Chapter 20 Francesco
FRANCESCO
Istop in my tracks the moment I hear it. The words echo through the living room like the clang of a final bell.
“I am the father.”
The door to the living room hangs open. The servants part like water as I step forward. I take note of the looks on their faces. Some are twisted in shock and horror. Others look delighted, like the scene before them is perfect entertainment.
My father is standing before Lia in the center of the room, his firm grip on her jaw. I spot a few aunts, our consigliere, and Elio seated at the front of the room. Marco is standing with a serious expression on his face.
They all turn to look at me as I step into the scene. The moment Marco spots me, he speaks again.
“I love her,” he announces—but he’s looking directly at me.
“The child is mine. And I’ll marry her—if that’s what it takes.”
More gasps erupt as he steps between my father and Lia like some tragic, lying hero.
The floor tilts beneath me. My hands curl into fists at my sides. There’s a roaring in my ears, and I take deep, calming breaths to hold myself back from lunging at him. I try to remind myself why that is a terrible idea. It will only make things worse.
So I remain rooted where I am. If I take a step closer, I might just do what I’m struggling to convince myself not to.
My father’s voice cuts through the thick atmosphere. “Do you know what you have just done?”
“I’ll take responsibility,” Marco says again. His voice is steady, but the expression on his face is unreadable.
I want to know if he feels anything—guilt, shame, even a flicker of regret—for what he’s just done. I want to know his true intentions. Why would he claim, in front of everyone, a pregnancy he knows he had nothing to do with?
My eyes zoom in on Lia, searching her face. My heart tugs at the painful expression on her face. She looks lost, betrayed, and confused, like she doesn’t know what the hell is happening anymore.
Neither do I.
Because this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to come out like this.
I didn’t return with the rest of my family after the Elders’ meeting. While they drove back to the estate, I went looking for answers.
I visited what remains of an old friend, a man who once thought he could rewrite his fate. A man like me.
Salvo Vescovi.
An heir to one of the founding families who defied the Elders when he fell in love with an outsider. A child was born out of that forbidden love, and it cost him everything. His lover and child were killed.
And he wasn’t left out.
His eyes were gouged out. His tongue was split into two.
Now he lives blind in an underground monastery after he was disowned by his family, in a permanent prison where he has to live out the rest of his days as punishment.
They won’t let him die. They won’t let him kill himself.
His life alone was meant to serve as a warning to men like me, yet I went to visit him, hoping I could find something—anything—that could get me and Lia out of this mess.
He recognized my voice from the times he used to visit when I was younger. He told me he still dreams of his girl—and that the last sound he remembers from his son wasn’t a cry, but a goodbye he never got to answer.
“You cannot change their minds, Francesco,” he whispered through broken teeth. “The Society doesn’t forgive blood crimes, especially not heirs who live to continue the bloodlines.”
I thought I could beg, reason, and promise him anything he wanted, anything to keep her safe.
But it was no use. He said the only thing he wanted was death.
There was nothing else that could make him happier.
He said that the Elders would never reason with me.
If they spared Lia’s life, it would open the door for others to follow.
And if that happened, the world they built would burn.
I left with nothing but a warning ringing in my head:
Be careful. La Mano Nera doesn’t do well with rebellion.
I rushed back home, shoving the warning to the back of my mind.
Because, besides the warning, my only intention was to get to Lia—to take her away from this place, away from our world, somewhere the Society could never reach her, where their power meant nothing.
But I was minutes too late.
And instead of saving her, I walked into the sound of my brother’s voice—claiming my unborn child as his. And I feel everything I came to protect slipping through my fingers.
The look on my father’s face is one of pure venom.
He hates this almost as much as I do, for different reasons.
If it were up to him, Lia would be found dead in her room tomorrow morning.
That is easier and less messy than this public spectacle.
The news of the pregnancy would never come out, and Lia’s death would be forgotten after a few days.
The Romano name and legacy would be kept intact.
