They should have known better than to mess with him!

Richard's expression turned cold and unwavering as the laughter of the Seattle men filled the training room. His sharp eyes glinted under the dim overhead lights, and he turned to Marco Deluca, who stood at the men with nothing but indifference in his eyes, his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his black trousers.

The laughter gradually faded as Richard took a step forward, his boots echoes against the concrete floor. The air turned heavier, thick with unspoken tension.

"You idiots really don't know who you're talking to, do you?" Richard's voice was calm, but there was an underlying edge, a warning beneath his words.

The men from Seattle exchanged glances, and their amusement vanished. The one who had mocked Marco Deluca earlier with blue sweatpants and sweaty face scoffed. "Why? Should we? He looks like a washed up outsider to me."