“Privacy?” Dominic Calabrese finally speaks, his voice sounding so similar to Johnny’s that it makes my mouth dry. “Or shame? Because let’s be honest about what we’re really discussing here.”
He leans back in his chair, swirling his wine like he’s about to deliver a particularly enjoyable piece of gossip. “Giuseppe DeLuca raped a sixteen-year-old girl, and this”—he gestures at me with obvious disdain—“is the result. The question isn’t whether Matteo lied about biology. The question is whether that tainted bloodline makes her unfit for future leadership.”
The words sting, but I keep my expression neutral.
I’ve heard worse in the last twenty-four hours, and I’m not going to give this piece of shit the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
“Tainted bloodline?” I raise an eyebrow, letting amusement color my voice. “That’s rich, coming from a Calabrese. How’s the family business these days, Dominic? Still profiting off Johnny’s legacy of failure?”
His face darkens, but before he can respond, Matteo’s voice cuts across the room.
“Watch your mouth, Calabrese.” The temperature in the room becomes glacial. “You’re talking about my daughter. And unlike the Renaldis, who let you walk away from Sofia’s kidnapping with all your limbs intact, I won’t be so forgiving if you disrespect her again.”
The threat hangs in the air like a blade, and I watch Dominic’s face darken with fury before he forces himself to lean back in his chair, affecting a casual shrug.
“How touching,” he says, his voice dripping with false amusement. “But we’re not here to relitigate old grievances. We’re here to discuss whether Giuseppe’s daughter?—”
“She’smydaughter,” Matteo barks.
“Is she?” Dominic’s smile is pure poison. “Because five minutes ago, she just told us she’sGiuseppe’sdaughter. So which is it, Matteo? Is she yours, or are you just the man who was foolish enough to raise his father’s victim’s child out of misplaced guilt?”
Matteo’s composure finally cracks.
His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jumping, and his eyes have gone cold in that way that usually means someone’s about to die.
For once, someone else is putting him on the defensive, forcing him to scramble for control instead of being the one pulling all the strings.
It’s fuckingdelicious.
But even as I’m enjoying his discomfort, I find myself studying Alessandro’s reaction.
While Matteo seethes and the other dons mutter among themselves, Alessandro remains perfectly still, perfectly controlled.
His eyes track every movement in the room, assessing threats and watching responses.
And even though I told him not to get in my way, I notice how he’s positioned himself—close enough to reach me in seconds,his body angled to block any potential attack from the other men at the table.
He’s protecting me without making it obvious.
Even here, even during what’s supposed to be a civilized meeting, he’s ready for violence.
The realization sends an unexpected warmth through my chest.
“Enough.” Don Vitelli’s voice cuts through the growing chaos. “We’re not here to litigate ancient history. We’re here to address a current problem.”
“Which is?” Matteo’s voice is dangerously quiet.
“Whether Giuseppe’s daughter—regardless of who raised her—is fit to inherit the DeLuca empire.” Vitelli’s pale eyes fix on me. “The leaked documents have raised…questions. About bloodline, about temperament, about judgment.”
“Then let’s answer those questions,” Dominic says with obvious relish. “I propose a series of trials. Let her prove she’s worthy of the name she’s so eager to claim.”
The room erupts in discussion, voices rising as the dons debate the merits of testing me like some kind of laboratory rat.
Part of me wants to tell them all to go fuck themselves, that I don’t need their approval or their trials to know who I am.
But a larger part—the part that’s been awakened by learning the truth about Giuseppe—is intrigued.
This is my chance to prove myself without Matteo’s protection, to forge an identity that belongs entirely to me.
