Raf’s smile is almost polite. "That’s funny," he says. "Because I was about to say the same thing to you."
He shoves Aurelio forward under the hanging body. Aurelio staggers, catches himself, and looks up. For a second, his expression changes.
"Papá," he spits, like the word tastes foul.
Silvestre’s jaw tightens. "Don’t."
Aurelio’s laugh cracks out. Sharp. Too loud. "Don’t what? Acknowledge you? Pretend you didn’t hang me by my throat every time I disappointed you?"
Silvestre’s eyes cut to him. "Shut your mouth."
Aurelio flinches and then straightens, as if the flinch offended him. "No. I’ve shut up for years."
Raf folds his arms, watching them like a man watching two dogs circle a bone. Stephano shifts beside me, silent, coiled. His stillness is the dangerous kind. Aurelio turns, wild-eyed now, voice climbing. "This is your fault. All of it. Not theirs." He jerks his chin toward Raf. Toward us. "Not the Italians. Not the Russians."
"The Russians," Silvestre growls, a warning.
Aurelio barrels right through it. "Yes, the fucking Russians. You brought them into our blood. You brought them into our house. Yourhonor—" he sneers the word like it’s obscene. "Yourloyalty. Yourpride."
Silvestre swings slightly, chain creaking. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
Aurelio whips his head up. "I don’t? I watched you bend our entire empire around a dead man’s name. Around a ghost in Moscow and a woman in New York."
Silvestre’s eyes sharpen at that. "Do. Not. Say her name again."
Aurelio’s mouth pulls back. "Margarita."
The air shifts. Even Raf’s smile fades a millimeter.
Silvestre’s voice goes low. "Don’t."
Aurelio steps forward until he’s directly under him, forcing Silvestre to look down at him, forcing the old man’s authority tohangover him like the chain does.
"She is a washed-out old whore," Aurelio snaps viciously. "And you worshipped her like she was a saint."
Silvestre’s face twitches, tiny, contained. Like he’s about to hit someone and remembers he can’t reach.
"Your mother would—" Silvestre starts.
"Don’t you dare," Aurelio snaps, loud again. "Don’t you dare drag Mamá into this when you spent decades crawling after Margarita’s shadow."
Silvestre bares his teeth. "You’re alive because I kept you alive."
Aurelio’s laugh turns ugly. "No, I’m alive because you needed someone to carry your sins when your hands got too old. And because the washed-out old whore only gave you fucking daughters."
Raf claps once, soft. A conductor bringing the orchestra back.
"Good," he says. "We’re warmed up."
Silvestre laughs. It’s a rasp. A cough pretending to be amusement. "You think I’ll beg."
Raf shrugs. "No." He gestures up at the chain. "I think you’ll break slowly."
Then he looks at Aurelio. "And I think he’ll break faster."
Aurelio’s gaze flicks up to his father, then away, then back, like his eyes can’t decide who he hates more: Silvestre… or the fact that Raf is right.
Silvestre watches him with something like contempt. "Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut." He orders.
