Killian Carson.

The past follows me into the present like a loaded gun. At mafia events, nothing ever truly changes—only the faces grow older, the weapons quieter. I remember standing in halls like this as a child, hiding behind my father’s shadow, feeling his eyes on me from across the room. Even then, he was different. Too calm. Too cold. His stare held mine without fear, without mercy, as if we were already enemies long before we understood what that meant. Tonight, the memory lingers as I lift my glass. He stands where he always does—untouchable, controlled, dressed in power. The boy is gone. In his place is a man "Killian Carson", the heir and leader the city obeys without question. When his gaze finds me, the noise fades, and the years between us collapse into something dangerous and alive.