𝟸𝟿. "... 𝙳𝚘 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛?"

TRAVIS'S P.O.V

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of our great nation, today I stand before you not just as a businessman, not just as a politician, but as a man who is outraged—outraged at the audacity, the carelessness, the absolute disregard for justice that has been displayed in the wake of our Prime Minister’s death."

"Our leader was murdered. Bombs have ripped through our cities. Bullets have claimed lives that should never have been lost. And yet, what do we see? Silence. A rush to move forward, to bury the truth before we’ve even buried the dead. I refuse to accept this. I refuse to let the memory of our Prime Minister Cesare become just another name in a long list of casualties swept under the rug of political convenience."

Already, arrangements are being made. A new Prime Minister is being selected as if this were just another routine change of office. As if the blood on these streets hasn’t even dried. As if the families mourning their loved ones do not deserve answers. This is not governance—this is betrayal. And I, for one, will not stand for it."

"I demand justice. I demand answers. And I demand that those responsible—whether they hide in the shadows or sit comfortably in high offices—be held accountable. This country belongs to its people, not to the cowards who think they can manipulate it from behind closed doors. We will not be silenced—”

The ranting got cut short as the TV got turned off. All eyes slowly turned to me, they waited for my response or reaction.

I lit up the cigar before looking up at them. “Who is that?“

They exchanged a look amongst themselves before the President cleared his throat and answered. “That's Massimo Conti. A retired Senate member”

“He happens to lead a group called the Revolution”

I took another drag from the cigar, looking up at him. “And who's gonna take care of him?“

“Right now, there is agitation amongst the people. Taking care of him will be proving him right” he tried to explain and I let out a scoff.

Taking another slow drag from the cigar, letting the silence stretch long enough for discomfort to settle in. They were expecting orders. A name. A death sentence.

Instead, I smirked. Fools.

"You’re all thinking like soldiers." I exhaled, watching the smoke curl in the dim light. "Taking him out only turns him into a martyr. We don’t kill him—we make him irrelevant. Let him speak, and we control the narrative."

They exchanged uneasy glances, unsure where I was going with this.

"How do you disarm a man without laying a hand on him?" I asked, flicking ash onto the tray. "You take away his voice. You make the people stop listening."

The President frowned. "You want to censor him?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "That’s too obvious. People love a silenced man—it makes them curious. No, we do better." I leaned forward, locking eyes with him.

"Find his weakness. His vices, his debts, his past mistakes. If he has none, then we manufacture one. Infiltrate his group, gather information. Leak a scandal, spread a rumor, question his loyalty, twist his words—whatever it takes to make the public turn on him before he even has a chance to rise."

The room was silent, considering the weight of my words. Then a voice—smooth but hesitant—cut through the quiet.

"And if that doesn’t work?"

I tapped the cigar against the tray and met Josephine's gaze with a slow, knowing smile.

"Then we make him wish we’d just killed him."

➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫➫

The orange hue of the cigar illuminated the dark room, I flicked off the lighter and placed it down before taking a drag out of it.

My gaze flickered to the dagger pm the table. Hers. I picked it up and examined it like I have done every other day, I have studied its pattern, the intricate design, everything about this one puce of weapon.

Holding it over her neck wasn't an ideal situation, but an opportunity to be that close to her, breathing in that familiar scent was one I won't pass out.

There was a knock on the door, dragging my attention once again and I looked up. The door was pulled up and a man stepped in.

I tucked the dagger back in and took another drag from the cigar. The office door shut with a quiet finality.

Alistair Vaughn walked in, his posture straight, his expression controlled. He wasn’t here to argue. He wasn’t here to ask why. He already knew.

He took the seat opposite me as I let out a breath of smoke.

Taking my time, I adjusted the cuff of my sleeve before reaching for the whiskey on the table. I didn’t drink, just let the glass rest against my fingertips

My eyes fixed on him once again. An ideal candidate. His gaze was also on mine, they were unwavering. He wanted to assert dominance.

