Chapter 28
Jude
I don’t think—I just move. All it takes is my father calling my name.
Confusion, mayhem, and bewilderment are my allies as Dom and I rip Carlo Donato Jr. out of formation, forcing him to his knees in the center of the circle before Marcello. The made men around us murmur, whispering among themselves, questioning my father’s intent.
My eyes sweep the circle, searching for Mina, making sure she isn’t lost or hurt in the chaos. But before I can even lock eyes with her, Mina’s already moved into action alongside her cousins.
Remus has Matteo Donato restrained, his arms pinned behind his back. At the same time, Rolo does the same to the other furious brother, Niccolò. Meanwhile, Mina stands behind us in the circle, one steady hand on my sister’s shoulder, keeping her still and ensuring her safety.
I watch as other loyal men grab hold of an aging Don Carlo senior, keeping him from stepping one foot inside the sacred circle.
“ Vizenco !” Don Carlo shouts at my father, nostrils flaring, eyes wide in panic. “What is the meaning of this… this madness?!”
While everyone else looks like they’re losing their goddamn minds, my father is the epitome of calmness. He waits for complete silence to fall on these woods before uttering a word. Once he has everyone’s captive attention, he begins to conduct his practiced spiel.
“Trust is a fragile thing in our line of work. Once given, even the smallest infraction can shatter it,” my father says with disdain. “I doubt there’s a single man here who, knowing the history between our two families, would ever believe I could truly trust you or yours.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “Still, while blind trust was never an option, there was enough good faith that allowed us to coexist for the last twenty years. I put the name Donato out of my mind and let you conduct your business where my eyes couldn’t see. And yet, you mistook my willingness to tolerate your existence for weakness.” His gaze hardens. “Tell me, Don Carlo, what could I have possibly done to make you foolish enough to cross me twice in a lifetime?”
“ Cazzo ! I have no idea what you’re going on about!” Don Carlo spits, struggling against the men holding him back, desperate to reach his son.
My father holds his gaze for only a second before turning away, pacing slowly, ensuring every person in attendance is listening as he continues, “Yes. I’m well aware of your ignorance. Though, I admit, it took me a moment to realize you had no part in what was being plotted behind my back.” My father then turns his attention to his audience, his gaze bouncing off the hundred or so people here before continuing, “Most of you know that for the past year, the Bratva has managed to infiltrate Chicago again to conduct their business. They started with minor crimes like home invasions and burglaries, some panhandling and pickpocketing here and there, petty and small stuff. It was a nuisance at best, and not worth my time sending reinforcements to put them in their place. However, I kept a vigilant eye on the Russian syndicate just in case they got too big for their britches. But all that changed six months ago when one stronzo thought that trafficking innocent women using my ports and docks was a smart move to make.” My father tsks like they should have known better.
“ Madonna !” Don Carlo belts out. “This is the first time I’ve heard of such a thing. If you know the Bratva are behind your problems, then why us? We are not your enemy here. Deal with them! Go after them! And hand me back my son!”
“Ah, but that is where you are wrong! You are my enemy, Don Carlo. In every way imaginable, even if you are unaware of your crimes.”
“ Porca puttana! ” Don Carlo spits out. “I’m dealing with a madman.”
“No, Don Carlo! You’re dealing with your judge, jury, and executioner! Tread carefully with your next words,” my father reminds the Cosa Nostra’s boss, his calm and collected demeanor beginning to wear thin. My father rolls his shoulders back and tilts his head from side to side, summoning whatever calm is left in him to rise. Once his stoic mask is back in place, he continues with his monologue.
“It didn’t take us long to discover that Dimitri Mikhailov, the nominated underboss to oversee Bratva operations in Chicago, was behind the trafficking. However, thanks to Lady Crane and the London Firm’s assistance, we discovered that Dimitri had gone rogue and conducted the illicit trafficking behind his Pakhan’s back. It seemed that someone was able to whisper words of grandeur in Dimitri’s ear, persuading him to believe that he could overthrow his boss if only he had the means and the packing to do it. Sex trafficking gave him those means. And by offering a percentage to his newfound mentor, he gave him his backing. We would have never been able to lift the veil of who was actually pulling the strings of the Bratva soldati without Lady Crane’s help. And for that, my famiglia is in her debt.”
