TC (1-4) | ENG

The Clone

1 – Omertà, the Code of Silence

New Yord City, 2017

Reeve Galante stepped out of the elevator as it delivered him to the eighteenth floor. The polished black shoes on his feet felt stiff, unfamiliar with movement. Black slacks, a black suit, and a dark tie framed a plain cream shirt beneath. Every inch of his attire had been pressed to perfection, immaculate and sharp. It was the first time in a long while that he had bothered to look presentable, after months of indifference toward whatever clung to his body.

His appearance blended seamlessly with the interior palette of the Red Season Hotel, where he had been invited by someone to whom he owed his life. Plush carpets in shades of red and black stretched along the hallway, mirrored by unpatterned wallpaper in matching tones. Decorative lamps clung to the walls on either side, offering only a meager glow. The light was dim. Intimate. Heavy with implication.

At the far end of the corridor, several men dressed entirely in black stood clustered before a large, ornately carved door. Almost all of them wore dark sunglasses, their postures rigid, their faces hard as they tracked Reeve’s approach with open suspicion.

Under their hostile scrutiny, a surge of nerves was inevitable. Still, Reeve reined himself in at once. Why be nervous? He had done nothing wrong. He refused to let the negative charge radiating from these men seep into him.

He lifted his chin, straightened his back, and walked forward with measured confidence, unhurried, controlled. He chose not to offer a smile to anyone watching. It was not his habit, and more importantly, this was no place for warmth or cheer.

He let his young face settle into a mask of indifference, dark eyes fixed sharply ahead. A long scar slashed across his right cheekbone, briefly unsettling to behold. A souvenir from a recent clash, now a permanent fixture of his face, a mark he would have to carry. His hair, grown long past his ears and usually left wild, had been slicked back tonight with high-quality gel, neat and disciplined.

“Reeve,” someone called.

He turned and allowed a fleeting smile. “Hey, Renato.”

“Good to see you,” the man said, patting Reeve’s shoulder. Renato Gravano, a broad-shouldered, bald, middle-aged man, greeted him with a warm smile. He was the one who had vouched for Reeve before the higher-ups.

Renato found his thoughts drifting back several years, to the first time he had “discovered” Reeve Galante. The boy had barely entered adolescence then, running with a small crew of convenience store robbers in Philadew, a city on the outskirts. Renato had watched in secret, with his own eyes, as the scrappy kid stitched together brilliant strategies and led operations with uncanny finesse, pulling them off cleanly, flawlessly, without ever leaving a trail for law enforcement to follow. That boy, Reeve, had naturally assumed the role of leader, though he may never have realized it himself.

The inexplicable fascination Renato felt toward the teenage Reeve drove him to keep watch over the boy’s every move, weighing him silently, until he finally decided Reeve deserved a status. And when Renato uncovered Reeve’s true lineage, discovering that the boy carried pure blood from the Sivily hinterlands, his conviction only deepened.

It sealed his decision to grant Reeve a status reserved exclusively for the Sivily. A status that promised limitless privilege, boundless opportunity, and a clear, uncompromising hierarchy. A status that demanded courage from all who bore it, the kind of courage required to survive until the very end.

“Renato,” Reeve said. There was a trace of awkwardness in the thin smile he managed. “I honestly do not know how to thank you. Without you, I would still be living on the streets, for who knows how long.” His voice carried weight, low and sincere.

Renato returned the smile.

A few months earlier, Renato had approached the leader of Reeve’s crew, a young man of Irlande descent, and demanded that the group procure twenty luxury cars from the city’s most prestigious showrooms. He had made one thing very clear to the Irlande youth. Reeve was to lead the operation. There would be no interference.

The result of that heist left Renato genuinely impressed. In just three hours, Reeve had completed the job with flawless precision. Twenty high-end cars, vanished without a ripple. Satisfied, even exhilarated, Renato had taken Reeve’s name to the higher ranks, seeking approval for his plan to bring the boy into their fold.

“I only act in accordance with reality,” Renato said calmly. “You are tough, sharp, and you complete every task I give you as proof of your worth. You deserve all of this.”

“Yes. I… I still can’t quite believe I’ve earned it all, after finishing your last assignment,” Reeve replied. “That was the first time I went that far.”

He was referring to what he had done days earlier, taking the life of someone deemed an enemy of the Family. Every initiate was required to prove himself worthy by removing an opponent. By killing.

“There is always a first time,” Renato said with practiced wisdom. “You will grow used to it. You have the nerve for it. And you carry that precious Sivily blood. Perhaps you are still too young to fully grasp what this means, but don’t worry. In time, I am certain you will become a formidable mafioso.”

Reeve smiled at the broad man before him, his face etched with deep lines. “Don’t you think I really am too young?”

Renato’s mind drifted back to the moment he had presented Reeve’s name to the Family elders, proposing that the boy be granted status. Steffano Dossena, the underboss, and Roberto Consigli, the family’s consigliere, had both frowned the instant Renato mentioned Reeve’s age.

Sixteen.

“You must be joking, Renato,” Steffano had said.

Roberto chimed in, “He’s underage. Still a child. With the way you talked him up, I assumed this Reeve of yours was already a grown man. Turns out he’s just an unstable kid.”

“This is not good,” Steffano added. “It could become a mess if you insist on dragging a child into our family.”

