Chapter 42 Francesco
FRANCESCO
The grand ballroom glows golden under a hundred crystal chandeliers, soft music pulsing through the air.
Laughter and clinking glasses fill the room, the scent of fresh flowers and roasted meats wafting from the long banquet tables.
The scene before me feels like something straight out of a dream or fictional story, the kind of stories my mother used to tell when we were younger.
The founding families, all gathered in peace and harmony.
The families have lived through years upon years of silent wars. Several feasts have been hosted, but with knives hidden beneath linens and false smiles on everyone’s faces.
But tonight, it feels different. The war has passed. Peace, real peace, hovers in the air like a breath of fresh air.
Lia stands at my side, looking radiant as usual in a deep emerald gown that clings to her new curves.
Her belly is rounded now, her body beginning to show the quiet miracle we’ve made.
She presses a hand to it absentmindedly as she walks over to greet an older woman from the Vescovi family.
Her laughter pierces the air around me, making my chest clench with emotion.
I can’t stop looking at her.
“Your eyes are going to burn a hole through her if you keep staring,” Elio murmurs as he walks past me with a glass of champagne in his hands.
“I’m the one who’ll burn if I don’t look at her,” I say simply.
He shakes his head at me and murmurs something about me being infatuated, but there’s a faint smile on his lips.
Everyone in the family has grown to like Lia—not like it was difficult. She has a way of capturing people’s hearts, including cold-hearted people like Elio.
I walk over to greet some of the guests, and my smile becomes even wider when they first ask for my wife before anything else.
At some point, I’m forced to drag Lia away from her long conversation with the young Vescovi wife.
“Everyone’s asking for you,” I murmur, slipping a hand over her waist.
“Is that your excuse? Or you just can’t spend ten seconds without me?” she teases.
“The latter. Definitely.”
She laughs, rolling her eyes, but her hand slides into mine and stays there. She doesn’t leave my side either for the rest of the night.
Around us, laughter hums like music. Glasses clink. Plates are passed over the table. For the first time in generations, the founding families aren’t fighting or pretending like they’re not fighting.
New allies are also present at the feast. I have partnered with men and women from smaller mafia families, dignitaries from far across Europe, and even a few powerful neutral families who’ve chosen to side with us. All of them stand with the Romano family, and by that, stand with La Mano Nera.
We’re building something stronger now. Not a kingdom that thrives in fear and oppression, but one of power and protection.
Lia takes a bathroom break after the first course, and I go with her.
I’ve been paranoid about leaving her alone lately, especially since she wobbles slightly when she walks and can’t really see her feet when she stands.
I’m scared that she might slip and fall, bump into something her eyes missed, or trip and hurt herself.
So I’ve insisted on following her everywhere, as long as it’s out of my sight.
She says I’m being dramatic, but she’s never told me to stop.
When we return to the banquet hall from one of the small corridors, we see the main doors opening.
Silvia walks in, dazzling in a silk, wine-red dress that hugs her figure. Her dark hair is twisted into a sleek knot at the base of her neck, and her lips are painted the color of wine.
She’s late, which is unusual for her.
And of course, behind her is Antonio.
As usual, he’s in a black tailored suit, walking just a step behind her like a shadow that can’t stay away.
They both cross the room slowly, guests turning to look at them.
The expression on her face is unreadable, practiced, but her eyes soften the moment she spots me.
Or rather, when she spots Lia beside me.
“You look beautiful,” she says, walking over to us and embracing Lia briefly. They’ve grown a bit closer over the past couple of weeks.
Her eyes drop to Lia’s stomach. “You’re the most beautiful pregnant woman I know.”
Lia laughs. “Lucia says the same thing whenever she sees me. But since you live under the same roof, I can only imagine how often she gushes about your beauty.”
Silvia laughs. I can count the number of times she laughed when she was with me.
Arranged marriages are a bitch.
“Francesco,” she finally acknowledges me with a small smile and nod.
“Silvia,” I politely air-kiss the back of her palm. “You look beautiful as always.”
Antonio doesn’t acknowledge either of us. He only watches her. Unmoving. Unwavering. Like his entire being is tethered to hers.
As they walk off, I lean toward Lia. “You see it, don’t you?”
“I’ve always seen it,” she laughs at me. “You’re late to the party.”
As we walk back to our seats, I spot my father and Lucia locked in what seems like an argument. They’re hidden near the fountain wall, their voices low and sharp. What could they possibly be arguing about? Though I wouldn’t put anything past Lucia. She’s a handful.
We walk past Elio at the bar, balancing a champagne flute in one hand and flirting with two girls from the Bellini family. I spot Marco by the terrace doors. He’s alone now, half-shadowed with a drink in his hand, and eyes unfocused.
For a second, I think about walking past him. Pretending the past never happened. But that’s not how this ends. Our eyes meet but he doesn’t smile. Just stares.
I walk up to him, stopping a few feet away. “You ever think about what could’ve been?”
He laughs just once, but it’s dry and bitter. “You mean if she picked me? Or if I hadn’t tried to burn the world down with her inside it?”
His eyes still on the horizon, he continues, “I loved her. Not in the way you did. Maybe not in a way she needed. But I loved her.”
I nod once. “I know.”
A silence stretches. This one doesn’t hurt. It just is.
