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Grandpa sat in his parlor with six men dressed in army fatigues to his left, and seven men, dressed the same, to his right.

The door swung open as Jasper led Francesco Sivero, of the Sivero Dynasty, inside.

The man was accompanied by three men; all dressed in black designer suits and shoes.

He was a tall, stately man. His skin was snow white, and his eyes jet black, edged with faint crow’s feet.

His hair was pitched in the same darkness, with the exception of silver, silky sideburns that framed his high cheekbones.

He was clean shaven, brandishing a deep, cleft chin and a thick scar that crept past his collar, hiding partially beneath his jawbone.

A light blue tie practically sparkled as he made his way into the room, jewels covering his fingers, and a chain with the Mother Mary dangling from it.

He had a long nose, and an air about him that could get under one’s skin.

He was cocky, in that city slicker sort of way, despite being steeped in Southern comforts.

The man had made billions of dollars, but as his family was establishing itself in Houston so many years ago, wolves came out of the woodwork.

Houston didn’t take kindly to outsiders trying to set up shop.

Especially Italian mafia motherfuckers. Grandpa, seeing their powerful influence in New York and New Jersey, realized he’d found a golden opportunity here.

A potential for an alliance. He sent some of his men to help them plant roots… vouched for them, and lent them a hand.

Nevertheless, despite their unproblematic relationship, Francesco Sivero wasn’t someone you wished to become a target of.

He was known to hold grudges, and was a stickler about oaths, as well as an odd and archaic set of Italian rules that no one abided by anymore, except him.

Despite their differences, they respected one another.

They went way back, and Grandpa hoped that Francesco would understand that Kage alone was to blame for the recent fiasco.

“Mr. Sivero,” Grandpa greeted with a smile. “Please, have a seat.”

The man sniffed, then ran his fingers beneath his flared nostrils and groaned, as if smelling something putrid.

“I don’t want to sit with you, Cyrus. I want my nephew back.”

Despite the topic, the man’s voice was rather flat and nonchalant, still coated with a thick East Coast accent and huskiness from years of smoking.

Grandpa leaned back in his chair and signaled for one of his men to offer drinks.

Sivero waved the tray of wine and liquor away before Reynold was even able to walk more than a few feet in his direction.

“Cyrus, I’m so, so disappointed in you.”

Grandpa boldly met his gaze. “Seein’ as how I’m not a fortune teller, I don’t see why, Sivero.”

“You’re not a foolish man, Cyrus. You know exactly why.

My family owed you a favor. A big favor.

” He tossed up his hands as he began to pace.

“We sent my brother’s son, Salvador, who takes care of some very important business of ours.

As a favor to the Wilde family, we asked him to help you handle a domestic situation, as you called it.

” Grandpa nodded in agreement as he lit a cigar.

“You stated you needed professional help. That you’d lost several men at the hands of this particular person.

A tricky person. Explained that he needed to be blindsided, and it made clear that he must sign a document that you presented to him.

You insisted he was dangerous… we’re used to dangerous. ”

Sivero offered a smile, but it was dark and stiff.

Like a rotting leg, rigid with rigor mortis and early decay.

He moved closer to Grandpa, then stood right before him, glaring down at him.

The man’s nostrils splayed as he breathed loudly, his hands clasped at his crotch.

A look of pure hatred simmered in his black eyes.

“…What we’re not used to, Cyrus, is FUCKING INSANITY!” Suddenly, Sivero lifted the small table that was between them and tossed it across the room. Grandpa clutched the clawed arms of his chair as three of his men brandished their weapons. Sivero’s men did the same.

“Now, everyone calm down,” Grandpa warned, holding up his hands.

“Let’s discuss this like gentlemen.” The guns were slowly lowered, but not put away.

“Sivero, of course this mission wasn’t without risks.

Mr. Kage Wilde is someone who has to either be under my wing, so he can be monitored and controlled, or taken out.

There are no exceptions. He is far too dangerous. I believe that he actually has—”

“Save it. What. Does. He. Have. On. You, Cyrus?” Sivero asked between gritted teeth.