Renato had frowned then, his gaze shifting to the man who remained silent. Don Alphonse Burgueno sat motionless in his grand chair. The head of the Burgueno crime family, one of the most powerful clans in all of New Yord. His hair was thin, nearly white, his face mapped with countless wrinkles that pulled his cheeks downward, yet none of it diminished the authority radiating from his calm eyes. To an ordinary man unaware of who Alphonse Burgueno truly was, he would appear warm, intelligent, respectable. But to those who knew, no one would dare provoke the Don’s anger.

“He is sixteen, yes. And what of it?” Renato had pressed. “His mindset and conduct are far beyond his age. There is nothing childish about him. In two years, he will be of age anyway. Why not give him a place to learn while he is still young?”

“A place to learn.” Roberto let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Do you think our family is a school?"

“He will be exceptional. I am certain of it, just from witnessing his capabilities,” Renato said with emphasis. “I’ve been watching him for years. I can attest that he is without flaw. There is only one final trial left for him. If he succeeds, I know he is the right one.”

“It seems you are very determined to make that boy a made man,” Steffano replied.

“I am. I am willing to vouch for him. Let me be his mentor,” Renato said.

Roberto’s lips curved into the same sardonic smile. “And what if your confidence turns out to be completely misplaced?”

Renato clicked his tongue. At last, he turned to Don Alphonse. “Don, do you disagree with me as well?”

Don Alphonse lifted a brow. “To argue over something so small,” he said mildly. He drew a long breath before addressing Steffano and Roberto. “Renato is convinced, and he is the one staking his name on the boy. Let it be, Stef, Rob. The boy only needs two more years to come of age.”

Renato did not bother hiding his satisfaction when he heard the Don’s answer.

Now, back in the present, he said to Reeve, “It is not wise to refuse an offer to become a soldier, Reeve. You will be made, and you will belong to the Burgueno family for life.”

Reeve nodded, smiling.

“Is this the new kid you’ve been talking about, Renato?” a voice cut in.

The speaker was gaunt and wiry, not very tall. His teeth jutted forward slightly, and he laughed often. At first glance, he seemed lighthearted, almost comical, but the illusion vanished under the sharp, piercing gaze of his eyes.

“Tonio,” Renato called. “Reeve, this is Tonio Gallo. He was initiated before you, and I brought him in as well. Tonio, yes, this is Reeve Galante I told you about. You two will be working together.” A broad smile spread across Renato’s round face as he watched his two “boys” greet each other, clearly well matched.

“All right. Go on inside, Reeve. The Don is surely waiting for you,” Renato said, giving Reeve’s shoulder a gentle push.

Reeve complied. He passed several other men dressed in black who had been watching him all this time. Two of them opened the door, ushering him in.

Inside, the room was vast, its interior echoing the same palette as the corridor. Gold-accented furniture and a grand chandelier heightened the air of luxury. Don Alphonse sat at the far end of a long table, flanked by bodyguards. Others of varying ages were scattered around the room, some seated, some standing, deep in discussion.

All conversation ceased the moment Reeve entered, followed by Renato and Tonio.

There was no denying it. Reeve was the youngest among them all. The only one still underage.

Another young man, perhaps three years older than Reeve, watched him move with open disdain. He was tall and lean, roughly Reeve’s height. His hair was short and unruly, as if it had never known a comb. Sharp black eyes, a prominent nose, a hard, defined jawline, and the faint shadow of stubble lent his face a dangerous edge. His appearance was careless. His suit jacket hung open, no tie in sight, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He stood in stark contrast to everyone else gathered that night.

The dangerous-looking young man was Roman Burgueno, the son of Don Alphonse Burgueno.

The pressure closed in on Reeve the moment he stepped into the room. The gazes of the men inside bore down on him far more heavily than those of the guards stationed at the door. It was only natural that his nerves surged again. Still, he steeled himself.

With steady steps, Reeve approached the Don, who had risen to greet him. A warm smile spread across the older man’s face, the kind a father might wear when welcoming a son home.

“So you are Reeve Galante,” Don Alphonse said.

“Yes, Don,” Reeve replied, as respectfully as he could.

Don Alphonse nodded, studying Reeve from head to toe. He placed both hands on Reeve’s arms, gripping them with a reassuring firmness. The same gentle smile remained etched on his genial face.

“You know, Reeve, there is nothing more important to a man than his family,” Don Alphonse said. “These men, these honorable men, they are my family as well. La famiglia Burgueno. Today, I invite you to be born again, as part of this family. We do not swear with blood. Blood spills. Words endure. What is born in this family dies here. And what dies here is never spoken."

Reeve bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Godfather,” he answered.

Don Alphonse stepped forward and kissed both of Reeve’s cheeks. Then he said, “You are now one of us who has proven himself. Gli uomini qualificati. Men of quality. Go on, introduce yourself to all your brothers.”

Reeve could not suppress his smile. Pride flickered there, unmistakable. Don Alphonse released him, allowing the others to approach. One by one, they offered congratulations, embracing him in turn. Reeve was introduced to Steffano Dossena and to Roberto Consigli, who appeared nearly the same age as the Don himself.

“You know who I am?” Roman asked, his tone openly arrogant, when Reeve finally stood before him.

Of course Reeve knew. When Renato had first contacted him and made his intentions clear, Reeve had wasted no time gathering everything he could about the Burgueno family. Roman’s name had been impossible to miss. The sole heir of Don Alphonse Burgueno. And now he stood face to face with him.

“I do,” Reeve answered evenly, refusing to let Roman’s arrogance chip away at his composure. “Roman. Son of Don Alphonse.”

