"That's not happening." I want to remind him it's not the 1960s. And yet, I know he won't care. His rationality has been eaten by the cancer.
"Listen to me?—"
"No. You listen." I lean forward. "Gemma is my wife. My responsibility. And I'm not setting her aside because your timeline doesn't match reality."
"Your loyalty is admirable but misplaced." His voice is getting weaker. I can see him starting to slip again, the clarity beginning to fade. "The succession?—"
"Will be fine. We'll have a child when we have a child." I close my eyes. "God's timing cannot be rushed."
He snorts. "You don't believe in God."
I stare at him. No matter how he looks now, I will always see a man larger than life. Commanding. Strong. "You do."
He coughs. "And if you don't? If she can't?" He's losing the thread now, words starting to slur. "You'll be weak. Vulnerable. The captains already question you. Without an heir, without my backing?—"
"I'll manage."
"You're a killer, Santino. A good one. The best I've ever seen." He's rambling now, slipping away. "But leadership requires more. Requires sacrifice. Requires making hard choices."
"Like setting aside my wife?"
"Like doing whatever it takes to secure the family." His eyes flutter closed. "She's a curse. Bad luck. First her mother, then her. The Nero women are poison?—"
"That's enough." I stand. "You're not yourself. Get some rest."
"Promise me," he mumbles, barely conscious now. "Promise you'll do what's necessary. For the family. Always for the family."
He's not going to let this go. It makes me want to take the gun and do what he asks. Instead, I lie.
"I promise."
His breathing evens out. Sleep or unconsciousness, I can't tell.
I'm halfway to the door when I hear it, a soft sound. Like fabric brushing against wood.
Someone's outside.
I yank the door open only to find the hallway empty.
But there's a faint scent in the air, a floral perfume that reminds me of Gemma. She wears something that reminds me of a fresh spring day after the rain, and I scent it now.
Was she here?
I look both ways down the hall. Nothing. No sign of her.
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I'm so on edge I'm inventing threats.
I start toward our bedroom, then stop. Voices downstairs. My cousins.
Family first. I'll find Gemma after.
I head down, schooling my expression into something neutral.
Even with Antonio still alive, I am head of the family.
And I must deliver bad fucking news.
Marcello, Julian, and Dominic are in the foyer, bags at their feet. Antonio's sons. My cousins.
