The hall remained silent, the weight of Ochieng's actions sinking in. The Seven Titans weren't fools—they knew power when they saw it. And Ochieng had just proven he wasn't someone to be tested lightly.
Don Vittorio gazed down at the unconscious assassin at his feet before slowly lifting his eyes to Ochieng. A deep, calculating smile curled at his lips.
"Impressive," he finally said, his voice like gravel scraping against stone.
Ochieng met his gaze, unflinching.
"You sent him?" Ochieng asked, voice smooth, controlled.
Vittorio chuckled. "Would it matter if I did?"
The room tensed. Even Shen Baojun, who rarely showed concern, narrowed his eyes.
Ochieng stepped forward, his presence filling the space. He didn't raise his voice, didn't need to.
"It would," he said.
Vittorio's grin widened, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of his chair. "Then let's say I did. What now?"
A flicker of something dark passed through Ochieng's gaze. He bent down, picking up the assassin's dagger from the floor. He twirled it once before gripping the hilt tightly.
Then—without hesitation—he threw it.
The blade whistled through the air, so fast that only the most trained eyes could track it.
A thunk echoed.
The dagger impaled the wooden table, just inches from Vittorio's hand.
Silence.
Ochieng's voice remained calm, but his words carried a chilling weight.
"Next time, I won't miss."
A beat of stillness.
Then, Don Vittorio laughed—a deep, throaty sound that carried through the chamber.
"I like you, kid," he said, amusement lacing his tone. "You've got fire. But be careful where you aim it."
Ochieng didn't blink. "I always aim true."
For a moment, the two locked eyes. A silent war of wills played out between them. Then, finally, Vittorio nodded.
"Then let's see if you can survive in this world of kings and monsters."
The meeting was over, but the battle had just begun.
And Ochieng?
He wasn't here to play by their rules.
He was here to rewrite them.
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