“Good.” Roman stepped forward and pulled Reeve into a brief embrace. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you.”

“Listen. There’s something you need to understand.” The seriousness on Roman’s face came suddenly, wiping away any hint of ease.

Reeve listened closely, waiting.

“La Cosa Nostra,” Roman said, “is not merely about business. It is about honor. You enter alive. If you ever leave, you leave dead. And remember, silence is not what keeps you alive. Loyalty is. Do you understand?”

To be part of a mafia family was an honor. Reeve understood that well. He could not act carelessly toward any member of the family. More than that, he could never turn his back, never defect, never, under any circumstances, sing to the authorities and spill the family’s secrets. Death would be the only thing waiting for him if he did. Reeve would never do that. The thought alone had never crossed his mind. He had known this from the very beginning.

“You agree, don’t you?” Roman pressed.

Reeve nodded. “I do. Don’t worry, Roman. From this moment on, I devote my life to this family. You have my word. I will not act dishonorably.”

Roman nodded, satisfied, then gave Reeve’s shoulder a firm pat before moving away.

“Gentlemen,” Steffano said loudly, cutting through the room. “Our guests have arrived at the ground floor and is on their way up. Anyone not involved should leave the room at once.”

It took Reeve only a fraction of a second to understand. He was among those not involved. Aware of his place, he turned to leave. Tonio came up beside him, slung an arm around his shoulders, and walked with him, letting out a light laugh.

“We’re not involved, Reeve,” Tonio said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Reeve noticed that several men exited with them, while those who remained inside began taking their seats around the long table.

“So they’re holding a meeting after this?” Reeve asked, just to be sure.

“Exactly. And from what I’ve heard, this one’s supposed to be something big. Wow big,” Tonio said, clearly fishing. “I don’t know what it is yet. Aren’t you curious?”

“If it’s something we’re meant to know, we’ll know,” Reeve replied casually.

Renato intercepted them at the doorway. “Reeve. Tonio,” he called. “I’m heading into the meeting now. Wait outside, all right?”

“Ah. Okay,” Tonio said, while Reeve merely nodded.

“Who’s the Don meeting with?” Tonio asked. “Who’s our guest this time?”

Renato hesitated for a moment, then answered, “For your own records, they’re scientists who want to work with our family.”

“Scientists?” Tonio’s eyes went wide, his lips forming a perfect O, his shock completely unfiltered. “Since when does La Cosa Nostra get involved with science?”

Renato clicked his tongue. “Young man. This is precisely why I’m not particularly fond of having many subordinates, and why I’ve only ever taken on two, unlike the other capos. Those scientists worked with the late Don before us, and now they want to extend that collaboration with our family. If you’re curious, ask someone my age. They’ll understand what I mean.”

With that, Renato left Tonio and Reeve standing outside the room, confusion written plainly across their faces.

Reeve watched as the elevator at the far end of the corridor opened. Two men in long white coats stepped out. Both were tall, their expressions severe behind their glasses. The stark white threading through their hair marked them as no longer young. They moved stiffly, briskly, with purpose.

“Those must be our guests,” Reeve said, indicating the scientists with a tilt of his chin. The guards opened the door for them.

“Ah. I think I know,” Tonio said. “This has something to do with human cloning.”

Reeve shot him a look of pure disbelief. “What?”

2 – Human Clone

As the Don’s most loyal and trusted caporegime, Renato Gravano was always involved in the family’s internal meetings. The large-nosed capo was perpetually on call, ready for anything, whenever his presence was required. Tonight was no exception. Don Alphonse Burgueno was receiving two guests, scientists who had once maintained a business relationship with the former Don, Angelo Granoche.

Don Alphonse was certain of their purpose. They had come seeking to renew that partnership with him, as Granoche’s successor. Under normal circumstances, Don Alphonse would have welcomed any proposal with open arms, legal or otherwise. But not this one.

Human cloning.

A deeply religious man, Don Alphonse made a habit of seeking the sacrament of confession the moment he believed he had sinned. To him, human cloning was a direct affront to divine order. Man was created by God, and only God had the right to govern life in its entirety. For humans to manufacture copies of themselves, solely for personal gain, was profoundly unethical.

The scientists had already arrived. Professor Dr. Nicholas Spindler and his deputy, Professor Dr. Reinhard Franglen.

Their presence stirred old memories in Renato. Back when he was still a foot soldier and Don Angelo Granoche was alive, Renato had often been assigned to escort the Don during visits to a research facility officially known as a center for animal cloning development. In truth, it was nothing more than a front, concealing Granoche’s clandestine dealings with the scientists inside. Human cloning research.

Renato had witnessed the progress with his own eyes. Under the scientists’ capable hands, the advances had been staggering. They had succeeded in cultivating fully functional human organs, each one capable of operating just like its natural counterpart. These organs were then implanted into artificial bodies, bodies custom-built to match the physical structure and outward appearance of the prospective client.

That was the last stage Renato knew of, shortly before Don Granoche passed away.

Now, Don Alphonse had summoned him to attend this meeting. And the rumor circulating was far more unsettling. The scientists had completed the human cloning project. They had allegedly developed a device capable of transferring memory itself, copying every thought, every experience stored in the client’s mind, and implanting it wholesale into the clone’s brain.

The result was a perfect human duplicate.

A living replica.

A machine in flesh.

A being that possessed the same traits, strengths, weaknesses, abilities, and memories as the original.

Renato watched with his own eyes as Roman listened to Professor Reinhard Franglen’s proposal. The young man followed the presentation with unmistakable excitement, his eyes gleaming with interest.

