I studied him—this relic of a bygone era. His silver hair slicked back, his expensive suit cut in a style twenty years out of date. He'd served my father, then Antonio, always the loyal soldier to men he considered worthy of the Ricci name.
"Were you also discussing the men you sent to my home?" I asked, my voice carrying across the suddenly quiet restaurant. "The ones who tried to kill the mother of my child?"
Carbone's eyes narrowed. "The girl is a problem. She's not family. She's not even Italian. Your father would be ashamed—"
"My father is dead," I said. "As is Antonio. The Ricci family you knew is gone."
Around us, diners began to sense the danger. Some quietly requested their checks, while others sat frozen, afraid movement might draw attention.
"You betray everything we built," Carbone said, his voice rising. "For what? Some whore who—"
The razor was in my hand before he finished speaking. I moved with a speed that surprised even me, grabbing his thinning hair and yanking his head back. The blade pressed against his throat, drawing a thin line of blood.
"Choose your next words carefully," I whispered. "They will be your last."
His men reached for their weapons, but Enzo and our team had them covered, guns drawn. The restaurant erupted in screams as patrons dove under tables or fled for the exits.
"You think killing me ends this?" Carbone hissed. "There are others who believe as I do. The old families won't accept your mongrel child as heir—"
"You sent men to kill a pregnant woman," I said, circling his table slowly. "My pregnant woman. My child."
Carbone's eyes glittered with malice. "That bastard mongrel was never worthy of Ricci blood. Just like its whore mother."
"Keep talking," I said softly, my hand moving to the razor. "Tell me more about your traditional values."
"Your father built this empire on strength and purity. Antonio understood that. But you?" He spat. "You've been neutered by sentiment."
Carbone suddenly grabbed a steak knife from the table, lunging at me with surprising speed for his age. I caught his wrist, twisting until the blade clattered to the floor.
I drew the razor across his throat—my grandfather's blade ending my grandfather's era. Carbone collapsed forward, the old ways dying with him as crimson stained the white linen.
"The old Ricci line is over," I announced, watching him slump forward into his plate of linguini, now stained crimson. "Anyone who clings to it dies with it."
His men sat frozen, guns still half-drawn, faced with the choice of their lives. One by one, they lowered their weapons.
"Wise decision," I said, wiping the razor clean on Carbone's suit jacket. "You have until tomorrow to decide. Join the new organization or disappear. There is no third option."
I turned and walked toward the door, Enzo falling in step beside me. Behind us, Carbone's body lay still in a pool of blood and wine.
"The police will be here soon," Enzo said as we emerged onto the street.
"Let them come. By the time they arrive, we'll be ghosts."
The plan had been in motion since the attack on Sophie. Accounts transferred, identities created, safe houses secured. The empire I'd built would continue under Enzo's management while Sophie and I disappeared.
When we returned to the estate, I found Sophie awake, standing by the window. She turned as I entered, her eyes taking in the blood on my hands, the grim set of my jaw.
"It's done," I said simply.
She nodded, no judgment in her eyes. "What happens now?"
"We disappear. Tonight." I crossed to the safe behind the painting, entering the combination. "I've prepared for this possibility. New identities, untraceable accounts, properties off any official record."
I removed stacks of cash, passports, and a satellite phone, placing them on the bed.
"How long have you been planning this?" she asked.
"Since the day I learned you were pregnant." I met her gaze. "I always knew there might come a day when the only way to protect what matters would be to walk away from everything else."
