“Cara,” He began, his tone measured, practiced, “I need you to be tactical – ”
“No.” My voice cracked through the air, brittle as glass. “I will not do it. You cannot force me.”
“I will not force you.”
“I will kill him and every single fucking member of the Outfit before I will accept for you to marry me off.”
“I know you will,” he said softly, as if he could feel my pain.
“Then this conversation is over.” I stood, pushing back my chair so hard it scraped against the marble. “I will find another way to get them to accept me.”
“East Coast and Chicago have pulled out,” he said, the words slicing through my defiance like a blade. “We have until the end of the month.”
“Excuse me?” I froze for a moment before scoffing and shaking my head with a humorless laugh. “Fucking Ferraros… That fucking rat family…”
“They are middle-aged, rich men,” Gìo said, his voice calm, detached, like he was reading a report instead of dismantling my future. “They won’t work under the thumb of a woman.”
“Even though we know most of them pay hookers to tie them up and piss in their mouth,” Tony muttered without looking up from his phone, his voice lazy, cruel.
Gìo’s eyes narrowed. “You wanna join in with something constructive?”
Tony’s bored gaze flicked upward, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Say when and I’ll pull the trigger.”
My pulse kicked. “Guess I’ll be killing the new Dons after all.” I turned to Tony, fire rushing back into my veins. “C’mon, Tony. Gìo, we’re taking your jet.”
Tony’s chair screeched back as he stood, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket, a glint of excitement lighting his eyes.
“That’s not going to work!” Gìo’s voice boomed through the air, the calm breaking for the first time.
“How do you know?!”
“Because I already tried that!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the table. His composure cracked open, and what poured out was pure, cold as gunmetal fury. “Who do you think took out the Heads of Boston and Philly? We did them a fucking favor! Sit down. Both of you.”
The words hung in the air, gunmetal and smoke.
For a moment, none of us moved.
I could feel my heart beating in my throat, feel the tremor in my hands that I refused to let show. Slowly, I sat back down, the room colder now, the weight of what he’d just said settling like ash around us. Tony did the same.
Dad ran his hand down his face. “That was you? I told you not to fucking touch them. Especially old Ferraro!”Chicago. “If we start killing each other, where’s the fuckingOmertaloyalty?”
Gìo’s fist hit the table. “Ferraro owed me loyalty in supporting my takeover, until he switched. So I fucking switched up too.”
A chill ran down my spine as Gìo’s voice boomed through the room. Even Tony put his phone away and sat up straighter. We rarely ever saw him like this anymore. But with his takeover as Boss of all Bosses and me as Underboss… It was making everyone tense.
“Alright. Well, it’s done now.” Dad wasn’t mad Gìo raised his voice. If I wasn’t wrong, he looked proud. Same as when I took charge despite being told not to, or Tony killed someone in a meeting for even breathing disrespect towards our family. He liked to pretend he was mad at us when we acted out like this and shut bullshit down with a single fist or bullet. But deep down, I knew he loved it.
He loved seeing us like this. Strong. Ruthless. United. Loyal.
We had the DeMone blood running in our veins. And we sure as fuck would act like it.
Gìo turned to me. “I know you’re angry. I’m angry too. I want to stab them in the throat just as much as you do. But if we kill the new bosses, then the next run-ups will take over, and so on. With the same old, racist, misogynistic views and beliefs. And then everyone will know it was us who killed Marcello Costa, Gianni Vega and Anthony Ferraro. And we’ll have a war with both the Italian and Italian-American Mafias for betrayal and treason. We need another angle. One they won’t see coming.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“You get married. I get married too. Strictly business. We take over as Boss and Underboss across America. We run every motherfucking Italian gang in the US. Get them all in line. Then you divorce Di’Ablo after a year and no one will have the balls to tell you what to do.”
I looked out the window for a moment, still unsure how this was going to make sense. Matteo was not Italian,and notoriously known for destroying anyone in his path. I had no idea how he would do with the Cosa Nostra thinking they could take him. Instead of a takeover, this could very easily turn into a bloodbath.