Of course, Renato thought grimly.

This boy was already imagining the millions of dollars such a business could bring, if the Burgueno family chose to claim it as our own.

Meanwhile, the Don himself appeared entirely uninterested.

Franglen, the tall, gaunt scientist with a gift for words, was the second-in-command of the human cloning project. The project’s leader, Professor Dr. Nicholas Spindler, remained seated throughout, silent, allowing his deputy to carry the presentation from beginning to end.

When it was over, Renato observed the impassive expressions on Roberto’s and Steffano’s faces. Neither man looked impressed, yet Renato could read the glint in their eyes. They were interested. Roman, meanwhile, stared at his father with undisguised impatience.

“No.”

The word fell flat, brief yet forceful enough to widen Roberto’s and Steffano’s eyes in shock. Roman reacted even more strongly.

“I appreciate that you chose me as the first to whom you offered this business,” Don Alphonse continued evenly. “But I must refuse. I will not engage in this venture.”

Spindler, tall but stooped, fixed his pale gray eyes on the Don. “Godfather,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We came to you first because we know you were the most trusted ally of the late Don Angelo Granoche. We require political backing and guaranteed protection. From you, Godfather.”

Roberto, the consigliere, leaned in as if to whisper something into the Don’s ear, but Don Alphonse dismissed him with a slight motion of the hand, offering no chance to speak.

“My answer remains the same. No,” Don Alphonse said calmly.

There was something in his gaze, in the composed grace of his bearing, a quiet authority that made both Franglen and Spindler understand that this was final. In that same instant, they knew it was time to withdraw.

“That is my final answer. I congratulate you on your work, and I wish you success, as long as it does not encroach upon Burgueno territory.”

Don Alphonse rose and shook hands with Spindler and Franglen, who could not hide their disappointment.

“Unbelievable!” Roman exploded the moment the two scientists disappeared beyond the door. “You just turned down a business worth billions and let the other four families fight over something that should have been ours!”

“Roman, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Don Alphonse replied calmly, lifting a glass of whiskey to his lips.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Roman scoffed. “What I know is that you just let the future walk right past you! Ask Roberto. Who do you think is wrong here, me or my dad, Consigliere?” Roman demanded, striding toward him.

Roberto paused, weighing his words. “In my opinion, whatever decision the Don makes is the right one,” he said at last.

Renato shot Roberto a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

Playing it safe, or currying favor with the Don, Renato thought.

Roman narrowed his eyes, looking at Roberto with open contempt.

“You never take my side, do you, Consigliere,” he said coldly.

Then he turned to Renato. “And you, Renato?”

Renato drew a slow breath. “In my opinion, cloning is a future industry worth millions. There’s no reason for the other four families to turn it down.”

“So you believe I’m wrong, Renato?” Don Alphonse asked evenly, his gaze settling on him.

The weight of that look made Renato falter. “With all due respect, Don, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that… isn’t your goal to control the largest assets possible, to ensure our family becomes the strongest of them all?”

Don Alphonse exhaled. “Listen carefully, all of you. I did not make the wrong decision. My decisions are final and not open to dispute. Now leave. There are many matters that require your attention.”

With that, the meeting was over.

Roberto, Steffano, Renato, and the other capos rose at once. But as Roman turned to leave, Don Alphonse spoke again.

“Do not let your hunger for money rule you, Rome. You must use reason as well. If you don’t, it will return to you as a blade aimed at your own back.”

Roman shot his father an irritated glance. “Oh, really? One day I’ll prove you’re not always right. And tell me, what good is being a devout Don? What use are the weekly sacraments you take, when you live off dirty money anyway? There’s a word for that. Hypocrite.”

He walked away without waiting for a response.

Don Alphonse merely shook his head. He was used to Roman’s cruelty, his stubbornness, his petulant fury.

Roman stormed out of the room, his face twisted with resentment, his footsteps heavy against the floor. His mood had been utterly ruined, all because his father chose obedience to faith over ambition. In the corridor, he spotted Renato speaking with Reeve and Tonio.

“Renato!” Roman barked, signaling sharply with his hand.

The capo immediately excused himself and hurried over.

“I don’t understand him, Renato,” Roman hissed, fighting to keep his voice low.

Renato caught his arm and pulled him aside, away from listening ears. “It was the Don’s decision,” Renato said firmly. “You know that. We respect it.”

“Respect it?” Roman barked out a laugh, sharp and ugly. “Respect that?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “He’s a relic. A fossil clinging to power because he’s terrified of anything that isn’t his way. Every new idea is an insult to his precious traditions—even when it could make this family untouchable.”

Roman spun back to Renato, eyes blazing. “What do you think happens to us when men like him refuse to evolve?”

“Enough,” Renato warned. “He’s still the Don. And he’s your father.”

Roman froze. Then he turned—slowly. The look on his face made Renato tense.

“My father?” Roman snarled. “A father who never listens. A dictator who never sees me. He treats me like a threat, like a mistake that needs to be locked away.”

His voice cracked with fury. “And her—he worships her. That useless little princess. While I rot in that house, watched, controlled, suffocated.”

He laughed, sharp and bitter. “I’m not a child anymore. I asked him to trust me. To teach me. To prepare me to lead this family one day.”

Roman’s smile vanished. “Do you know what he said?”