My father makes it a point to stop his rant long enough to look over at Mina and give her a respectful nod. She stands tall as every man here follows my father’s lead and pays their own form of respect. In one move, my father just solidified how one woman can be more of an asset to this organization than ten men combined. A fact not overlooked by my sister, considering the tiny cocky grin that threatens to pull at the corner of her lips. But no one has time to see it, too enraptured on what the Capo dei Capi might say next.
“Once it was made clear to us that someone else was the brains of the operation and that they used Dimitri as a ploy to take the rancid stench of betrayal off themselves, we interrogated the Bratva villain into ratting out his partner. So you can imagine my surprise, Don Carlo, when Dimitri’s last words to us on this earth were a garbled version of your family’s name.”
“Bugie! Tutto quello che sento sono bugie!” Don Carlo shouts, his face turning every shade of red. “The Cosa Nostra would never get in bed with the Bratva! Not even to torment you! Dimitri played you. He made you look the fool! And now everyone here knows it!” My father merely grins.
“Giovanni,” my father calls out, raising his open hand in the air.
My chest tightens when an uncharacteristically silent and expressionless Gio approaches my father and places a phone in his grip to reveal that the Bratva’s Pakhan , Mikhail Petrov, has been listening to this entire spectacle from the very beginning.
“Good evening, Misha. Maybe you can enlighten Don Carlo as I fear my word is not enough,” my father says with an arrogant and smug taint to his voice when he flashes his phone screen to the crowd.
“ Da , it is all true,” Mikhail admits with a deep-rooted scowl on his lips. “Dimitri betrayed me. And for that, he deserved a traitor’s death.” He spits to the floor. “After your call last week advising me of this, I made my own investigation on the matter and can confirm that he and his men were in cahoots with the Donatos to overthrow my claim to all US territories and yours on the East Coast.”
“Thank you for clarifying that to Don Carlo,” my father says, amused to see the blood draining from the Cosa Nostra’s boss.
“Thank you for sending me Dimitri in a body bag. I made sure to place his mangled corpse and decapitated head in the Red Square for all of Moscow to see as a reminder of what happens to traitors.”
My mouth runs dry at the image Misha planted in our heads. When Dimitri’s body was shipped out to Russia a week ago, it was fully intact. Apparently, Misha wasn’t happy with keeping it that way, so he released his wrath on Dimitri’s corpse.
“ Spasibo ,” Misha adds curtly.
“ Pozhaluysta ,” my father retorts before returning the phone to Gio.
Don Carlo’s head hangs low, still looking like he doesn’t understand what is happening, even after being confronted with so much scathing evidence. Sensing that his life is more than forfeited, he raises his head and locks eyes with my father, the look of defeat plastered all over his face.
“I beg your forgiveness, Vinzenco. And I’m ready for you to dole out whatever punishment you see fits such a traitorous crime.”
“It thrills me that you agree such actions cannot go unpunished. Trust me when I say my vengeance will be swiftly conducted before we leave these woods.”
“I am at your mercy,” Don Carlo responds, falling to his knees, ready for what will come.
We all watch as Remus and Rolo struggle to keep Matteo and Niccolò restrained, requiring an extra pair of hands from nearby capos to help them keep the Donato brothers still.
The only son who doesn’t try to break free from his confinement is the man Dom and I are currently keeping to his own knees—Carlo Junior.
Only once my father is confident that the two Donato brothers are in check does he take a step closer to their father.
He grabs Don Carlo’s chin and lifts it so he has no choice but to stare into my father’s menacing face.
“This act of contrition and submissive servitude might have just spared your life, vecchio,” my father susurrates. He then shoves Don Carlo’s chin to the side and turns around to face his eldest son. “I know it wasn’t you who was behind the elaborate betrayal. I knew it the minute Dimitri said the Donato name.”
