moves that have put me in a position of power. I will not let a twenty-three-year-old brat with a pretty face undo everything I have built.

I grab another glass, pour myself another drink, and take a slow sip. “You both disgust me. Get out.”

My wife hesitates, but one look from me and she scurries away like the pathetic woman she is. Bella lingers for a moment, staring at me as if she no longer recognizes the father who raised her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, my voice void of any warmth. “This is the world we live in, Bella. You failed to claim Aithan. Now, I will have to initiate Plan B.”

A sick satisfaction washes over me as I watch the flicker of horror in my daughter’s eyes.

Let the games begin.

The past is never truly buried. It lingers beneath the surface, woven into the fabric of time, waiting for the moment to claw its way back into the present.

As I settle into my chair, the remnants of my fury still burning in my chest, my mind drifts back—back to the day I orchestrated the fall of Aithan Vasilios’ first family.

It had been too easy.

Back then, Aithan was young, ambitious—but dangerously reckless. His devotion to his wife and son was his greatest weakness, a blind spot I could not ignore. He believed himself untouchable, that love made him invincible.

I proved him wrong.

I remember the day I pulled the strings. I sat in this very office, sipping a fine scotch as I issued the order to eliminate his wife and child. They weren’t just obstacles; they were liabilities to my grander scheme.

Aithan, in his naivety, had been too distracted with a smuggling run, leaving his precious little family vulnerable. It only took a few well-placed calls, a whisper in the right ear, and a hand guiding fate in my favor.

I arranged for the accident like an artist setting up his canvas. The drunk driver—an expendable pawn—had been drugged, his veins pumping with enough narcotics to ensure he wouldn’t remember a damn thing. I had made sure of that.

A tragic accident. A collision at high speed. A bloodied wreck on the asphalt.

Aithan’s wife, and child had died on impact.

By the time Aithan had returned, desperate, broken, and grieving, I was already three steps ahead. He had stormed into the scene like a beast unchained, his roars of agony echoing through the night. And when he found the driver—a pathetic, dazed fool who barely knew his own name—he did exactly what I wanted him to.

He killed him.

Tore him apart like a savage.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

He did the job for me, cleaning up the mess before it could lead back to me. And when the blood had dried and his hands were stained with murder, he was left with nothing but the hollow pain of loss.

I had won.

I sip my whiskey, the taste rich and familiar. The memory is not a burden; it is a triumph. I built the foundation of my power on that day. It was supposed to be the beginning of my daughter's reign—her ascent as Aithan's queen.

But Bella failed me.

Instead of securing her place beside him, she had wasted years tangled in his sheets like a fucking whore. Mistaking lust for love.

What a fool. Like mother, like daughter indeed.

A bitter chuckle escapes me. For one to rise, another must fall. That is the law of this world. Aithan had suffered his loss, and I had expected him to kneel—to realize that he needed Bella, that she was his salvation.

But he hadn't.

And now, history was repeating itself.

I run my fingers over the cold glass of my tumbler, my mind churning. Aithan has a new wife now—a Russian princess whose mere existence has greatly tipped the balance I have so carefully maintained.

I cannot allow her to stay.

I will not allow her to stay.

This is war, and I have never lost a battle.

With a slow exhale, I reach for my phone and dial a secure number. The line clicks, and a deep voice answers, waiting for my command.

"Someone is in my path, and needs to die," I say calmly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "Make it slow and painful."

There is a brief silence, then an understanding grunt.

"As you wish."

I end the call, setting the phone down with a sense of satisfaction.

Aithan took the position that belonged to me and gave it to the Russians.

Now, I will take from him.

And this time, I will make sure he never rises again.