God, she’d revel in it.
I stare out the wide windows as the waves darken beneath the clouds.
Spray hits the glass in streaks. The horizon blurs into a single steel line. It hits me then, the ending. Gustave. My father. Not dead. Yet. Soon.
Edoardo twists in the chair. "Stephano, please—contare—please, we can negotiate?—"
"Stop," I tell him. "Negotiation is for men with honor."
"And you think you have it?" he spits. "You think he deserves the throne?" He jerks his chin toward Raf.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "No," I say. "He deserves the responsibility. There’s a difference."
He looks away, jaw shaking. The boat slows. Marcello stands. "Showtime."
Enrico grabsEdoardo by the collar. Toni unlocks the back deck hatch. Cold sea air fills the cabin. The slap of waves grows louder.
Edoardo sobs now. "Please—please, you don’t have to do this—we can make a deal—anything, anything?—"
I stand.
"You already made your deals," I say. "This is the consequence."
Marcello gestures. "Toss him."
Edoardo screams, thrashing, begging as Toni and Enrico drag him out.
He begs until the second he hits the water. Then the screaming starts and stops. Sharks are merciful like that.
We watch only long enough to be certain he’s gone. Long enough to close the last chapter of his rule. Marcello shuts the deck. Silence settles over the yacht, thick and strange.
I return to the salon. Raf extends a glass toward me. I take it.
Enrico leans back. "So. What now, boss?"
He looks at Raf, smirking. The engines hum, the sea roars, the city awaits.
"Now," Raf says, "we rebuild La Famiglia."
We’re halfway through a second round of drinks when it happens.
One phone rings.
Then another.
And another.
A chorus of vibrations and sharp tones shatters the calm. We all freeze. Marcello’s jaw tightens. Enrico’s brows pull together. Toni goes pale.
Raf is the first to answer, and the blood drains from his face so fast it’s like someone pulled a plug. "Sophia?"
He goes still. Utterly still.
Toni fumbles with his phone, curses, and answers; his expression mirrors Raf’s in an instant. "Scarlet?"
Marcello’s vibrates next. "Violet? Slow down—what do you mean?—?"
Enrico steps away, already swearing, "Cat. Piccolina. Calm down and tell me."