His voice dropped. “That I wasn’t worthy. Not worthy to replace him.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Then why keep me locked in that house?” Roman went on quietly. “Why not let me leave? Why trap me like this?” His jaw tightened. “Damn him.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard, then leaned closer.

“Listen, Renato. An idea just crossed my mind. It’s extremely risky. But it could secure my future. And yours too—if you’re willing to stand with me completely.”

Renato smiled faintly. “You have my attention. What’s your plan?”

“You’d do anything for it?”

“As long as it guarantees my future,” Renato answered without hesitation.

A confident smile spread across Roman’s face. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

He slipped an arm around Renato’s shoulders, already tasting the promise of power.

3 — Sabotaging the Enemies

That afternoon, Reeve drove the armored luxury SUV smoothly along the highway, its bulletproof windows reflecting the pale daylight. In the passenger seat, Renato focused on his phone, fingers tapping out messages as a cigarette smoldered between them. In the back, Roman sat with one leg crossed over the other, staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

“Roscoe’s already there,” Renato said at last, breaking the silence. “He’s waiting for us.”

Reeve immediately understood who Renato meant. Roscoe Valachi—a capo, just like Renato.

“Roscoe,” Roman murmured. “I still can’t believe someone who looks as old-fashioned as he does—a law graduate, no less—would choose my side over that fossil of a Don.”

“Never judge a man by his cover, Rome,” Renato replied with a chuckle. “He might look conservative, but he’s actually open-minded. You don’t know this, but during that meeting, Roscoe was practically frozen in his seat when your father rejected the proposal. Honestly, I could tell Roberto and Stefano were intrigued by cloning too. They just chose to stand behind your father.”

Roman let out a hollow laugh. “So the only guaranteed fossil is my old man. I don’t get it. I really don’t. How can someone be that rigid? Be realistic—the business prospects are enormous. All it takes is setting aside faith or religion for a moment, and you secure a future that actually means something.”

He shook his head. “And I wouldn’t have to keep playing cat and mouse with him like this. Damn fool.”

“No matter how angry you are,” Renato said calmly, “you shouldn’t use words like that about the man who brought you into this world.”

Roman scoffed. “You’re such a good son, huh, Renato? You always flinch when I call my old man an idiot. I’m insulting my father, not yours.”

“You’ll understand when you have children of your own,” Renato replied. “No parent wants to hear curses spilling from their own blood.”

“Idiot. As if he can hear me,” Roman shot back. “I curse him every day—he never hears a word. Unless I scream it straight into his ear.”

He turned forward. “What about you, Reeve? You the devoted-son type too?”

Reeve didn’t answer immediately. In the rearview mirror, he glanced at Roman watching him expectantly.

“Me?” he said lightly. “I don’t have a father.”

Roman smirked. “Your mother is a Virgin Mary?”

“No mother either,” Reeve replied without missing a beat. “I was born from a rock. Let’s go with that.”

Renato glanced at his favorite enforcer. He knew there was something buried in the man’s past—he’d learned as much when he’d first looked into Reeve—but he chose not to comment.

Before long, they arrived at a sprawling white complex stretching across hectares of land. A cloning development facility—officially focused on animal cloning as a front. Behind closed doors, it pursued something far more ambitious: human cloning, marketed in whispers as the next big thing.

Reeve parked beside an identical SUV. A man about Renato’s age was already waiting, waving as they stepped out.

“That’s Roscoe,” Renato said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Let’s get this done, Rome. You’re sure they won’t turn you down?”

“I’m gonna make them an offer they can’t refuse,” Roman replied casually.

Roman’s underground enterprise ran smoothly. Demand for human clones surged. Wealthy tycoons, corrupt politicians swimming in illicit money—everyone wanted a copy of themselves.

Three years in, in the middle of autumn 2020, the operation caught the attention of two prominent federal prosecutors in New Yord: Ivander Campbell and his partner, Wayne Castellano. The duo was infamous for their coordination and relentless pursuit of La Cosa Nostra. They had already sent countless mobsters to prison—men from the Five Families who had grown careless, who left traces behind.

“We have to do something, Rome,” Renato said after ending a phone call.

At the time, Renato, Roscoe, and Roman were gathered, discussing Campbell and Castellano’s movements. Reeve stood silently in the corner, alert.

“I just heard from one of my guys,” Renato continued. “Those two bastards are tailing one of our clients right now. It’s not their first attempt.”

Roscoe nodded, his flamboyant presence impossible to miss, thick beard framing his face. “That’s right. Other clients complained too, but they were careful—never appearing in public alongside their clones. Still, those bastards won’t let go.”

“I hate this,” Renato snapped, barely restraining himself. “We have to act NOW, Rome.”

Roman nodded slowly. “We tighten surveillance. Deploy more of your people. Track Campbell and Castellano—every step, every habit.”

His voice hardened. “If you find a weakness, we exploit it. And when we strike—”

He paused.

“—we strike without mercy.”

“Let’s break their partnership,” Roscoe said, finally voicing his thoughts. “That’s the only way. Find a weakness in one of them. Destroy his career. Once that happens, the other won’t be a problem anymore. What can a man do on his own?”

“Agreed,” Roman said at the same time Renato nodded.

“But how do we even find a weakness?” Renato pressed. “Surveillance alone won’t be enough—and we don’t have the luxury of time. This has to end fast.”

“We’re being played.”

Reeve’s sudden voice cut through the room. All three men turned toward him.