But his plans are ruined, just like mine. From what I’ve gathered, Zia Clara had a maid who was watching Lia. The maid reported her suspicions about Lia’s pregnancy, and Zia, being the spiteful woman that she is, decided to publicly humiliate Lia before reporting what she knows to my father.
My father looks at Marco with a kind of coldness I haven’t seen in a long time.
“Everyone out,” he says finally.
The staff scurry out of the room like rats fleeing fire, as if staying even a second longer will cost them their lives. My aunts take a little longer before walking out.
Lia remains standing with her head bent low in the center of the room.
“You too,” my father tells her.
She doesn’t spare anyone a single glance as she heads toward the door. Elio walks over to shut the doors behind her.
Only the Romanos remain, and Olga, who stands behind my father, looking calmer than usual for the situation.
My father walks back and sinks into the lavish sofa at the front of the room. I watch as he folds his arms across his chest. I have never seen my father so angry. He looks like he is so close to ripping someone’s head off—specifically Marco’s.
“Are you out of your damn mind!?”
Marco doesn’t even seem fazed. “I can explain, Father. If you’d just let me—”
“Let you what? Give me more useless justification for the nonsense you’ve just put our family in?” Dante’s voice is a low growl, each word dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What this spectacle will cost us?”
“I know exactly what I’ve done. I did what I had to,” Marco replies coolly. “To protect all of us.”
“Protect?” Dante laughs bitterly. “You put a target on our backs. You think claiming her protects us? You’ve signed her death warrant and yours along with it, you fool. The Elders will never—”
“The Elders already know my intentions,” Marco interrupts, his voice wavering slightly for the first time.
“I went to them beforehand with a proposal. I discovered her pregnancy the same day she did—I knew before any of you. I saw her steal the test from the maid’s room. So I created a solution they couldn’t refuse—one that would protect Lia and benefit us all.”
The room falls silent. Even Olga’s composed facade cracks slightly, her eyes widening.
My father’s face goes white, then red. “You did what?”
“I had to,” Marco says, stepping forward. “Father, listen to me. There’s more at stake here than just Lia’s pregnancy. Much more. I knew I had to figure out a way to make them listen.”
Dante glares. “And how exactly did you convince men who’ve burned empires for less?”
Marco doesn’t flinch. “I gave them something they wanted more than blood—control.”
“Explain. Now.”
Marco takes a deep breath. “Adriano Moretti was planning something. Something that could have destroyed not just our family, but the entire Society. I found his journal—”
“What journal?” I find myself speaking before I can stop myself.
Marco’s eyes flick to me briefly. “The one hidden in the cellar. I followed Lia to the cellar one night. She’d been asking too many questions, and I knew she was up to something.
I watched her open a hidden compartment in the cellar and saw her find the journal, but I distracted her before she could read much.
I knew instantly that it was the reason we had been looking for Adriano for years.
And he fooled us all by keeping it right under our noses.
Every secret deal between the Romanos and Morettis, every transaction, every…
arrangement with La Mano Nera going back decades. ”
Dante’s face hardens. “That’s impossible. We destroyed all evidence years ago.”
“Not all of it,” Marco says grimly. “Adriano was thorough. He had records of money laundering, arms deals, election interference—everything. And he wasn’t just collecting it for blackmail. He was planning to trade it all in exchange for protection for Lia.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence.
“He set up a dead man’s switch,” Marco continues. “If anything happened to Lia, all of that information would be released to the authorities and our enemies simultaneously. We would have been finished.”
“It’s true,” I speak suddenly, drawing their attention. “Lia isn’t just some commoner who happened to get pregnant by a Romano. She’s a fuse tied to something buried so deep beneath this family’s rotten history that if it detonates, none of us survives.”
When they remain silent, I continue. “A few months ago, I hunted down a man digging into our operations. Before I eliminated him, he revealed everything. Adriano knew this day might come, knew he might get caught and his daughter captured. So he reached out to rival syndicates, offering them proof: documents, laundered money from our own accounts, transactions funding revolutions, election tampering, the collapse of foreign economies. All from La Mano Nera’s war chest. He was trading it all for one thing: protection for Lia. ”