Late into the night, hours after the rain had cleared, Alex sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of his room.
Scattered around him was a small mountain of heavy, leather-bound volumes detailing the centuries-old history, traditions, and hierarchy of the Luciano dynasty. With the assault on the Diablero compound looming just around the corner, he knew he couldn't afford to be just a figurehead. If he was going to lead his guardians into enemy territory to reclaim the stolen Ring Set, he needed to understand the true weight of the legacy he was fighting for—both mentally and tactically.
A quiet, double knock on his bedroom door pulled him out of his notes.
Alex stood up and opened it to find Vincenzo standing in the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed, looking as sharp and unyielding as ever.
"Good evening, Alex," Vincenzo said softly. "I see you're filling your head with history, but books won't block a blade. Are you ready for your private session?"
"Always," Alex replied, stepping aside to let him in.
Vincenzo closed the door behind him and walked over to the open floor space near the balcony doors, pushing aside a small table to make room. "The others are training hard in their own disciplines, but as the heir, your foundation needs to be flawless. Show me your fighting stance."
Alex took a deep breath, dropping his center of gravity, fists raised to protect his chin, feet set shoulder-width apart.
Vincenzo slowly circled him, his intense gaze picking apart every detail. "Your guard is decent, but your balance leans too far forward. If a Diablero enforcer sweeps your lead leg, you fall." Vincenzo lightly tapped the back of Alex's front knee with his boot, forcing Alex to adjust his weight distribution instantly. "Better. Now show me your footwork."
For the next hour, the quiet bedroom transformed into a relentless tactical ring. Vincenzo drove him through fundamental striking drills, rapid pivot maneuvers, and sharp evasion patterns. While Tatsuya's boxing style was built on high-energy aggression, Vincenzo taught Alex the precise, devastating efficiency of a traditional family enforcer—making every movement count, wasting zero energy, and striking with maximum intent.
Sweat dripped from Alex's forehead onto the floor mats, but his movements grew fluid, slipping past hypothetical counters and driving clean, shadow-punches with sharp speed.
"Time," Vincenzo called out, stepping back and tossing Alex a small hand towel.
Alex caught it, chest heaving as he wiped his face, though his eyes remained wide and focused.
"You adapt quickly," Vincenzo admitted, a subtle nod of approval breaking his stern expression. "You have natural instincts, Alex. But speed without endurance is useless in a prolonged fortress siege. The Diablero guards won't fight fair, and they won't stop after one round."
"I can handle it," Alex said, taking a sip of water from his desk. "I'm not stopping until we get those rings back."
Vincenzo gave a quiet, approving smile. "Good. Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow morning, we focus on high-pressure defense and close-quarters disarms."
As Vincenzo quietly exited into the dark hallway, Alex walked over to his desk, looking down at the open history books. The persistent anxiety that had nagged at his chest on the porch was still there, but beneath it, a firm foundation of confidence was beginning to settle in. He wasn't just a reluctant kid dragged into a mob war anymore—he was becoming the leader the Luciano family needed him to be.