The final moments of the dinner felt almost surreal. Vincent Giovanni's calm, measured voice echoed through the grand dining hall, but my mind was already far away—calculating the risks, weighing the costs. The Giovanni family, a shadowy force in this city, had just marked me as their fighter in an underground deathmatch. The prototypes I'd come here for now seemed secondary to the game they were playing.
Vincent's smirk didn't falter as he raised his glass, his tone smooth as silk. "We'll make sure you're ready. But remember, Reynard, in this world, there's no room for second place. Do well, and the prototypes are yours."
I met his gaze and nodded. "I understand."
The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances, but there was nothing more to be said. As we stood to leave, Vincent's eyes glinted, as if he knew exactly what was running through my head. "Good luck to you then. You'll need it."
I didn't respond. There was nothing more to add.
