“I’m just ready for this to be over with so the real work can start.”
She touches my arm. “Don’t you ever enjoy anything?”
I think of her body against mine. Her legs wrapped around my hips. Her moans in my mouth as she comes hard, pussy tightening around my cock. “Some things.”
We enter in through the back door. Matteo’s there waiting for me. He nods to Kira, looking more serious than he did at the wedding, and leads us down the hall. Everything’s hushed and serious. The weight of secrets and killings hangs on my shoulders. More deaths are coming, and soon.
The sanctuary is filled with candles. Dozens of them line the rows. High-ranking members of the Famiglia sit interspersed throughout the pews. Kira sits in the front, away from the Capos, while I’m taken to the very front of the altar where the full council is waiting. A golden bowl rests where they usually divide the host. There’s something deeply sacrilegious about using this space like our own personal playground. But that’s the Corsetti. We’re built on power and control. Even the church gives us what we want.
“Who comes before us?” Saverino intones.
“Stellan Corsetti, son of the passed Don, here to take my rightful place at the head of our family.”
Someone rings a bell. Sounds like shit. Honestly, this whole charade is too much, but it’s important. Even if it feels like we’re playacting in some cheap movie, I understand what all these words symbolize.
This is about more than going through the motions.
“Do you swear fealty to the bones of our ancestors? Do you swear fidelity on the ghost of our forebears? Will you rise and shed blood for the lives of your men?”
“I do and I will.” I get to my feet. Saverino gives me a sharp knife. I slice open my left thumb and squeeze several drops of blood into the water waiting there. He hands me a piece of paper with all the names of our Famiglia written on it. I bleed onto the paper and light it on fire. I let it burn until it hurts my fingers and I drop the ashes into the water.
“You swear you keep the secrets of this Famiglia. You swear on the old country and the new. You swear on the bond that gives us meaning. May your liver rot and your lungs grow to stone if you betray the Corsetti.”
“I swear it.”
“Drink.”
He hands me a gold cup. I dip it into the ashy, bloody water, and drink. It tastes like shit and leaves a gritty feeling in the back of my throat.
I pass the cup on. Every man on the dais drinks my blood and ashes. Even Turi, who never wanted me in the first place. When it’s done, Saverino returns the cup to the altar and spreads his arms. “Turn and face your brothers.”
I turn my back on the council and look out across the church. Familiar faces look back, some happy, some bored. All loyal to me now.
I was born into this life. My father was the Don, and I was raised in it. Everything I know, everything I am comes from these people. All I’ve ever wanted was to make them stronger and better.
And now I have the authority to make it happen.
“Congratulations, Don Corsetti,” Saverino says, stepping up to stand by my side. “We wish you good health, long life, unlimited wealth, and everlasting power.”
The room erupts in applause. I look at them, my brothers, my life, but my gaze inevitably falls on Kira. She’s the only one who isn’t clapping. She’s barely even smiling, sitting there like a beautiful death goddess, wrapped in black and glowing with an inner light. She’s more incredible than I ever dreamed she could be.
Men come and shake my hand. I accept their congratulations as the stuffy formality of the ceremony gives way to a more celebratory air. Drinks are passed around. The younger men brought flasks and cigars. We shouldn’t smoke in here, but to hell with it. How often does a man become a Don?
“Here’s wishing you a dozen babies with that new wife of yours!” Matteo says happily a half hour into the revels. He slaps my back, grinning big. Kira’s lingering nearby, caught in conversation with Saverino and Frankie. “She’s a good-looking one, you know. I get why you insisted on her.”
“I’ll assume you mean that as a compliment and you aren’t being inappropriate about your Don’s wife.”
Matteo grimaces. “Of course not, Don Corsetti.”
“Can’t be inappropriate about a cow like that.” The comment is short. It’s muttered, not really meant for me to hear, but I know the voice. I turn and look at Turi, his face sneering as he leans away from Graziano, who at least has the good sense to look ashamed.
“What did you just say, Turi?”
The old man raises his chin. “You might be my Don, but that doesn’t mean you’re above criticism. You and that Santoro wife of yours.”
Silence falls over the room. I turn to face the old Capo. He’s been a part of the council for as long as I can remember. I think my father raised him to the position back before I was even born. Turi’s practically the Famiglia’s mascot at this point.
“I’m going to say this one time so that everyone can hear it. Criticism of my wife is off-limits.” I’m very aware of her standing nearby. She’s with Saverino and Frankie, which is good. If something bad happens, they’ll likely get her out of here. But she needs to see this first.