Something that wasn't possible on his end.

“Why are you here” I asked, flicking the ash on the tray. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “To pay my due to the—”

I let out a huff, silencing him once again. This same old bullshit. “Why do you think you should lead?“

“I am experienced in this field and—”

“Honour or Power?“ I Interrupted once again and he paused, shooting me a look. “To be a leader, one must be honourable..."

I chuckled, getting up from my seat, the cigar still between my lips. His eyes followed mine as I walked to the window that over saw the city.

“Mr Ferrari, I believe to be a leader, one must be honourable. The people needs someone to trust. My due to the State is to be—”

“I am the State”

The room fell silent again and I turned back around to him. “Mr Vaughn, do you believe I'm honourable?“ I inquired and his gaze faltered.

“I can't answer that without a—”

“Do you think I've done honourable things?“ I asked once again, stopping by the table, in front of him. He gulped down, probably racking his brain for the best possible answer.

“No”

A smirk formed on my lips as I took another drag from the cigar. “Do I have power?“ I asked and he nodded before answering, “Yes”

I blew out the smoke, “The only due you pay is the one to me” I reiterated. “The narrative is controlled and honour is not needed to do that”

I took another suck from the cigar. “If the people revolt tomorrow. Whose side are you on?“ I asked, blowing out the smoke.

He didn't hesitate this time. “Yours”

I scoffed again, shaking my head. “Words are cheap. What will you do to prove it?“

“What can I do?“ He asked back and I glanced him. “When did you sign on the golden plaque?“

“Many years ago. I pledge my allegiance to the Cicatrici. I bleed for them” he assured and my gaze on him didn't falter.

Leaning away, I went back to my seat. "Cesare thought he had choices," I continued. "He forgot who put him there. He forgot why he was alive in the first place."

Vaughn didn’t blink. "And you’re here to make sure I don’t forget."

I smiled. Cold. Empty. "I’m here to make sure we don’t have to replace another Prime Minister before the year's over."

Another stretch of silence. Vaughn leaned back, considering. Then—

"I assume this means I’m expected to cooperate."

"It means," I said, voice sharp as a blade, "that you will do what’s required. The Senate will approve you because they trust you. The people will accept you because you will give them what they need. A sense of stability. A lie, wrapped in the perfect image of leadership."

His lips pressed into a thin line. He was an actor, after all. He knew how this worked.

"And in return?" he asked carefully.

I tilted my head slightly. "In return, you stay alive."

He inhaled slowly. The weight of that statement settled between us.

"The funeral is in three days," I continued. "You will speak. You will grieve. You will look the people in the eyes and promise them strength."

He nodded once. “Any questions?“ I asked as I took one last drag out of the cigar. “Understood”

Moments later.

I stepped out of the office, sliding my arms back into my blazer. Silvano leaned away from the wall, his sharp gaze tracking my movements. Without a word, I straightened my suitcase and handed it to him.

"Deliver that to Bono," I ordered as we descended the stairs.

Silvano took it without hesitation but didn't let the silence linger. "What do you think about him?" he asked as I lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating my face.

I exhaled, watching the smoke curl toward the dim light. "Let's see what the people think."

The car door swung open, and I slid into the backseat. Silvano followed, settling beside me. A few minutes in, the first drops of rain began to patter against the window, trailing in uneven rivulets down the glass. I took another slow drag, filling the space with the scent of burning tobacco.

"You still haven't given me approval to investigate," he said.

I didn’t turn to him right away. I already knew what he was talking about. Still, I played along. "Investigate what?"

He let out a measured breath. "The attack. The kidnapping. I will find whosoever—"

"You won't," I cut him off, my voice calm but final. His eyes snapped to mine, sharp with restrained frustration.

"Because I haven't said so," I added, blowing another plume of smoke.

Silvano clenched his jaw but remained silent for a beat. Then, after some hesitation, he spoke again.

"Boss."

"Hm?"

"Is our supposed attacker in any way a... woman?"

A slow smile tore across my lips.