Chapter 17 #3
I looped my free arm around Rory’s waist. “This holiday season, I am most grateful to have my wife returned to me, and as you can see, we are expecting. Our son, the heir to the Bellini empire, will be joining us in only a few months’ time, securing our family’s future for the next generation.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” my uncle’s familiar voice boomed from the far end of the room.
There were several gasps at his blatant show of disrespect.
As we’d hoped, Dario hadn’t been able to resist the trap we’d carefully laid, and he stepped further into the ballroom, a grin of triumph curved on his lips, relishing that all eyes were on him.
While those gathered were sufficiently stunned by his challenging statement, what surprised me was his appearance.
The man I knew had been unkempt at best, sporting greasy hair, leaving the buttons of his shirt undone to expose his beer gut and the stained wife-beater tucked into his pants.
But now, he wore a perfectly tailored suit, giving off an air of authority he’d never possessed before.
Plastering a charming smile on my face, I crooned, “Uncle, I’m so glad you could join us this evening.”
Derisive laughter burst from his lips. “I highly doubt that.”
I clicked my tongue. “Of course I am. It provides me with the perfect opportunity to share with those gathered how far you were willing to go in your quest to unseat me and take my position for yourself.” Pausing for dramatic effect, I asked, “Where should we start? With the botched attempt on my life that resulted in Allegra Bellini’s death. ”
In the crowd, shocked faces swiveled in his direction.
“Or how about the fire you had set at Matteo’s house, where his two little girls were asleep inside?”
There were angry cries of outrage in response to that revelation, and my highest-ranking men stood to aim guns in Dario’s direction.
That’s when his backup entered through the ballroom’s exterior doors, brandishing firearms to create a silent standoff. But what I never expected was for my former capos—the ones Matteo and Enzo had forced to “retire”—to rise from their seats, joining my uncle in a show of support.
“Son of a bitch,” Matteo hissed under his breath.
Despite the insult to our nonna, whom we’d never had the pleasure of meeting, I had to agree. Dario was inciting a civil war, pitting fathers against sons. The number of potential casualties in our fight to maintain control had just risen significantly with this new development.
I wanted nothing more than to rush across the room and choke the life from my uncle, but I maintained my calm facade, picking at a piece of invisible lint on my tuxedo jacket. “The rules of succession have been written in stone for centuries. What makes you think you can bypass them?”
In a sharp contrast to my composure, Dario’s face turned red as he roared, “Why should I have to suffer when I was muscled out of the way so my brother could cash in on a first-class ticket out of the birth canal!”
Shaking my head, I muttered, “And people wonder why royalty used to kill the second twin.”
Unable to remain silent, Enzo spoke up. “For argument’s sake, let’s pretend you have a legitimate claim to take over as the head of the Bellini Family. What’s the point? I am your sole heir and am childless. The family legacy would die with me.”
A sinister grin curved on Dario’s face. “That’s where you’d be wrong.”
My eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
Curling his fingers, my uncle beckoned. “Son, why don’t you come up here and join me?”
The air was sucked from my lungs when none other than Nico, our resident tech genius, rose from his seat to stand by Dario’s side.
“Holy fucking shit,” Enzo breathed.
Blinking, unable to believe my eyes, I called out to the young man, “Nico, what’s the meaning of this?”
Adjusting his cufflinks, the younger man held my stare. “I think it should be obvious.” There was a beat of silence before he added, “Cousin.”
Enzo’s temper flared, “You double-crossing, mother—”
“Oh, come now.” Nico tsked. “Is that any way to speak to your little brother? What happened to ‘Bellinis always stick together’?” The bumbling computer geek was suddenly smooth as silk.
Guess I’m not the only one in this family who could win an award for their acting skills.
I scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from a guy who wormed his way into our good graces, earning our trust, while keeping it a secret that we’re related.”
Dario cut into our exchange. “I have to say, my first attempt at procreation was”—his eyes lifted to Enzo, a look of disgust pulling at his features—“disappointing at best. But my second attempt . . .” He chuckled.
“Well, it was everything I could have dreamed of and more.” Smirking, he asked, “Did you know Nico has a twin sister?”
My eyes bulged. There were two of them?
Fuck us all to Hell. This got worse by the minute.
“Darling, would you like to come out and say hello?”
From behind my uncle, a woman appeared. One I recognized instantly.
Rory gasped beside me. “Oh my God, it’s her.”
Dario beamed at his raven-haired daughter. “I believe you’ve met Arianna.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” she purred.
Faced with the woman who’d tried to kill my son, my free fist clenched, my trimmed nails biting in my palm. “I suppose I should thank you for showing your hand, Uncle. You’ve made it exceedingly easy to eliminate you and your mutinous offspring and end this uprising before it goes any further.”
He hummed condescendingly. “That won’t be happening.
” Gesturing around the room to all the guns—half aimed at him, half aimed in defense of him—Dario remarked, “It would seem that, for now, we are at an impasse. Perhaps it’s best that we retire to our separate corners of the ring before the next round begins. ”
“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk out of here alive. This ends here. Tonight.”
“I’d caution you to re-evaluate that position, nephew.”
“And why would I do that?”
Rory clutched at my arm, her voice trembling. “Gio?”
“A little busy at the moment,” I forced out through gritted teeth.
“Gio,” Matteo uttered my name, his tone urgent.
“What?” I yelled, head whipping to the side.
My brother’s eyes dipped, and when I tracked his gaze, I stopped breathing. A red dot from a sniper’s scope stood out in stark contrast to the silver fabric of my wife’s dress, its position right at her navel, aimed at our son.
Murderous rage coursed through my veins as I turned to face Dario once more. “This isn’t over.”
“Far from it,” he agreed, then to my wife he said, “Your current . . . predicament”—Dario’s gaze dropped to her stomach—“is rather regrettable, Rory. If I’d have known Gio tracked your location, I would have moved you out of Colorado sooner.”
“What?” My eyes volleyed between Dario and Rory.
Smug, my uncle asked, “Would you like to tell him, Rory, or should I?”