"You're personally involving yourself in this? Hasn't Frost always handled your family's affairs?" Angers skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point, his gray-blue eyes fixed on the screen.
"Damn it! This concerns my son—how could I not care?" Pompeii spread his hands, his exaggerated expression carrying a trace of genuine agitation. "He's my only son! Sure, he's a little rebellious, a little disobedient, always loves to argue with me, but he's still my son, isn't he? A father's love is like a mountain, my dear Angers!"
He even made a heart shape over his chest.
"I thought you were the sort of man who enjoyed himself with women and then patted his ass and left. Perhaps Caesar was an exception? You and his mother were true love?" Angers said.
The frivolity on Pompeii's face receded slightly, only to be quickly covered again by his usual cynicism. "Maybe it really was a beautiful accident at first. But now, without question, Caesar is the Gattuso Family's sole and undisputed next heir. You actually sent him to that hellhole for a mission! Didn't Frost slam the table in opposition?"
"He did object. Very loudly," Angers admitted. "But before the mission began, we formally sought Caesar's own opinion. He knew Frost's stance and still chose to go. We respect his decision—after all, an adult should be responsible for his own life."
"Bullshit! What kind of adult is he?" Pompeii's voice rose. "Fine, maybe he's physically mature and capable of chasing girls, but deep down he's still an overproud boy who hasn't grown up! Immediately! Right now! Bring him back to me! This is my formal demand!"
"Why not tell him yourself?"
Pompeii sighed, his tone helpless. "With that mule-headed temper of his, the more I oppose him, the more fired up he'll