They don't trust me. They think I'm unstable. Dangerous.
They're right.
But some fucker said it was better to be feared than loved, and I wouldn't be the first Don to manage the family with that philosophy.
The reception is at the house.
Gemma is hosting, and the sight of her sad smile and thin body does something to me I don't want to focus on. So instead, I hide in my study with ice for my hand and a glass of whiskey for my mood.
There's a knock on the door, and I want to ignore it, but I know I can't.
"Come in."
Marcello peeks around the door. His eyes, so much like his father's, take in the scene before him. Me—bloodied and drinking. "We need to talk."
"Not now."
"Yes, now." He sits across from me. "Before you do something else stupid."
I look up. Marcello is always measured. Always calm. It's the lawyer in him. He's not any different now though there's judgement in his expression.
"Say what you need to say and leave."
He rolls his eyes.
"The captains had a meeting. Three days ago." He leans forward. "They don't want you as Don."
The words hit like a physical blow. "What?" I place the glass down with too much force, and the amber liquid sloshes over.
"They think you're too volatile. Too young. Too...dangerous." He grimaces. "The thing with Alexei today didn't help."
"He showed up at Antonio's funeral?—"
"He's the head of his family. It would have been disrespect?—"
"Fuck that," I snap. "He came to prove a point. Not pay respect."
Marcello shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You're Don now. You can't beat the shit out of everyone you fucking hate."
"I don't," I say. "The list would be long."
"I'm serious, Saint. You showed weakness today, and the sharks are circling. They smell blood in the water, and you are going to end up chum if you don't get your shit together."
I lean back in Antonio's chair. Marcello isn't wrong, but I'm not going to admit that. Not to him. We're only a few years apart, and we've always been wildly different, but we were close growing up. There are few people who would hold my feet to the fire the way Marcello will. And even less people whose advice I'd take.
"Then how should I have handled it?" I ask. "Allow him to think he can play us?"
"You do it quietly. Later. Where no one could see." His eyes are hard. "You made a spectacle. You made us look unstable."
I stand, move to the window. Outside, people are mingling. Gemma is talking to someone, one of the wives. Playing her part. She's always acting. It makes me wonder if she was playing pretend at the beach house or was that the real her? Is there a real her or does she just adapt to whoever she's with?
"What do they want?" I ask. "The family?" I fucking hate that I even need to ask. This was what I was worried about, not being ready. Antonio knew I wasn't ready, which is why he pressured me to have an heir.
"They want me to take over," Marcello says plainly.
I turn. "You?"
"Surprised?" There's something bitter in his smile.
