Kyle looked Marcello directly in the eyes, searching for hesitation, for doubt, for any sign that this was a bluff or a test. He found none. The Don's gaze was steady, resolved, carrying the weight of a man who'd killed before and would kill again without losing sleep. This wasn't a threat. This was a statement of fact. Marcello Vescari was going to put a bullet in Kyle's brain, and nothing Kyle said or did would change that calculation.
Except Kyle was surprisingly calm about it.
Internally, his mind was screaming. Every survival instinct he possessed shrieked at him to run, to beg, to fight, to do something—anything—to avoid the bullet with his name on it. His heart hammered against his ribs hard enough to hurt. Sweat beaded at his temples despite the room's controlled temperature. But on the outside? He remained still, expression neutral, meeting Marcello's eyes without flinching.
