Death arrived quietly in the Matteo's estate.
Not with screams or gunfire, but with the steady, merciless beep of hospital machines slowly surrendering to silence.
Alessandro Matteo stood at the foot of his father's bed, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight as steel. The room smelled of antiseptic and old power, like a king's throne room stripped of its crown. Don Vittorio Matteo, the man who had ruled the southern syndicates for over four decades, lay still, too still.
When the final beep came, it did not shake Alessandro.
He had learned long ago that emotions were liabilities.
The doctor spoke, soft words, rehearsed condolences, but Alessandro barely heard him. His eyes remained fixed on his father's face, pale and lifeless. The same man who had taught him how to load a gun before teaching him how to write his name, the same man who had broken his knuckles at sixteen for hesitating to pull a trigger.
Vittorio Matteo was dead.
And with him, an empire waited.
The lawyer arrived three hours later.
Old, face like that of someone who was tired of his work, clutching a leather briefcase like it held the weight of the world, which, in a way, it did.
They gathered in the private study of the Matteo mansion, dark wood walls, a roaring fireplace, portraits of dead men staring down like judges. Alessandro sat behind his father's desk for the first time. It fit him too well.
"Mr. Matteo," the lawyer began, clearing his throat, "your father left explicit instructions regarding the transfer of his estate."
"Proceed," Alessandro said coldly.
The lawyer opened the document.
"According to Don Vittorio's will, the full inheritance, including properties, accounts, and leadership rights, will be transferred to you fully on one condition."
Alessandro's jaw tightened. "Condition?"
The lawyer hesitated. That was the first crack.
"You must be legally married within six months."
Silence fell almost immediately. Alessandro laughed once, sharp, humorless. "You're joking."
"I'm afraid not." said the lawyer, not willing to interrupt him.
Marriage, the word tasted bitter.
Vittorio Matteo, the same man who had always told him that women weakened men and if he wanted to rule one day he must be prepared to have no weaknesses, that same man had bound his empire to a ring and a signature.
"If the condition is not met," the lawyer continued nervously, "the inheritance will be frozen and temporarily transferred to the board until...."
"They won't survive a week," Alessandro interrupted.
"But the law would, I mean the law uploads no one sir" the lawyer said
For the first time since his father's death, anger flared.
Alessandro Matteo did not believe in love.
His life had been built on control, discipline, and blood-stained loyalty. He always wakes up before dawn, works until exhaustion, ruled through fear and precision. Meetings, weapons deals, territory disputes, his schedule had no room for tenderness.
Women had always been distractions he believed, short-lived, replaceable.
Marriage was permanence, and permanence was dangerous,yet the empire demanded it.
By morning, Alessandro had made a decision, he wasn't going to let a simple condition take away all his hardwork.
If his father wanted a wife, he would give the law on but on his own terms.