"Vittoria is only nineteen," he finally says, his voice low but firm. "She's barely older than Elisabetta. This union... it doesn't feel right."
A dry chuckle escapes me. "And since when has 'feeling right' ever been a fucking consideration in our world, Lorenzo? You know as well as I do that this marriage is necessary for our family's survival."
His fists clench at his sides. I can see him fighting the urge to say something he'll regret. "But at what cost, Father? We're talking about a kid here."
"She's of legal age," I snap, my patience running thin. "And she's been raised for this life, just like you have. The Costas are powerful allies, ones we desperately need after last year's clusterfuck."
I see Lorenzo flinch at the mention of last year. The wounds are still fresh for all my children. Beatrice's death hit them hard. It hit all of us hard. But we have to move forward. For the sake of our empire, for our survival.
"Besides," I continue, softening my tone slightly, "Vittoria will want for nothing here. Wealth, protection, status. Many women would kill for what she's getting."
Lorenzo shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify this, Father? That you're doing her a favor?"
His words sting more than I want to admit. For a moment, I see Beatrice in his eyes; that same stubborn determination, that moral compass that could either make him a great leader or get him killed.
"Enough," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "This discussion is over. The wedding will proceed as planned. I expectyou to fall in line and support this union, Lorenzo. For the good of our family."
Lorenzo holds my gaze for a long moment before finally nodding stiffly. "As you wish, Father."
The coldness in his voice reminds me too much of myself at his age. As he turns to leave, I catch a glimpse of Valentina lurking in the shadows of the hallway. Her eyes are wide. She's been eavesdropping on our conversation.
Little shit.
"Valentina," I call out sharply. "Come here."
She emerges slowly, her posture defiant despite the fear I can see flickering in her eyes. Of all my children, Valentina has always been the most unpredictable. The most like me, if I'm being honest.
"Yes, Father?" she asks, her tone carefully neutral.
I study her for a moment, taking in the windswept hair and flushed cheeks from her late arrival at dinner. "Where were you this evening?"
She shrugs, a gesture that immediately sets my teeth on edge. "Out. I lost track of time."
"That's not a fucking answer," I growl, taking a step toward her. "You will show respect to your new stepmother, Valentina. I won't tolerate any more of your rebellious bullshit."
Anger flashes in her eyes, bright and defiant. "Of course, Father," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to respect the teenager you're forcing into our family."
Before I can respond, she turns and storms off, her footsteps echoing through the hallway. I resist the urge to call her back, to make her pay for her insolence right now. There'll be time for that later.
For now, I have bigger problems to deal with. Wedding preparations, consolidating power with the Costas, managingthe whispers of discontent from rival families. And of course, there's the matter of Vittoria herself.
I pour myself a glass of whiskey and savor the burn as it slides down my throat. Vittoria performed well tonight, but I saw the fire in her eyes, the intelligence she tried to hide behind carefully chosen words. She'll need to be molded, shaped into the perfect wife and mother for my future children.
She's young, yes. But she's also beautiful, intelligent, and clearly more than what appears on the surface. In another life, under different circumstances, she might have been a formidable ally.
But in this world, our world, she needs to learn her place.
As I stare out at the gardens where the wedding will take place in three weeks, unease settles in my chest. This past year has been nothing but doubt and uncertainty. After what happened with the Harringtons, one wrong move could blow our entire organization to pieces.
The Boston Elite Syndicate was formed decades ago, when I was younger than Lorenzo is now. Four families back then: Italian Mafia, Irish Mafia, Russian Bratva, and American Mob. Our fathers joined forces to stop the rising death tolls in Boston, to ensure no single family became too powerful. There were rules we followed.
Then the East Street Kings started rising, and it was either bring them into the fold or prepare for one of the biggest wars Boston had ever seen. The Syndicate grew from four families to five, and for years it worked seamlessly.
That was until the Harringtons got greedy. Wanted more than their share. They were sneaky with their targets, keeping the violence out of Boston. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. Too many had died.
Beatrice included.
Now the Boston Elite Syndicate is down to four families again, and we're rebuilding from fucking scratch. Every alliance matters. Every move we make is being watched by our enemies, who are waiting for us to show weakness.
