I grab a light book, something mindless, something that won't remind me of anything, and step outside into the garden, breathing in cool air until the pressure eases.
Life is full of ups and downs. We all know that. But this feels like free-falling without a parachute.
I sit beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, my father's words lingering on my mind.
"If it seems impossible, then it may be time to let it go."
But how do you let go of the person who taught you to hold on? How do you surrender when everything in you screams to fight? How do you forgive the unforgivable?
The garden is beautiful today, full of color and life, indifferent to my suffering. Birds sing in the branches above me. Bees move from flower to flower. The world continues, uncaring that mine is falling apart.
I open the book in my lap, and I stare at the words until they blur, thinking about impossible problems and the wisdom of knowing when to quit.
Quit trying, quit falling, quit loving a monster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Salvatore
The next few days are different.
Valentina plays her role perfectly. She attends the final wedding preparations and smiles for the designer when we do the final fitting. She nods at all the right moments but doesn’t give any real attention during discussions about flowers, music, and seating arrangements letting our wedding planner choose most of it based on her expertise, as Valentina put it.
She doesn't look at me. Not once.
"Valentina, can we talk?" I asked yesterday when she walked past me in the hallway, my hand reaching for her arm.
She pulled away like I'd burned her and kept walking, her footsteps echoing in the silence she left behind.
The distance is killing me.
But I understand it. She's protecting herself, building walls to keep me out until she knows whether I'm going to shatter her world or save it. Every day that passes without an answer is another brick in the fortress she's constructing around her heart.
Meanwhile, I'm fighting a war on multiple fronts.
My brothers are growing impatient, dropping pointed comments about Marco at every opportunity. The other families are asking questions, sensing weakness like sharks circling wounded prey. Every day Marco stays alive is another day my authority is questioned, another whisper that Salvatore Vitale has gone soft for a woman.
I've been stalling, weighing options, playing chess with lives. But who am I kidding? I already know what I'm going to do.
I've known since the moment I saw her face in that basement. Since she begged me to spare him. Since I realized I'd burn this entire empire to the ground before I'd break her heart.
The question was never what. It was how.
"Elio, round up our men, our brothers, and the heads of the other families. I'm calling an emergency meeting, they have three hours to make arrangements and get here."
"Sounds serious," he says, a question hidden in the statement.
"It is." I disconnect the call before he can ask anything else, before he can talk me out of what I'm about to do.
Three hours later, I walk into the boardroom to find it already filled beyond capacity.
Every captain. Every underboss. Every man of importance in the Vitale organization crowds into the main hall of the compound, their conversations dropping to murmurs as I enter. But it's not just my men, the dons of New Jersey, four other families sit at the main table, each flanked by their most trusted capos. The air is thick with tension and cigar smoke, everyone sensing that something significant is about to happen.
This isn't just a family meeting. This is a summit.
Don Carmine DeLuca, old and cunning, watches me with hooded eyes that have seen four decades of bloodshed. Beside him, Don Volcov leans back in his chair, deceptively casual, one hand resting near the gun I know he keeps holstered at his side. Don Luca Santori sits perfectly still, his expression unreadable as carved marble. And Don Alessandro Greco, the youngest of them, drums his fingers against the table, impatient, ambitious, dangerous.
Elio stands near the door, arms crossed, his expression grim. He's the only one who knows what's coming, and even he looks uncertain.
