Laxus's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden shift, but he quickly softened into an apologetic smile.
Even that reaction grated on Sylas's nerves.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to deny the connection between you and Rocco. I just think… well, he doesn't seem very much like a Di Malvento, that's all."
The soothing tone, as though Laxus were trying to pacify him, only added to Sylas's irritation.
This was why he despised the man—the unshakeable, perfect smile, the refined elegance in every gesture, the gentle, disarming voice that lulled others into dropping their guard.
Everything about Laxus Del Fiore was meticulously crafted, calculated to perfection.
It wasn't genuine—it was the product of cunning precision, befitting someone who embodied the notorious reputation of the Del Fiore family.
A masterpiece of guile.
From birth, Laxus had been complete—a purebred mafioso.