“You’re going to be a father,” he says. “Make sure they never forget what it cost to get here.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
I walk away before either of us can ruin the moment, letting the weight of his words settle as I move through the crowd. The hum of conversation and the soft glow of candlelight wrap around me. That’s when I catch sight of Lorenzo, laughing with Giulia and Dario.
The Moretti parents aren’t here yet—they sent word they’ll arrive later—but my heart softens at the scene before me.
This… this is what I fought for.
I think of Lia’s father then, wishing for things to have turned out differently.
Everyone remembers how he died. But they don’t know the whole truth. Not like I do.
He made a choice. The kind of choice no one talks about in this world—because it’s not written in law or legacy. It’s written in blood. In sacrifice.
He knew what the Society was becoming. Knew Lia wouldn’t survive it because he was already in too deep, unless someone paid the price first. Of course, he couldn’t have predicted her pregnancy, but he wanted to make sure our evil didn’t sink its claws into his offspring like our fathers before us.
So he made himself the opening act to a tragedy he hoped would end in revolution.
He let himself fall so she could rise.
And now, standing here, I understand what he did. I understand what I have to do next. I have a duty not just to protect her. Or just to protect our child. But to make sure the world they’re born into doesn’t need blood to justify love.
I raise my glass and step onto the raised platform in front of the hall. “To new beginnings,” I say, my loud voice traveling across the room.
Everyone lifts their glasses.
“To freedom,” someone adds.
“To the future,” another person calls out.
We all cheer and drink.
Music swells again, the night unfolding in waves of joy and ease. I descend the steps, making my way back to Lia, when the doors slam open.
“Police!”
The voice is loud and harsh, cutting through the celebratory mood.
Foreign in our world.
Gasps ripple through the crowd as Giovanni Moretti strides in, flanked by four uniformed officers. His wife walks beside him, her chin held high.
The soft music pauses mid-note as silence blankets the room.
“What the hell is this?” my father demands, rising from his seat.
Giovanni doesn’t pay my father any mind. He barges toward Antonio and points at him without hesitation. “This is the man. Arrest him.”
“Dad!” Silvia immediately gets up from her seat. “What are you doing?” she whispers harshly.
He ignores her.
“Mom—”
“Antonio Marchesi,” the lead cop cuts her off. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Angelo Calderón.”
Whispers and murmurs fill the air. Lia’s grip tightens around my arm.
“No,” Silvia whispers.
The officers move fast, gripping Antonio by both arms. He doesn’t fight or resist. His steady gaze finds Silvia instantly and lingers on her.
“There must be a mistake somewhere!” Silvia rushes after them.
“I’m okay,” Antonio tells her the exact moment her father moves forward to grab her arm.
“Silvia!” His voice is cold like ice. “You’re making a fool out of yourself. Step back, and let the police do their job.”
She turns to him, anger and disbelief carved into her face. “You set this up.”
Elena rushes toward them. “He is wanted for murder, Silvia. There’s evidence. You’ll see it soon enough.” Her cold, dark gaze finds Antonio. I’ve never seen her look so murderous. “You were wrong about him. We were all wrong about him.”
The commotion is getting worse now, and I feel a surge of anger rushing up my spine.
“This is my home,” I say, stepping forward. “You don’t storm into a gathering like this and cause a ruckus for no reason.”
“It’s a legal arrest,” Giovanni replies coldly. “If you have a problem, take it up with the courts.”
I take another step forward, but Lia squeezes my hand, urging me not to move.
I grit my teeth, trying to control my anger. I respect Giovanni, and I believe there’s a reason for this, but it doesn’t excuse the blatant disrespect for my father and me.
“Do you have a warrant?” my father asks. I can tell he’s also livid.
The same cop from earlier steps forward and shows it to us.
A defeated sigh leaves my lips as I turn to look at Silvia. I wish I could do more, but this seems like family business, and I don’t want to interfere.
“No! No, no…”
Lia covers her mouth, horror flashing across her face. I hold her protectively, shielding her from the crowd closing in.
As they bundle Antonio toward the door, Silvia tries to walk after them, but Elena holds her back firmly. She struggles against her mother’s grip, the fabric of her gown tearing slightly as she tries to move, but Antonio is already being pulled out of the door.
The guests murmur, some backing away, others frozen, unsure whether to stay or leave.
“This is what happens to servants who forget their place.”
Giovanni’s final words land like a thud in an empty room.
Silvia flinches like she was slapped. Her mouth parts, but no word comes out.
Giovanni says nothing else. He leaves without another word, his wife following him like a shadow, leaving Silvia standing frozen in the middle of the grand hall, her body trembling slightly.
It isn’t until the doors slam shut that sound begins to trickle back into the room. Hushed murmurs, the clinking of glasses, and finally, the music resumes.
Silvia doesn’t move for a few more seconds.
Then her hands curl into fists at her sides, and she lifts her chin and blinks back her tears before calmly returning to her seat like nothing happened.
“Is… she okay?” Lia whispers beside me.
I sigh. “We’ll see.”
When she takes her seat, some of the guests lean in to whisper things to her, probably their concerns or curiosities. She responds to them with a smile and a few words.
But I know that smile. I’ve seen it a million times, just like I recognize the perfect porcelain mask over her face.
She might be smiling for the guests now, but inside, something in her heart just died.
THE END