The mask he’s worn for decades is cracking, and everyone can see what’s beneath.
“She was going to ruin everything!” The words explode from Marco like a confession he’s been holding back for years. “She threatened to tell you about the baby, to leave Lorenzo. I couldn’t let some nobody destroy the Torrino family.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
I see Torrino’s men exchanging glances, hands moving toward weapons.
The Sicilian family is fracturing before my eyes, split between those loyal to their don and those horrified by his son’s crimes.
“You killed her.” Torrino’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of centuries of old-world justice. “You and Lorenzo killed my beloved daughter, letting me believe it was a suicide. Your deceit almost mean she’d never get started this war.”
“I did what was necessary!” Marco’s desperation is palpable now. “For the family. For our honor.”
“There is no honor in murdering your sister… or a pregnant woman.” Torrino turns to me, and I see something in his eyes I never expected. Respect. “Mr. Artyomov, the debt is paid. Lorenzo has paid for his part with his own death, and my son’s crimes have brought shame upon our family that we will address. The vendetta ends here.”
“No!” Marco charges at me with the fury of a cornered animal.
His fists are wild, undisciplined, driven by panic rather than skill.
I sidestep his first swing and counter with a brutal combination to his ribs.
He grunts but keeps coming, and I realize he’s fighting not to win but to die.
He knows what awaits him if he survives this.
We trade blows in the center of the circle, but the fight has already left him.
Each punch I land drives him further into despair.
Blood streams from his nose, his lip is split, and one eye is swelling shut.
I could end him.
One more strike to the temple, a knee to the throat, and Marco Torrino would be nothing but a memory.
My hands itch to do it, to eliminate this threat permanently.
But I catch Sophia’s eye across the warehouse, and I see something in her expression that stops me.
Hope.
She’s looking at me with hope that I’ll choose mercy over violence.
I drop my hands and step back. “I’m done.”
Marco collapses to his knees, gasping for air. “Finish it,” he rasps. “Kill me.”
“No.” The word feels foreign on my tongue. Mercy has never been part of my vocabulary, but standing here in this steel mill, I realize something fundamental has changed. Sophia has changed me. “Your father will decide your fate. That’s old-world justice, isn’t it?”
Torrino approaches his son slowly, each step measured and deliberate.
When he reaches Marco, he doesn’t help him up. Instead, he looks down at him with an expression of profound disappointment.
“You are no longer my son,” Torrino says. “You are no longer part of this family. Your name will be forgotten, your deeds erased from our history. This is my judgment.”
Marco’s face crumples, and for a moment I almost feel sorry for him.
To be cast out from a Sicilian family is worse than death.