“Relying on a handful of allies—just a few capos and soldiers loyal to you, Roman—is going to bleed us dry sooner or later,” Reeve went on evenly. “This is what happens when we operate behind Don Alphonse’s back. If we came clean, we’d be protected. We’d have the entire family backing us.”

Renato frowned, irritation plain on his face. The look in his eyes said it clearly: Reeve had no place speaking out of turn.

Roman scoffed, turning his head away. “And do you know how to change the mind of your beloved, old-fashioned Don?” he snapped. “Do you?”

Reeve fell silent. He didn’t have an answer.

“See?” Roman barked. “If you don’t have a solution, shut your mouth and guard the door.”

Reeve clenched his jaw but didn’t argue back.

Ever since he’d heard the illegal cloning operation was under outside scrutiny, the names Ivander Campbell and Wayne Castellano had lodged themselves in his mind. They stirred something familiar—names that refused to stay buried.

“Do we have their backgrounds?” Reeve asked carefully. “Biographies. Personal records.”

Roman rolled his eyes. Renato clicked his tongue in annoyance, then motioned Reeve closer. He grabbed a folder from the stack of documents on the table and slammed it down in front of him.

“Read it yourself,” Renato snapped. “Ivander Campbell’s file. What exactly are you hoping to find? Just curious?”

Reeve scanned the pages.

Then he froze.

His eyes widened as the fog in his memory began to lift, details snapping sharply into place.

“What is it, kid?” Renato asked. “What did you find?”

“It says here Ivander has two daughters,” Reeve replied, still staring at the document. “Olivia and Rachel.”

“So?”

Reeve looked up at Renato—and smiled.

“I know Olivia. The older one. We went to school together.” He held Renato’s gaze. “If you want, I can get close to her. That gives us a much better chance of finding Ivander’s weakness.”

Silence fell over the room.

For a brief moment, all three men felt absurd for not having thought of it themselves.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Renato said stiffly. “Didn’t know you ever went to school,” he added, half-joking.

“That’s a solid idea,” Roscoe said. “You’re sure you know this Olivia?”

“Of course.” Reeve smiled at him. The nineteen-year-old ran a hand through his long hair. “I’ve known her since first grade through middle school. We’re older now. I doubt she’d mind some attention from the opposite sex.”

“You’ve got the looks,” Roscoe said with a nod. “I’m sure you can get close to Ivander’s daughter.”

Reeve pulled his phone from his pocket and immediately opened his social media app. Naturally, his profile listed nothing of his real profession. He barely used the account—just enough to stay in touch with old friends—his friend list still thin.

“You have Ivander’s daughter’s number or something?” Renato asked, puzzled by Reeve’s confidence.

“No,” Reeve said, shaking his head. “The first step is finding her online.”

“Huh?”

Roman let out a mocking laugh. “Typical baby boomer crap. These days everyone has at least one social media account. Maybe you should make one too—before you fall even further behind.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roscoe said thoughtfully. “My son Lucas lives on social media. Didn’t think it’d be useful for something like this.”

“Found her,” Reeve said.

On the screen was an account named Olivia Campbell—a brunette girl smiling softly in her profile picture. Reeve held the phone out for the others to see.

Roman, who had quietly stepped closer, leaned in to look. Something flickered in his sharp, restless eyes as he studied the photo.

“She looks the same as I remember,” Reeve said. “Just more grown up. I’m sure it’s her.”

“Ivander has a daughter this beautiful?” Renato murmured as Reeve scrolled through more photos.

“Looks like her father,” Roscoe said, raising an eyebrow.

“Send the request, Reeve. Start talking to her,” Roman said eagerly.

“Oh—right. On it, Rome,” Reeve replied, already moving.

“Make small talk first. Get her number. Set up a meeting—soon. And make sure I meet her too.”

The last part made Reeve look at him, puzzled.

“I think I should be the one to pursue your friend,” Roman added casually. “She’s beautiful.”

“Well… why not,” Reeve said.

“Hold on.” Roscoe cut in. “We don’t know how Ivander raises his daughters. Is he controlling, or does he give them freedom? If he’s the controlling type, he’ll figure out who Olivia’s spending time with in no time—and that leads straight back to you, Rome. You’d be handing yourself over to Ivander on a silver platter. Reeve’s the better choice. He’s still relatively unknown.”

“Agreed,” Renato said. “Whether Ivander’s strict or not, you should stay as far away from the Campbell family as possible.”

Roscoe nodded. “You’ll only ignite another war with your own father. Don’t play with fire, Rome. Sometimes women are the very thing that destroys a man.”

Roman frowned, clearly displeased, but chose not to argue.

“Olive’s online,” Reeve said, changing the subject. His fingers moved swiftly across his phone. “She replies fast.”

“She remembers you?” Renato asked.

Reeve nodded. “Of course. She’s excited I’m active on social media now. It’s surprisingly easy—look, I’ve got her number already, and she agreed to meet tomorrow.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he showed them the conversation with Olivia Campbell.

Despite Renato and Roscoe’s warning the day before, Roman followed Reeve in secret to his meeting with Olivia.

He wasn’t sure why, exactly—but the moment he’d seen her photo, his curiosity had been ignited. Roman had always relied on charm to get what he wanted, and more often than not, it worked. This time would be no different.

From his car, parked across from an open-air café, he saw Reeve greet a young woman with shoulder-length hair. She looked exactly like her photos.

Olivia.

She was tall and slender, wearing a knee-length floral dress paired with nude heels. Striking. Roman smiled to himself. There was no way he was letting this opportunity slip by.

