Chapter 12 – The Silent Throne

Ethan stepped out of the cab, the cool night air brushing against his face as the city lights flickered around him. His fingers instinctively brushed over the sleek surface of his newly purchased Google Pixel 8 Pro, a subtle but necessary upgrade from his outdated Oppo phone.

Tonight wasn't just about a meeting. It was about stepping into his role—the power that had always belonged to him but had remained unseen in the shadows.

But first, he needed to look the part.

The boutique in front of him, "Vittorio's Men's Couture," was one of the most exclusive fashion houses in the city. The store catered to elite businessmen, celebrities, and politicians—people who didn't just wear clothes but made statements with them.

As Ethan pushed open the glass doors, the soft chime of an expensive bell echoed through the store. Inside, the scent of premium leather and cologne filled the air, and under the bright lighting, racks of tailored suits, jackets, and high-end polos were meticulously arranged.

Despite the boutique's welcoming ambiance, the subtle shift in energy was immediate. A few customers threw quick, judgmental glances at him—his simple hoodie and sneakers making him an outsider among men draped in tailor-made suits and watches worth more than a house.

A young salesman in a neatly pressed navy-blue suit hesitated before approaching him, his expression polite but doubtful.

"Good evening, sir. How can I assist you?"

Ethan's gaze swept over the store. "I need a full set—polo, jacket, trousers, and shoes. Something clean. Black."

The salesman gave a rehearsed nod. "Right this way."

Minutes later, Ethan stood in front of a mirror inside the fitting room, buttoning up a finely made black polo shirt. Over it, he wore a slim-fit tailored jacket that clung to his frame perfectly, the cut sharp, exuding quiet dominance. The black trousers fit flawlessly, and the Italian leather dress shoes completed the transformation.

As he stared at his reflection, he couldn't help but smirk slightly.

He no longer looked like a mere delivery guy.

He looked like someone who owned entire empires.

Satisfied, he stepped out of the fitting room and walked straight to the counter. The cashier, who had barely acknowledged him earlier, now straightened as he approached.

"That will be $5,600 in total, sir."

Without hesitation, Ethan pulled out his premium black debit card and slid it across the counter.

The salesman's eyes widened slightly, and the previous skepticism vanished in an instant.

"P-Payment successful, sir. Would you like the receipt emailed or printed?"

"Email."

With his new look complete, Ethan strode out of the boutique, exuding the effortless confidence of someone who didn't need validation.

Tonight, the underworld would finally meet its true ruler.

---

Velvet Fang –9:00 PM

The cab pulled up outside "Velvet Fang," one of the most exclusive and dangerous establishments in the city.

To the untrained eye, it was just another elite lounge—a place where powerful men gathered to drink and discuss business. But to those who truly understood its purpose, Velvet Fang was more than just a bar.

It was a throne room for the shadows.

Here, alliances were forged, betrayals were planned, and blood was priced.

As Ethan stepped out, he noticed how discreet yet heavily armed security guarded the entrance, their eyes sweeping over every guest before allowing them inside.

The bouncer, a muscular man with a shaved head and a scar running down his cheek, gave Ethan a questioning look before his eyes flickered toward a small screen in his earpiece.

His expression changed instantly.

"Young Master Ethan."

The way he addressed him wasn't out of politeness. It was out of necessity.

Lucas Morelli had already given orders.

With a single nod, Ethan stepped inside.

The moment he entered, the atmosphere shifted.

The lounge was dimly lit, its golden chandeliers casting warm, flickering light across velvet drapes and polished marble floors. The scent of aged whiskey, cigars, and expensive cologne filled the air, blending with the quiet hum of low conversations and jazz music.

Men in tailored suits, silent bodyguards, and women draped in luxury filled the space. But even in a room of elites, there was an unspoken hierarchy.

And at the top of it all sat Lucas 'Viper' Morelli.

Ethan's steps were slow but deliberate as he approached. The booth in the back was reserved for only the most powerful figures in the underworld.

Lucas Morelli—a man in his mid-forties with sharp, wolf-like features and a neatly trimmed beard—sat with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of dark whiskey swirling in his hand.

Despite the subtle aura of danger he carried, Lucas was calm. Calculating.

The moment he saw Ethan, he stood up.

And then, in front of everyone, he did something that sent a silent shockwave through the room.

He gave a respectful nod.

"Young Master Ethan."

The title was uttered with no hesitation. No questioning. Just acknowledgment.

Several heads turned in curiosity.

Ethan took his seat across from him, exuding effortless control. His fingers lightly tapped the table as he studied Lucas.

"I assume James has briefed you."

Lucas took a sip of his drink, his dark eyes never leaving Ethan's. "He has. But I must say, I was intrigued when I received the request for this meeting."

His lips curled slightly. "After all… it's not every day that the man who actually controls the underworld decides to appear."

Ethan leaned back, his presence unshaken.

"And yet, here I am."

Lucas chuckled, setting his glass down. "Straight to business. I like that." He steepled his fingers. "So, Young Master Ethan… what is it that you wish to discuss?"

Ethan's gaze was unreadable.

"I want to know where things stand."

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"My assets. My influence. Everything that Alexander Langford left behind."

Lucas gave a slow nod, understanding the weight behind the words.

But then Ethan's eyes darkened, his voice turning icy.

"And more importantly…" He tilted his head slightly. "Who thinks they can challenge me for it?"

Lucas studied him for a long moment, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his expression before a slow smile spread across his face.

"I see."

A moment of silence passed between them.

Then Lucas exhaled, swirling his whiskey once more. "It would seem, Young Master Ethan… that the time has come for the underworld to recognize its true king."

Ethan said nothing, his gaze unwavering.

He didn't need to respond.

Because soon, the entire city would know the truth.

This wasn't just about inheritance.

It was about claiming the throne.

And no one—not the old elite, not the hidden enemies—would be able to stop him.