Somehow, Lucca wasn't at all surprised by the easily dismissing rejection thrown in his face in the wake of his carefully tailored proposal. His father had never really taken a shinning to his couturier tendencies, despite the few times the brunette had fixed a split seam or torn sleeve on the fly. As Cezar so often boasted, reputation was everything in the eyes of their dark underground world. Approaching a deal looking less than mirrored perfection cast doubt into the other party's mind, and one couldn't pay such a high price. After a hard lesson learned, flaunting his passion in his family member's face was not tolerated. Nothing proved that more than in this moment, when the one man he held in the highest regard refused even to consider his wish.<br/><br/>Still, despite being prepared for the men to all decline, it didn't stop the dagger from twisting painfully in his chest. He didn't usually ask his father for much, the least the man could do was give him the proper attention he deserved, being his son or no. The other's had the decency to at least consider the information he presented to them, while Cezar simple flipped through it half heartily. It was only for show, really.<br/><br/>Lucca's pursed lips thinned, swallowing a bit harder than intended to try and curb his irritation. Yet as his father's repudiation continued on, like a hibernating beast his carefully curbed anger began to awaken. His fingers gripped his palms and he chewed the inside of his cheek, never once letting his dark eyes stray from the man's across the table. Silent he remained. No, the calculated indignation was held in check, waiting like a tense spring for the rest of the audience to leave the meeting room one by one. Begrudgingly, he sat down, though not without a petulant audible thump against the cushion.<br/><br/>An uneasy quiet settled in the air the minute the door shut behind Paolo and Shou, until finally Cezar broke their momentary ceasefire.<br/><br/>"I-" he tried to interject, but he was taken aback by the near disgusted shove of those papers  to the floor. Cezar may as well have slapped him across the face. It shocked him enough for him not to utter a word during the rest of his father's badgering tirade, the words making him feel like he was a small naive boy again. It really struck him how little faith was actually placed in him, despite being told again and again to step up to take responsibility.<br/><br/>Honestly, the hypocrisy of it all made his to mach nauseous. He didn't like the feeling, so instead he buried it and replaced his surface with a cold glare. It was his turn to speak now.<br/><br/>"You think all this...is inconsequential?" Lucca spoke lowly, icily, the rumbling of impeding anger unleashing itself. "You think I would do all this work in secret, all this planning behind your backs...to only label it as..a<i>hobby</i>?"<br/><br/>Then, suddenly, the well maintained facade in Lucca snapped. In one quick motion, he sprang to his feet and slammed his palm on the table, making the glasses atop it to quake. "How<i>dare</i>you insult me so carelessly. You, who started from<i>nothing</i>and worked your way from the ground up. You're right, you don't understand, you have never tried to understand! Don't you see the clothes on your back, the carefully tailored ensembles that your business partners wear? That was all produced by someone of "little consequence", yet fashion has been a major staple in every century you could name. What you wore displayed your status, your power. Modern day is no different."<br/><br/>His hand gripped on one of his packets that was still on the table, and with a violence shove he sent it over to his father. "I couldn't do this at eighteen. No one would have taken me seriously like they would now. No one wants a boy in their industry, including yours. My open window of opportunity is<i>now</i>."<br/><br/>With a scoff, he took a second to run his fingers through his carefully coiffed hair, laughing but the sound was filled with nasty hissing. "Don't you<i><b>dare</b></i>place the blame on me of your failing marriage. I have nothing to do with why<i>Mamae</i>has been staying away and you two fighting all the time.  Your neglect for your wife because of your extreme focus on business is not my fault, and I won't be guilt tripped into it! "<br/><br/>The agitation in his stance grew, making him begin to pace back and forth as he struggled to stop the words from flowing. But like an loose cannon that most perceived him as, once the fuse was lit there was no turning back from direct fire. "<i>What</i>, pray tell, is my status dear Papai? We're not some noble family related to royalty, we're not some bloodline that could be traced back thousands of years that has a huge impact on history. We're thugs, drug dealers, crime lords, how exactly is an honest profession beneath my status when we're the kind of ilk people see as evil and lower than dirt? What, exactly, do I have but a crime family that you built, that you own and made yourself? I have nothing that's mine, and this is my chance to have earned something rightfully my own without you influence, and I guess now, without your money too. I'm not dropping this, whether you like it or not, and you most certainly can't stop me!"