"Fuck you too."
He grins.
I position myself near the window. Back to the wall. Clear sightlines to both doors. Old habits.
"Where's Vittoria?" I ask.
Pietro's jaw tightens. "With her husband."
"The Russian."
"Dmitri. Yes."
I let that sit for a moment. My baby sister. Married to Bratva.
"She should be here for this."
"She's busy." Nico's voice is flat. "Playing house, as you put it when you called this meeting."
I didn't realize I'd said that out loud on the phone. Doesn't matter. It's true.
"What's this about, Bruno?" Pietro moves around the desk. Leans against the front of it. Trying to be casual. Trying not to look like the Don addressing his crippled brother.
I hate that he's good at this. Hate that he stepped into the role and made it look easy.
Stop. He didn't want it. He took it because you couldn't.
"I want the Don position."
The words land like a grenade in the center of the room.
Silence.
Pietro doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just stares at me.
The grandfather clock in the corner ticks. Once. Twice. Three times.
Nobody speaks.
I grip my armrests tighter. Feel the leather creak under my fingers.
Say something. Someone fucking say something.
Pietro pushes off from the desk. Takes two steps toward me. Stops.
"Are you sure?"
Three words. No judgment. No pity. Just a question.
Before I can answer, Nico moves.
"No." He steps between us, tablet forgotten on the side table. "This can't happen."
"Nico—" Lorenzo starts.
"No." Nico's voice cuts like a blade. "We've kept our mouths shut for months. Watched him spiral. Watched him push everyone away. But this?" He gestures at me. "This is insanity."
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. "Careful."