Reeve looked genuinely happy to see his old friend. How long they’d been apart didn’t matter to Roman. He stepped out of the car at once, determined to reach them before Reeve had time to deploy his own charm.

He couldn’t afford to be late.

“Hey, Reeve!”

Roman’s voice cut in easily, interrupting their reunion.

Reeve clearly startled—but he recovered quickly. “Oh—hey, Rome? You’re here?”

“Yeah. I was passing by and spotted you,” Roman said lightly. “Looks like you’re on a date. Busy schedule you’ve got.”

“Oh—ha, no.” Reeve laughed awkwardly. “Not a date. Just catching up.” He turned to Olivia. “Olive, this is Roman Burgueno. Rome, this is a friend from school—Olive.”

Reeve knew perfectly well Roman hadn’t just passed by. The man looked far too polished, far too put-together this afternoon. Clearly, the Don’s son had been curious—and curiosity had won.

Roman offered his signature smile as he took Olivia’s hand. “Roman,” he said smoothly.

A faint blush rose to Olivia’s cheeks as she returned the smile, repeating his name.

It was effortless. Roman barely had to try.

“Um—sorry,” Olivia said once Roman had joined them. “What was your last name again?”

Roman glanced briefly at Reeve, who was watching him closely. “Burgueno.”

“Ah. Burgueno… Burgueno that—” Olivia hesitated, then shook her head lightly and changed the subject. “You’re Iralian too, like Reeve?”

Roman smiled warmly and nodded. “That’s right, sweetheart. Italian men are known for their romantic nature—spoiling the woman they adore, making her the center of their world…”

His gaze never left her face.

“And you’re speaking to one right now.”

The color in Olivia’s cheeks deepened, her shy smile widening. Roman was certain of it now—winning her over would be easy.

Reeve had been holding back a grin for some time. Finally, he sighed and said, “Well, looks like I’m the third wheel here.”

4 — The Don’s Fury

For nearly two weeks now, Don Alphonse had not seen Roman at the house.

Roman had always had a habit of disappearing—sometimes gone for days without notice—but never this long. A week, at most. Alphonse had never minded. He had been young once, too. He understood the restless surges of youth, the kind that made any young man forget where home was for a while.

But two weeks?

What kind of woman could keep his son away for that long?

“Do you know where my son is?” Don Alphonse asked Steffano, who stood across from him in the study.

Steffano looked uncertain.

“It’s been two weeks,” Alphonse added. “You might have seen him.”

“I’m sorry, Don,” Steffano replied. “I haven’t seen Roman lately.”

A knock at the door interrupted them, followed by its gentle opening. A young woman with soft features and curly hair stepped inside, carrying a tray with a cup of tea.

“Papa, am I interrupting?” she asked with a smile. “I brought your afternoon tea.”

“Vanessa,” Don Alphonse said warmly. “Come here.”

Vanessa Burgueno entered the room. She was three years younger than Roman—sweet-natured, gentle, obedient. Everything Roman was not. The kind of daughter any father would pray for.

Her graceful figure was not lost on Alphonse, and it often made him anxious—afraid some unworthy young man might take advantage of her kindness.

She set the cup down on his desk. “Don’t work too hard, Papa.”

He nodded. “Thank you, my dear.”

She turned to Steffano. “Uncle Steffano, would you like some tea as well?”

Steffano smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m fine.”

“Vanessa,” Alphonse said, “do you know where Roman is? Papa hasn’t seen him for two weeks.”

She shook her head gently. “I don’t know, Pa… Roman doesn’t come home anymore.”

Alphonse clicked his tongue. “Didn’t he tell you anything?”

She smiled faintly, bitterness creeping in. “Why would he? Roman’s never acted like I mattered.”

Her words stung. The siblings had never been close—Roman had often been cruel to her without reason. It was another weight Alphonse carried, especially since their mother’s death.

“Ah… forgive him,” Alphonse said quietly. “Your brother has always had a way of giving me headaches.”

Steffano hesitated, then offered, “Shall I send people to look for him? I don’t want to assume the worst, but… anything could happen out there.”

Alphonse nodded. “Yes. Please, Stef.”

Two days later, Steffano returned—his face pale, his expression tight.

“Stef, what is it?” Alphonse asked at once. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did your men find my son?”

“Don,” Steffano said, breath uneven, “you need to hear this. And you need to act. Immediately.”

Alphonse felt a chill creep up his spine. “What happened?!”

Steffano struggled to steady himself. What he was about to say was dangerous—possibly catastrophic.

“Roman… he’s been staying with a young woman. Ivander Campbell’s daughter.”

Alphonse’s brow furrowed sharply. “Campbell’s child? What is that boy trying to do—get himself killed?”

“Don. Brace yourself. This isn’t just about Roman and the Campbell girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Roman has been working with Renato and Roscoe—in secret. The three of them signed contracts behind our backs with Spindler and Franglen. They used your name.”

Steffano knew exactly what he had just unleashed.

“What did you say?”

The Don’s roar shook the room.

The calm, unshakable mask Don Alphonse was known for shattered in an instant. His face flushed red, fury surging unchecked.

Feeling betrayed—played for a fool by his own son, who had dragged the family’s honor through the dirt—Alphonse erupted.

Armed with Steffano’s information, he moved quickly, heading straight for the luxury apartment in the heart of the city where Roman had been staying.

Steffano and Roberto followed close behind, wary. They had never seen the Don like this before.

“You’re certain he’s here?” Alphonse asked flatly as they stopped in front of the apartment door.