Grandpa shrugged. “He has nothin’ on me. He doesn’t like my proposal, and that’s the issue.”

Sivero cocked his head to the side, then chuckled.

“He’s got nothin’ on ya? You think I’m fuckin’ stupid, Cyrus?

A fuckin’ idiot?! You fuckin’ meat-headed, Hillbilly, redneck, Kentucky Fried Chicken, finger lickin’ no good, fuckin’-your-cousin, inbred, strummin’ the banjo, dirty, country, cocksuckin’, backwoods, gaudy son of a bitch! You have no honor!”

Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Now you watch your mouth there, Mr. East Coast. I don’t give a cotton pickin’ hot damn about no names usually, I’ve got a tough skin, but it’s the principle.

I know that you’re in mournin’, but let’s not start tossin’ out insults there, Sivero.

” He narrowed his eyes on him. “If I called you a grease monkey, or a Guinea ass, Guido, spaghetti slurpin’, mama’s boy, Wop son of a bitch, you’d be havin’ all types of fits. ”

Sivero pointed his finger at him. “You lied to my face. Now my sister-in-law buries what’s left of her fucking son!

Salvador Antonio Sivero was burned alive!

Tortured! But not before being cut and beaten.

Now, I’m no prude.” He brandished a slick smile as he pointed to himself.

“I can appreciate a goodbye birdie job when I see one, but this was diabolical. Your fuckin’ grandson is not a businessman.

He doesn’t do clean work. He’s a fuckin’ sadist!

The motherfucker taunted my nephew’s wife, even!

He got into his phone, called her, let her hear him screamin’!

And then he laughed. He didn’t say his name, but we all know it was him.

He blew up their cars, stuffed rags in their mouths that were soaked with gasoline, but not before shootin’ them, and crackin’ rib cages like crab legs. ”

“And I—”

“Shut up. Your fuckin’ grandson is not normal. He is a one-man wrecking ball. He’s feral! We’re talkin’ serial killer shit, and you said NOTHING. No warning, no heads up that he was a loose cannon! Do you know what this has done to my family, Cyrus? Do you have any fucking idea?!”

“Death is a part of war, friend. You know this. This isn’t a new hat for you. I offered my condolences, and I will handle Kage.”

“Oh, like you handled him for the first half dozen times?! It’s not just the death that upsets me, motherfucker.

It’s the lack of honor. This man is an animal.

He took a bite out of one of the guy’s faces!

!! I deal with men like me and you every fuckin’ day.

We’re killers, Cyrus, because it goes along with business, not because we enjoy it.

It is just something that has to be done.

This?” He laughed mirthlessly. “You knew better. After this disaster, I did a little research on your grandson, figurin’ you’d lie to me this evening to save your own ass.

You’re predictable in that department. Throw your own mother under the bus to get ahead, wouldn’t you, Cyrus? ”

Grandpa hoped his inner turmoil was well concealed.

He understood the man’s grief and grievances, but for God’s sake, it wasn’t his fault, and these things sometimes happened in such cases.

Regardless, one thing was true: Kage came.

Saw. And Fucked some shit up. No one would ever forget this, and now, his relationship and reputation with the Siveros could be irreparably damaged because of this.

He’d proposed to pay for all of the funerals, but his offer was refused.

In fact, he was told to go fuck himself.

He looked at the overturned table, then back at Francesco, who was now putting on a pair of reading glasses, then unfolding a piece of paper he’d removed from the inside of his jacket.

“Says here, Kage Wilde was born to Sarah Wilde and Kane Austin. We know that Sarah’s your daughter…

how nice that she’s still alive. More than I can say for my nephew.

” The man glared at him with malevolence in his eyes.

Then he turned back to the paper. “Kane Austin was the head of the Blood Demon Motorcycle Gang. A prolific, White, outlaw gang, native to Houston Texas, and known for weapons and drug trafficking, shakedowns, theft rings, and money laundering. Nothin’ too crazy,” The man cracked a smile, then continued.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. His father died before Kage had even reached the age of one.

The child was put in a gifted school at the age of four, due to his exceptionally advanced cognitive skills, intense curiosity as to how machines and objects worked, and a drive for learning.