Don Vitelli nods at me as we enter, his pale eyes holding acknowledgment rather than judgment. Alberto Marconi actually stands when I approach the table, a gesture of courtesy he definitely didn’t offer during my first visit here. Even the other family heads seem different—watchful, yes, but in theway you watch someone you recognize as an equal rather than someone you’re evaluating.
I fight a grin, trying to appear bored and nonchalant. This is kind of awesome, actually.
“Gentlemen,” Matteo begins once everyone is seated, his voice carrying the authority that comes from decades of commanding respect. “We’re here today to formalize what recent events have already made clear.”
He’s wearing his best suit—charcoal gray that fits like a glove, with a dapper tie Bella picked out. But it’s his posture that really commands the room. Straight-backed, shoulders squared, radiating the kind of quiet confidence that makes other powerful men listen.
This is Don Matteo DeLuca at his most formal, and I feel a surge of pride.
“Bianca DeLuca has proven herself through trials that would have broken lesser candidates,” he continues, his eyes moving around the table to make contact with each family head. “She has demonstrated tactical brilliance, strategic thinking, and the kind of leadership that our world requires.”
Giuseppe’s voice whispers approvingly,She earned this through blood.
She outwitted them all,Sophia’s voice adds with satisfaction.
She proved she’s ready, Matteo’s voice chimes in.
All three voices are in complete agreement, and their unified approval makes me sit a little taller in my chair.
“Therefore,” Matteo declares, his voice carrying across the ornate room, “I hereby officially reaffirm Bianca DeLuca as my heir and underboss of the DeLuca family organization.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Hearing it said out loud, formally, in front of all these powerful men who used to look at me like I was a child playing dress-up—it makes me want to cartwheel and stick my tongue out at them.
I did it. I actually fucking did it.
Alessandro squeezes my hand under the table, and when I glance at him, his hazel eyes are bright with pride. He looks amazing in his dark suit, the fabric perfectly fitted across his broad shoulders, and the small scar on his jaw from our final battle only makes him more handsome. But it’s the way he’s looking at me—like I’m something magnificent—that makes my heart race.
“Furthermore,” Matteo continues, “Alessandro Ricci will continue as her partner and equal, marking a new era of alliance between our organizations.”
More nods around the table. No one seems surprised by this announcement, which tells me they’ve all been expecting it since the trials ended.
Was my crush that apparent? Yikes.
Don Vitelli speaks first, his gravelly voice cutting through the formal atmosphere. “The DeLuca family has chosen wisely. Miss DeLuca’s performance during the recent…difficulties…was impressive.”
That’s probably the closest thing to a compliment I’ll ever get from him, and I’ll take it.
“The Calabrese situation required decisive action,” Alberto Marconi adds, his tone grudgingly respectful. “The way it was handled shows real leadership potential.”
Leadership potential. A month ago, these men were questioning whether I deserved to even exist. Now they’re talking about my leadership like it’s a given.
I try to keep my expression neutral and professional, but inside I’m basically doing victory laps. I squeeze Alessandro’s fingers, fighting to keep my cool.
One by one, the other family heads offer their acceptance. Not enthusiasm, exactly, but genuine acknowledgment that I’ve earned my place at this table. The formal votes are unanimous—no one’s stupid enough to oppose Matteo when he’s backed up by recent victory and obvious competence.
When the business portion concludes, I watch the subtle shift in Matteo’s posture. His shoulders relax slightly, and some of the formal authority melts into something more human. He’s not just Don DeLuca anymore—he’s also the man who raised me, and the pride in his eyes is completely personal rather than political. He’s, well,Dad.
As the other families begin their private conversations and side negotiations, I find myself gravitating toward Matteo. Alessandro gives my hand one more squeeze before moving to talk with some of the other men, understanding that I need this moment alone with my father.
“So,” I say quietly, settling into the chair beside him. “How does it feel? Officially passing on the empire someday?”
“Like relief,” he admits, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “And terror. But mostly relief.”
I study his face, noting the new lines around his eyes that weren’t there a year ago. “You know I’m going to be okay, right?” I ask him in a small voice. “I mean, I’ve proven I can handle pretty much anything at this point.”
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he covers one of my hands with his. “You’ve definitely proven that. I just…” He pauses, seeming to struggle with the words before sighing. “I spent nineteen years trying to protect you from becoming something dark. And now I’m watching you embrace that darkness and turn it into strength.”
I swallow heavily at the emotion in his voice. “I—is that bad?”