“Yes, Don,” Steffano replied.

“Don, for God’s sake—please don’t let your anger take over,” Roberto warned.

“Stay out of this!” Alphonse exploded. “This is between me and that ungrateful bastard of a son!”

Roberto fell silent.

“Break the door down,” Alphonse ordered.

Two large guards moved at once. With a single strike, the door gave way.

Inside, those lounging in front of the television jumped to their feet in shock.

Their shock deepened when they saw who had just forced his way in.

“D-Dad?” Roman stammered, unable to believe his presence had been discovered.

Don Alphonse saw it all with his own eyes: Roman alone with the daughter of one of his enemies. But that wasn’t what fueled his fury the most. It wasn’t the girl. It was Roman’s blatant defiance—the secret business deals, the contracts signed behind his back, all under his name. Alphonse knew there was only one way to make the boy understand.

Without hesitation, the patriarch of the organized crime family charged. Even no longer in his youth, his strength remained formidable. Blow after blow rained down on Roman’s face, and the son offered no resistance. The weight of the Don’s body pressed down, leaving him utterly helpless.

Olivia screamed, panic-stricken, begging him to stop, but Alphonse pressed on, each strike more relentless than the last.

“I raised you with care, and this is how you repay me?” Alphonse roared, striking again. “Becoming a traitor?! Do you know what’s worse than trash? A traitor!”

“Stop! Stop, please!” Olivia cried, hysteria in her voice as she tried to hold back the Don’s hands—but her strength was nothing against his fury.

“Please… do something! Please!” she pleaded to Roberto and Steffano, who merely stood frozen by the doorway.

Seeing no movement from them, Olivia dropped to her knees beside Roman, clutching his father’s arm. “Enough! Please… I beg you… stop hitting him!” she implored, tears streaming down her face.

The sight of the young brunette, whose features reminded him so sharply of her father, stoked Alphonse’s anger further. Still, he restrained himself. Slowly, he released Roman and rose to his feet. His gaze stayed locked on his son, who slumped on the floor, wiping blood from his mouth. Roman looked broken, powerless, stripped of all defiance.

Alphonse spat. “You’ve truly disappointed me, Roman,” he said coldly. “Signing contracts behind my back… getting involved with my enemy’s daughter… I had high hopes for you. I wanted you to be my successor. But look at you—acting on your own whims! Enough. I’m calling off your succession. Do whatever you want from now on… but never return home again. Understand? A traitor like you is not worthy of my forgiveness!”

And with that, he turned and strode from the apartment, everyone who had come with him trailing silently behind.

Roman remained on the floor long after his father left, anger and resentment boiling within him. How dare his father humiliate him in front of the woman he cared for! How dare he speak such cruel words?

“Roman… darling, are you okay…?” Olivia’s voice repeated, but Roman could not hear it. He could only feel helpless as he stared at her tear-streaked face, at the worry in her eyes.

Frustration at his own weakness, at feeling powerless before a woman, finally snapped him out of his paralysis. Ignoring the pain coursing through his body and the blood on his face, Roman sprang to his feet and left Olivia behind, alone.

The fury inside him turned quickly into vengeance. Without a second thought, he called Renato and Roscoe—both answered immediately.

“Who among you leaked the cloning business to my old man?!” Roman shouted, ignoring their hesitant greetings.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Renato asked.

“No one did. Did Don Alphonse find out on his own?” Roscoe replied.

Roman barked, “Do you think?! He beat me up! How did he know about it?! How did he know where I’ve been living? How did he know I’m dating Olive?! Of course it’s from you!”

“Hey, kiddo, don’t blame us!” Renato protested.

“I told you no one reported to him! The Don investigated you on his own initiative!” Roscoe countered.

“Roscoe, if he’s investigating… that means he knows about us too,” Renato muttered, anxiety creeping into his voice.

“Damn! This is worse than I thought!” Roscoe cursed.

“This is your fault, Rome,” Renato said coldly. “How many times have we warned you to stay away from the Campbell girl? And yet you dated her! You haven’t come home, have you? So the Don comes looking for you… to check on you! Didn’t I say so?”

“How dare you blame me! This is your fault! You’re useless!” Roman yelled, rage dripping from every word.

“See? I told you… a woman can bring a man down!” Roscoe added.

“Yes! Instead of finding Campbell’s weakness, you date his daughter and have fun with her! Hope you’re happy now, kid!” Renato snapped back.

“Brazen!” Roman growled.

“Enough! Stop blaming each other!” Roscoe intervened. “This is not the time for ego. Calm down! Take a deep breath, Rome. Let’s figure out how to deal with the mess we’re in.”

Roman obeyed, inhaling slowly. Then an idea struck him.

“Roscoe, Renato… I want you to arrange a meeting with the Commission,” he said.

The Commission: the council of the five organized crime families in New Yord. Each year, the heads gathered to review the underworld’s latest developments, renew truces, and maintain peace between their clans. No one wanted constant bloodshed between families.

“Th-the Commission?” Renato stammered. “What does the Commission have to do with this, huh?”

“Just do as I say!” Roman snapped. “It’s time for a new generation.”

“Roman! What are you thinking?” Roscoe asked, hoping he had misheard.

“Gather them. Immediately. Invite the other four heads—but leave my old man out. I’ll take his place,” Roman said, eyes blazing with conviction.

“Hey, you can’t just—! You’re not the head of a family!”

Roman smiled, sharp and unyielding. “I am now. I am the new Don.”