My brows pinch together as I and everyone here hang on to my father’s every word.
“If you had any real intention to break free from the treaty we forged twenty years ago, you would have been much smarter at conducting your plan. As you so eloquently said earlier, you would never jump into bed with the Bratva, no matter the situation. And even if desperation led you to the Russian mob, you would have used the New York docks to covertly conduct your crime, far away from my prying eyes. No, Don Carlo. You are not the villain here. The man who struck a deal with Dimitri had to hide his efforts away from you, too, fearing that your cowardice would put a full stop to his ambitious plans. Isn’t that right… Junior ?” My father then grabs Carlo Junior’s hair and yanks his head up for all to see. “You took a mighty risk conducting your business in Chicago. You believed the risk was undoubtedly worth the reward if your scheming paid off. Tell me, young Carlo, was your end game only to regain full control over New York, or were your ambitions greater than that? Maybe you thought you could eliminate the Outfit with your newfound Bratva allies and get rid of us altogether?”
When Carlo Junior stares into my father’s eyes with such venom, we all have our answer to that question.
“That’s what I thought,” my father says before releasing Carlo Junior’s hair.
He then turns to Don Carlo, who is currently staring at his eldest son with a mix of confusion and disappointment in his eyes.
“I hope you clearly understand your son’s wrongdoings and that his betrayal cannot go unpunished.” My father searches his face for something, and when the Cosa Nostra’s boss lowers his eyes to the cold ground, my father must get his answer.
“Marcello,” my father suddenly calls out. “Show them how we deal with traitors.”
With those words hanging in the air above us, Marcello shoves Dom and me to the side, grabs hold of Carlo Junior’s head, and snaps his neck with one fluid motion.
“NO!” I hear a loud, feminine cry in the distance, which goes unnoticed under the defeating screams and curses of Matteo and Niccolò.
The instant Carlo’s body falls face down to the ground, chaos erupts as Matteo and Niccolò break free from their restraints.
Everything after that happens so fast that it takes me a hot minute to find my bearings.
Matteo and Niccolò swing fists left and right, seeming to need to fight their way to their brother. No. Not their brother. My father.
“Marcello!!!” I hear Stella shout, far too close for my liking.
I turn toward her voice and see my sister picking up the only weapons permitted in these woods for our traditional ceremony. She swings the knife through the air toward Marcello, grips the gun tightly in her other hand, and then bolts head-first toward the chaos.
“Stella!” I shout, rushing after her, only to freeze when I see that Marcello and Stella are the only people standing between the Donato brothers and my father, but they stop them in their tracks. While Marcello’s blade is at Matteo’s neck, Stella’s gun is aimed at Niccolò’s forehead.
Everyone stills, drinking in the terrifying image. My father, however, keeps his cool and walks back to a kneeling Don Carlo.
“It seems our children find themselves in a standoff, though mine have the obvious upper hand. This could go but two ways, Don Carlo. Either you leave here with one less son or three.”
Don Carlo’s shoulders visibly shake before he finds the strength to pick himself up from the floor, turn around, and face his sons.
“Heel, boys. In his mercy, Vincenzo has spared us our lives, if not the shame your brother’s greed brought to our house. I will not lose one more son because he didn’t know his place. Pull back and step away.”
Niccolò is the first to obey his father’s command, albeit reluctantly. However, Matteo isn’t as obedient. Instead, he leans into Marcello’s blade, trickles of blood running down his throat.
“I said heel, goddamn it!” Don Carlo shouts at his errant son, using his boss voice for the first time today.
Matteo’s nostrils flare in contempt, seething at Marcello and then at his own father when he’s forced to step back.
Don Carlo exhales loudly from his nose and then directs his attention to the man who put this whole show in motion.
“Thank you, Vincenzo , for making me realize I’ve given my sons far too much leeway,” Don Carlo says, his tone measured. “I vow to keep them on a tighter leash from now on. Rest assured, your family has nothing more to fear from mine.”
He then extends his hand for my father to shake.
