The study was a fortress of shadows. Cigar smoke curled against the ceiling, the chandelier's golden glow catching the sharp edges of crystal glasses and silver-plated pistols scattered carelessly across the table.

Alejandro Vargas sat at the head, broad shoulders cloaked in authority, dark eyes burning with the kind of fury that made seasoned killers bow their heads. He tapped his ring against the oak surface once, twice—the sound cutting sharper than a blade.

"Three shipments," he said, voice low and rough. "Gone. Two warehouses breached. Someone in this city believes Vargas blood runs thin."

Silence. His sons watched him, predators waiting for the signal to strike.

Mateo broke it first. He leaned back lazily, golden rims sliding down his nose as his lips curved into a smirk. His tone was velvet, but his words were knives. "Then we don't wait for them to test us again. We cut their tongues and leave them choking in the street. That way, anyone watching learns what silence tastes like."

Diego's jaw flexed, his hands folded like prayer, though no one had ever seen him pray for mercy. His voice was steady, precise, carrying the weight of finality. "Not enough. They'll crawl back if even one breathes. We burn their families too. Absolute fear. That's how you end betrayal."

Nico leaned forward with restless energy, tattooed knuckles rapping the table, a wild grin flashing. "Tch. You two love speeches. Forget slow death and precision. Let me handle it. I'll make them beg so loud the whole damn city knows who owns them."

Mateo turned his head, smirk sharpening. "Begging doesn't rebuild a warehouse, idiota. And you'd ruin everything with your theatrics."

"At least I do something," Nico shot back, palm slamming flat against the wood.

Diego cut in, sharp as broken glass. "Both of you shut it. We need precision, not circus tricks."

Nico barked a laugh, reckless and hot-blooded. "Precision? You're so stiff, hermano, the enemy dies of boredom before you even pull the trigger."

Mateo adjusted his glasses, smile widening like he lived to provoke. "Better stiff than brainless."

The room boiled, voices overlapping, tension snapping like gunfire. Alejandro's patience thinned, the vein in his temple pulsing—

And then.

The door creaked.

Soft. Too soft for this place.

The air shifted.

All four froze.

Alejandro's cigar stilled between his fingers. Diego's cutting words strangled in his throat. Mateo's smirk faltered. Nico's fist unclenched.

The footsteps drew closer, light and familiar.

The girl who did not share their blood but carried all their hearts entered the room.

The wolves stopped breathing.

Memories bled in uninvited, fragments slipping through the cracks of their composure: rain dripping on the orphanage roof as Alejandro's hand reached down and a tiny one clung back; laughter too sweet, echoing through cold marble halls that had never known warmth until her; Diego leaving a teddy bear by her door, muttering it wasn't from him though everyone knew; Nico's sleeve tugged by a little voice calling his name first, pride sparking fierce in his chest; and Mateo catching her in the kitchen at midnight, pretending not to care while quietly hiding the stolen cookies from their father.

Fleeting images, unspoken truths. A past none of them admitted, but all carried.

Alejandro's voice was first to break the silence. Low. Almost soft. "... what are you doing awake, pequeña? It's late."

Mateo leaned forward immediately, slipping back into his usual smoothness. Glasses glinted as he smirked. "Don't bother, Papá. She came for me. Who else?"

Diego scoffed, shifting his chair closer, tone clipped. "In your dreams. She knows who actually keeps her safe."

"Safe?" Nico snorted, dragging the empty chair beside him with a dramatic scrape. "Please. Everyone knows she likes me best. Sit here, cariño."

The great Vargas empire, feared from Barcelona to Naples, was reduced in seconds to a storm of squabbling boys. Wolves turned puppies. Assassins turned fools.

Four pairs of eyes locked on her.

Mateo's voice, smooth and teasing, broke the silence first. "So... tell us—"

Diego leaned in, eyes sharp, possessive. "—who do you trust most?"

Nico's grin widened, shameless and cocky "—who do you like most?"

Alejandro's tone came last, calm but weighted, like a judgment. "Choose, pequeña. Let's hear it from you."

The storm raged outside, but inside the house of wolves, the only sound that mattered was the one they waited for now—her answer.