Page 2 of The New Godfather

“The boys were waiting outside. That’s just how the boss always wanted it. He found it too cramped in there with them. It happened too fast. Before they could intervene.”

A cold wave of astonishment slides over my skin at life's twisted irony. All those hateful rivals gunning for him, the endless threats whispered in dark corners, the sophisticated security detail he employed, and it's a random junkie who ends it all? And of all places in his tiny fruit shop where he felt so safe, he banned his own guards. I think of his bloated body surrounded by crates of oranges and bananas…

A strangled burst of laughter threatens to slip out, but I keep my expression calm, schooled into the perfect mask I've worn for years. My voice is steady. "I see."

Tony watches me for a long moment, like he's waiting for tears or hysterics that don't come. He straightens, clearing his throat. "The Capo's instructions were clear before... well, you know. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about a thing. We'll handle all the arrangements. You should rest."

I nod and rise slowly. My legs feel like lead. I can feel Tony’s eyes on my back as I walk toward the door and open it. The hallway blurs a little as I make my way upstairs. The polished banister feels cold and smooth under my palm. I get into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. Alone at last, I walk on shaky legs over to the full-length mirror by the window. The afternoon light filtering through sheer curtains casts soft shadows across the room. The air smells faintly of lavender from the old-fashioned sachets the housekeeper puts in the drawers; a scent that's supposed to calm, but I now associate with confinement.

I stare at my reflection.

A cool, polished stranger stares back—blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail, green eyes empty, lips pressed into a thin line. Who is this woman? Not me, not really. The real me is a survivor, hiding deep, buried under layers upon layers of pretty lies.

I know what comes next.

There will be a fight for power, a scramble to replace the dead Godfather and claim his kingdom. The other families and the lieutenants—they'll circle like sharks until the new Godfather is crowned.

But what about me? My heart flutters with anxiety. Salvatore never allowed me to keep anything in my name. He was obsessive about tying everything up in complicated schemes—offshore accounts, trusts, and dozens of shell companies that no one could touch without his say-so. Because he knew I didn’t love him, he made sure I had nothing. No security, no escape.

In this house, I learned to live with my revulsion, letting it fade to the back of my mind like white noise. With him alive, things were stable, predictable. Even the pain he inflicted was predictable—it was a cold routine, but it was one I had learned to navigate.

But now?

Everything is about to change, and I am without protection. Easy prey. A feeling of clear and present danger engulfs me, gripping my throat and making my breath come short. My entire world teeters on the edge, at risk all over again. I press a hand to my chest and feel my heart race within.

And in that moment, I cannot help but wonder: how long do I have before the wolves close in and I become part of the spoils?

Chapter Two

RICCI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0zROagSE7U

-I’ve been loving you too long-

Contempt coils in my gut as they file out in somber silence, their footsteps muffled on the plush Persian rug. I watch them go—treacherous Don Moretti with his thick silver hair and perpetual scowl, shifty Bianchi slinking out like the untrustworthy weasel he is, and the others, less remarkable, but the rest of the old-school bosses from the five families and their most trusted consiglieres. Their luxury hand-tailored suits cannot hide the rot beneath.

I see them for what they are: relics, dinosaurs clinging to power with arthritic fingers. Once I was dismissed as just a street rat, but today they have been forced to kiss my cheek and hand over the keys to the old Greco’s kingdom. My penthouse in the Upper East Side has finally become the seat of the throne today.

The door clicks shut behind the last of them; the sound rings joyously through the cavernous living room.

Immediately, I turn away and walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the glittering sprawl of Manhattan below. The sun has dipped low, painting the Hudson River in streaks of orange and gold, and made the skyline a jagged silhouette of steel and ambition.

A smile tugs at my lips, slow and satisfied, as I press a hand against the cool glass. Five years... Five insufferably long years… Many times, countless times, I thought I wouldn’t make it. God, the savagery of it all crushed me. Lying through gritted teeth in smoke-filled back rooms, cheating death in alleyways where the air reeked of garbage and gunpowder, killing men whose faces still haunt my nightmares. Living on my wits. Every day was a chess game where one wrong move meant a bullet to the head. Endless manipulation, pulling strings like a puppet master, dancing like a puppet myself, outfoxing rivals who thought they were untouchable... it was endless and intolerable.

The memories flood in unbidden, sharp as a knife edge. I feel the ghost of that bullet lodged in my side from two years back, the one the docs couldn't fully remove. It aches now, a dull throb under my shirt as if recalling the fight. Flashes hit me: the crack of gunfire in a warehouse down by the docks, the metallic tang of blood in my mouth after a brawl, the cold sweat of near misses when plans teetered on collapse. Risks that could've ended me a thousand times over. I know I can never wash away the blood on my hands or my soul.

But I proved my worth, didn't I?

Outsmarted them all, turned their schemes against them. And now... now I’ve realized it. The goal that's burned in my veins like whiskey fire.

I've claimed the crown. I am the new Godfather. Head of the powerful Greco Mafia. Accepted by the heads of the other families. The authority of the title surges through me, heady and electric, making my pulse quicken. No more waiting in the shadow of the second-in-command.

I'm the Don now.

But the thrill of triumph fades as my thoughts shift to the funeral. Salvatore's body has just been released from the morgue, after the cops poked around just enough to pretend they cared. The funeral will be at St. Patrick's Old Cathedral, that Gothic pile in Nolita where so many of our kind have been laid to rest. They keep the air in there thick with incense so the mourners in their black Gucci and Armani can pretend heaven exists for them all. I'll go, of course. Play the respectful successor, shake hands, murmur condolences. But… my main concern will be her. My mind quiets, and the city view blurs as her image replaces every other thought.

Viola.