The heavy oak doors of the Romano estate slam shut behind Qiu Dingjie, the sound echoing through the marble foyer like a gunshot. He doesn't pause to acknowledge the trembling housekeeper, his gaze fixed on the staircase leading to his father's study. Every step resonates with deliberate weight as he ascends.

He finds Don Romano hunched over his desk, papers scattered like defeated enemies around him. Without knocking, Dingjie kicks the door fully open, the wood splintering slightly at the frame.

The old man looks up, surprise flickering across his face before hardening into resentment. "You could at least pretend to have respect," he croaks.

Dingjie crosses the room in three strides, slamming his hands down on the desk hard enough to make the lamp rattle. "Respect?" he sneers, leaning in until his face is inches from his father's. "I've been cleaning up your messes from Berlin to Barcelona while you let this family rot." His fingers wrap around the old man's throat, not choking, just holding - a promise of violence.

"You think these capos will follow a sick old man?" His voice drops to a dangerous growl. "They need teeth. They need blood." He releases his grip abruptly, backhanding a crystal ashtray across the room where it shatters against the wall.

Don Romano flinches but meets his son's gaze. "You'll get us all killed with your recklessness."

Dingjie's laugh is cold and sharp. "No, old man. I'll make them fear us again." He grabs his father's jaw, forcing it upward. "Either you hand me the reins willingly..." His thumb brushes the older man's pulse point, "...or I'll take them. And you won't like the body count."

He releases him and straightens his jacket, already turning toward the door. "Tell the capos to gather tonight. I want to meet my new soldiers."

The threat hangs in the air like smoke as he leaves the room, his footsteps confident and measured - the sound of a man who knows he's already won.