My father obliges, though everyone present knows the truth—the Donatos are now persona non grata. And it will take nothing short of a miracle to erase their shame or the memory of their betrayal.
If Carlo Junior thought the Cosa Nostra had it bad before, his brothers are about to learn just how much worse it can get.
The past hour’s events linger heavily in my mind as I walk alone through the woods, heading back to Big Sal’s mansion. What was meant to be Marcello’s initiation—his formal welcome into the Outfit fold—turned into an execution.
If I had known what was coming, I would have braced myself for it. More importantly, I would have kept Stella the hell away from it as far as possible.
My fingers tighten around the chess piece in my pocket as my pace slows down even further since I’m in no rush to go home. There’s nothing awaiting me there that I yearn for.
In the chaos that followed the Donatos’ removal from our property, I hadn’t even noticed Mina and the twins slipping away. Unlike me, it seems that Mina is in a great hurry to return home.
Fuck.
I can’t believe she leaves tomorrow. This time, she’s the one who is going to step on a plane and leave me to my misery.
After the ceremony, I thought I could maybe steal her away and plead my case… perhaps even persuade her to stay a few more days.
How was I to know that everything would go to hell and I’d lose my shot?
Hmm.
I could always try my luck and pop over at her penthouse.
Yeah, that’s not happening. Not after the last time’s impromptu visit. Remus and Rolo would rather kill me dead where I stood than let my foot through the door.
The fuck! Am I supposed to live without her now?
For five years, I truly believed I could do it—live a perfectly ordinary life without love being a factor. That it was possible, even preferable. But in just ten days, I learned the truth—a life without her isn’t a life at all, just an existence, hollow and incomplete.
Lost in my own thoughts, I barely register the sound of footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves. When I turn around to see who’s been following me, my heart leaps into my throat at the sight of Mina.
“I thought you had gone back to the penthouse?” I almost stammer, not believing my eyes.
“And you thought right,” she says, stepping closer to me. “I was halfway there when I told my driver to turn around and bring me back.”
“Why?” I ask, struggling to contain the flicker of hope igniting within me.
“Because I don’t trust you to see beyond the blind loyalty you have for your father.”
My hope dwindles with the cruel remark.
“If you came here just to insult me, then you’ve wasted your trip,” I say and turn my back to her, signaling the end of our conversation, unwilling to listen to whatever other barbs she intends to throw at me before leaving for London. However, when I feel her warm hand on my shoulder, I stop and turn to face her.
“I didn’t come to insult you, Jude,” she breathes out. “I came to warn you.”
My brows pinch together as I stare at the sincerity in her gray eyes.
“Warn me about what?” I ask, confused.
“It’s as I thought.” She lets out another long-winded exhale. “You really are clueless when it comes to Vincent.”
I grab her by the shoulders and fling her back to the closest tree trunk I can find.
“Enough, Mina. I had it up to here with your insults and your riddles. If you have something to say, then just say it.”
Mina surprises me yet again when her palms cup my cheeks ever so softly.
“I would have loved you with all my heart, Jude. No crown or birthright could ever compare to the love I felt for you. You were all that I wanted. Your love… was enough for me.”
I squint my eyes close and take in her words, pressing my temple to hers just to breathe her in.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I choke out.
“Because I wanted you to hear it from me one last time. So when I tell you what I’m about to say next, you won’t think it’s because I want to hurt you, but because I still have the remnants of that love fighting its way to break free from my heart.”
“Mina.” I go to kiss her, but she places a finger on my lips to stop me.
“It’s not you, Jude. It will never be you, my love. He’s made his decision, and now everyone else knows, too.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, gazing at her gorgeous mouth, the combination of her scent and confusing words making my head spin.
“Vincent,” she repeats my father’s name. “If the day ever comes that he steps down as Capo dei Capi , it won’t be you who takes his place. It will be Marcello.”
I pull away from her touch instantly, my mind working double time, trying to understand why she would make such an accusation.
“You’re wrong,” I say after a pregnant pause.
“I wish I were,” she says, looking contrite. “But I’m not.”
