Chapter 21 Romeo
ROMEO
Dante is sitting behind his desk when I walk in.
He doesn't look up immediately or acknowledge my presence, just continues reading whatever document is spread out in front of him, like I'm a subordinate who can wait until he's ready to grant me his attention.
It's a power play, one I've seen him use a thousand times with business associates and rivals, and anyone else he wants to remind of their place in the hierarchy he's built.
But I'm not a subordinate anymore. I'm not the obedient son who follows orders without question. I’m not going to be told what to do, not when the woman I love, who is carrying my child, is on the line.
I sit down in the chair across from his desk without being invited. That makes him look up. His eyes narrow slightly, and I can tell he’s noticed that I'm not playing by the usual rules.
"You're late," he says, and his voice is cold.
"I had things to handle." I keep my voice neutral, giving him nothing to work with. "You said you wanted to talk."
"I said I wanted you here an hour ago." He sets down the document and leans back in his chair.
I can see him assessing me, trying to figure out what's changed, why I'm not apologizing or making excuses, showing the deference he expects.
"But I suppose punctuality is less important than whatever crisis you've created with the Beauregard girl. "
The way he says it—like Savannah is some inconvenience that's disrupting his carefully laid plans—makes anger flare hot in my chest. "Her name is Savannah," I say quietly. "And she's pregnant with my child."
The words hang in the air between us. I watch his expression shift from irritation to something harder and colder, more calculating. "I see," he says finally. "And I suppose you think that changes things."
“Of course it does.”
"Does it?" He shakes his head, looking at me with an expression that goes far beyond disappointment. "It looks to me like you've made a catastrophic error in judgment, that's going to cost this family more than you can possibly imagine."
"I'm not asking for your approval—"
"No, you're not asking for anything. You're telling me.
You're informing me that you've gotten this girl pregnant.
You've assaulted her ex-fiancé badly enough that he's pressing charges, you've made an enemy of Edgar Beauregard—a man with enough connections to bury us all—and you expect me to just accept it.
" His face is hard, furious in a way I've rarely seen.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I know exactly what I've done." I stand up. I'm not going to have this conversation sitting down like a child being scolded. "I've chosen the woman I love. I've chosen my child. And I'm not apologizing for it."
"Love." He says the word like it's something distasteful. "You think love is worth destroying everything we've built? Everything I've sacrificed to give you?"
"You've spent my entire life molding me into the perfect heir, the perfect weapon, the perfect version of what you wanted me to be. And I've done it. I've followed every order, made every sacrifice, become exactly what you demanded. But I'm done, Dante. I'm done being your puppet."
The use of his first name instead of calling him Father makes something flash in his eyes—a brief moment of surprise. "You're done," he repeats slowly. "You're done. As if you have a choice in the matter."
"I do have a choice. And I'm making it."
I can see him recalculating, reassessing, trying to figure out if I'm bluffing or if I really mean what I'm saying.
Then he picks up his phone, and for a moment I think he's going to call security, going to have me thrown out, or worse.
But instead, he pulls up something on the screen and turns it toward me.
It's an email. From Edgar Beauregard.
"Your girl's father reached out to me yesterday," Dante says, and his voice is calmer now, more controlled. "We haven't spoken in twenty years. But apparently, your relationship with his daughter is enough to unite us in opposition."
I read the email quickly. It's exactly what I expected—Edgar laying out the situation, making it clear that he sees me as a threat to his daughter, proposing that Dante and he work together to end the relationship before it causes problems for both families.
The language is careful and diplomatic, but the threat underneath is clear: if Dante doesn't control his son, Edgar will use every resource at his disposal to destroy us.
"He wants me to cut you off," Dante continues. "To make it clear that if you continue this relationship, you're on your own. No family support. No protection. No resources. He thinks that will be enough to make you see reason."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I told him I'd handle it." He takes the phone back and sets it down on the desk. "Because I will handle it, Romeo. One way or another."
"By forcing me to choose between Savannah and the family."
"By making you understand that this girl is a weakness your enemies can exploit.
By making you see that love—if that's what you want to call it—is a liability we can't afford.
You're my heir. You're supposed to take over this family when I'm gone.
But you can't do that if you're dead, and that's what's going to happen if you keep making yourself vulnerable like this. "
"Savannah isn't a weakness—"
"She is. She's a distraction. She's a target.
She's a way for people like Edgar Beauregard to get to you, to manipulate you, to destroy you.
" He leans forward, and his voice drops lower.
"I've seen this before, Romeo. I've seen men in our world fall in love, start families, and try to have normal lives.
And I've seen what happens to them. They get soft.
They get careless. They make mistakes because they're thinking about protecting their wives and children instead of protecting themselves.
And then they die. Or worse—their families die, and they have to live with that. "
The words hit harder than I want to admit, because there's truth in them.
I know the world we live in, and the dangers that come with being part of this family.
But I also know that I can't walk away from Savannah.
I can't abandon my child, can't go back to being the man I was before I met her—cold and controlled, empty of everything except ambition and duty.
"So what do you want me to do?" I ask. "Pay her off? Walk away? Pretend my child doesn't exist?"
"I want you to end it. Cleanly and quickly.
Before this situation escalates any further.
" He pulls out a checkbook, and the gesture is so calculated and dismissive that it makes my vision go red.
"I'll give you whatever amount you think is fair.
Enough to take care of the child, to make sure she's comfortable.
But you walk away. You cut all contact. You let her go back to her life, and you come back to yours. "
I stare at the checkbook, at the casual way he's trying to reduce everything I feel for Savannah to a transaction. And I realize that this is the moment where I either become the man my father wants me to be, or I become something else entirely.
"No."
The word comes out calm and absolute, and I watch him freeze, then process the fact that I'm refusing a direct order.
"No?" he repeats it like he's not sure he heard me correctly.
"No. I'm not ending it. I'm not walking away.
I'm not paying her off like she's some problem to be solved.
" I lean forward, and I let him see the steel in my expression, let him see that I'm not backing down.
"I love her. I'm going to be a father. And I'm going to protect them both, with or without your support. "
"With or without—" He stands up abruptly, and his chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound. "You think you can survive without this family? Without the resources, the connections, the protection we provide?"
"If that's what it takes."
"You're willing to throw away everything? Your inheritance? Your position? Your future?"
"I'm willing to throw away a future that doesn't include Savannah and my child. So you have a choice to make, Dante. You can support me, or you can cut me off. But either way, I'm not changing my mind."
The silence that follows is the longest of my life.
I can see him weighing his options, trying to figure out if I'm bluffing or if I really mean what I'm saying.
And I know what he's thinking—that if he cuts me off, he loses his heir, loses the son he's spent decades grooming to take over the family.
His only recourse will be to find a different heir, or to marry Giulia to someone he deems worthy of inheriting.
Neither of those options is ideal. But if he supports me, he's accepting a situation he can't control—accepting that I'm no longer the obedient weapon he created.
Finally, he sits back down, and when he speaks, his voice is different.
Not warm or accepting, but pragmatic. "If I back you on this, if I support your relationship with the Beauregard girl, you need to prove to me that you can handle it without bringing down law enforcement on this entire family.
The assault charges from Whitmore, the threats from Edgar—all of it needs to be contained, without creating more problems than we already have. "
It's not approval or acceptance. But it is an opening, and I take it.
"I can handle it."
"Can you?" He looks at me warily. “All I’ve seen so far are emotional decisions instead of strategic ones. You've been reacting impulsively. That's not how we survive in this world."
"I know how to be strategic." I keep my voice level. "I know how to plan. And I know how to protect what's mine."