Like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Like something big was going to happen.
My world was off its axis.
I was scared it was going to be another attack on the Cosa Nostra. Maybe my family this time.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime that echoed through the marble hallway. My heels clicked against the polished floor, the sound sharp, deliberate, slicing through the silence that seemed heavier than usual. The DeMone Tower always smelled like power – espresso, leather, and the faintest trace of imported cigars – but today there was something else in the air. Something metallic. Something tense.
As I reached the double doors of the boardroom, I caught my reflection in the black glass – composed, untouchable, every line of my Dolce dress smooth, my lipstick immaculate. Armor, as always. But beneath the surface, my pulse was steady only because I willed it to be.
The guards opened the doors.
The first thing I noticed was the light – or lack of it. The room was darker than it ever was for a morning meeting. Usually, the panoramic view of the city flooded the space with gold, but the blinds were half-drawn, muting everything to shades of gray and gunmetal. My father, Enzo DeMone, sat at the head of the table like a king on his throne – back straight, eyes unreadable, the weight of empires in his silence.
Gìovanni sat to his right, calm and collected, his gaze locked on a document but his jaw tight. Tony was across from him, fingers drumming against the table, his usual restlessness turned to something sharper – avoidance. He wouldn’t even look at me.
Something was wrong.
I closed the door behind me, the click sounding final. “Morning,” I said, my voice steady, though the air itself felt like it might shatter.
No one answered.
I took a step forward, my heels soft against the rug. “Did someone die, or are we just skipping pleasantries today?”
That earned me a brief glance from Gìo, then nothing. My father exhaled, long and slow, before setting his pen down.
“Sit, Francesca.”
I didn’t. “What’s going on?”
His eyes met mine then – dark, fathomless, ancient. “The other Bosses voted against you becoming Underboss.”
The words didn’t register at first. It was like hearing the crash of glass from another room. Distant. Unreal. “What?” My voice caught in my throat. “When? Why?”
“Last night.” Gìo’s tone was controlled, but I caught the faint tremor of anger beneath it. “We found out this morning.”
I blinked hard, not believing what I was hearing.
“We can’t let that happen.” Gìo said, the edge of steel returning to his voice. “But the council made it clear – they need reassurance. An alliance. Something that shows unity beyond New York.”
My gaze snapped to my father. “Okay,” I said, the word shaking once before I steadied it. “So what do we do now? I’ll do anything.”
For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“There is no easy way to say this.Cara…” My father’s eyes softened – just barely. The kind that came before a blow. “You will need to marry Matteo Di’Ablo.”
The air went dead.
Somewhere outside, a siren wailed across the city. Inside, I couldn’t breathe.
I laughed, short and dry. “No.”
“Francesca…”
The room seemed to close in around me. The walls, the shadows, the silence between us – it all pressed against my skin, sharp and suffocating.
I turned to him, the tremor in my chest hidden behind a glare. “How can you even ask that of me? Marry a stranger? Who is not even Italian?”
