The cathedral was a monument to old blood and older sins. Its towering stone arches and stained-glass windows usually spoke of peace, but today, they felt like a cage. The pews were filled with the elite of the underworld, men in tailored suits with bulges under their jackets, and women whose diamonds were as sharp as the knives they kept in their clutches. For two decades, these two families, the Valentes and the Retroferds, had painted the streets red with each other’s blood. Today, they were here to witness a union that was supposed to end the slaughter.In the front row, at the specially reserved seats, sat the two kings. Don Michael Valente looked like a man who had finally won a long, exhausting game of chess. Opposite him sat Don Maxton Retroferd. Maxton was a statue of ice, his presence so heavy and terrifying that even the men on his own payroll didn't dare breathe too loudly near him. The tension was like a living thing, vibrating through the floorboards, and every guard
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