This time, I’m the one who grabs hold of her cheeks in my hands and pulls her face to mine.
“Why would you even say such a thing to me? Haven’t I hurt enough to last two lifetimes? If you came here to see me bleed, then be satisfied that I’ve been slowly dying ever since I left you.”
Mina’s eyes start to water, but her resolve never wavers.
“Jude… please… listen to me.”
I close my eyes and shake my head, unwilling to hear more.
“Jude, please. Please, just look at me.” The crack in her voice has me concerned about her will. “It will be Marcello, my love. I don’t know if that was always the initial plan, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Vincent just named Marcello his true heir. Only you refuse to see it.”
“No,” I say before kissing her lips, craving to silence her in any way I can. I kiss her long and hard, but when I feel the salt of her tears touch my lips, I pull away to stare at the misery swimming in her eyes.
“That wasn’t an induction, Jude. I may not have witnessed an omertà ceremony before, but I know what a successor reveal looks like. And what happened back there was exactly that.”
“No… no… no,” I repeat, going back to her lips and hiking her leg over my hip.
This time, Mina doesn’t stop me and lets me use her body as a balm to soothe my aching soul.
Is she right?
Did I forsake true love for a crown that was never meant to be mine?
Desperate to dull my pain, Mina wraps her arms around my neck, jumps up, and locks her legs around my waist. And I, in turn, take full advantage of her sacrifice, running my hand up her skirt and shoving her panties to the side. Mina whimpers into my mouth as she hurries to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants, my angry cock in her hands in no time.
With little to no foreplay, I thrust my cock into her pussy as deep as it allows.
Tears continue to fall from her eyes as I lick each and every one of them off her cheeks.
No.
No.
It can’t be true.
It can’t be.
My father wouldn’t play such an ugly game with my life.
I gave her up.
I gave her up.
I… gave up on our love… for what?
Shock hits me over the head when I feel Mina kiss my tears away.
Bereft, mourning the loss of a love that meant more to me than life itself, we come undone on a low whimper, clinging to each other with desperate intensity, knowing this is the last time we’ll ever be like this.
Time passes by as we stay still, neither one of us wanting to be the first to let go.
“Jude—”
“Don’t go,” I plead. “Please, love… don’t go.”
Her eyelids shut, agony and misery evident on her face. When she opens them back up, my Mina… my love… has been replaced by the woman she had to become when I took my love away from her.
“Your life is still here. Mine is still in London,” she starts before shifting in my embrace, her silent command to let her go. I don’t fight her, and instead, I help her back to her feet, gently fixing her clothes and hair that my restless hands had mussed and ruined. “There was a time that I would have jumped at the chance to be with you,” she continues, her voice sharper than it was a minute ago. “But that was then. This is now. I have obligations, Jude. Obligations that I will not turn my back on for a man who is so fickle with his love.”
She then steps to the side and begins to put as much distance from us as possible.
“I hope you know I never really hated you.” She lets out a sigh. “But I can’t love you either. It hurts too much. I can’t trust my heart with you. I just… can’t.”
I stay rooted to the spot as she turns away from me to walk back toward where her driver and cousins await her.
I want to call out her name. Say anything to her. Beg for forgiveness. But I don’t.
Right now, I’m a wounded animal. I’m no good to her. Maybe I never was.
“You know,” she says mid-step, turning her head over her shoulder just to have one last look at my face. “You never told me you loved me back then. Not once,” she laments. “I poured my heart out to you while you kept yours at a safe distance. Maybe one day, you’ll understand why I have to do the same to you now. Goodbye, Jude. Take care.”
And with that, she turns around and leaves—for good this time.
With my back pressed onto the tree trunk we just made love on, I watch her silhouette leave until it disappears into the fast-approaching night. As soon as my love disappears from my sight, my gut-wrenching agony is replaced with blinding rage.
Vincent.
Whereas before my feet felt like lead, heavy with reluctance to return to the mansion, now they all but fly, carrying me there.
Fury continues to color my vision as I burst into the mansion, searching for my father. I growl when I see that his guests have long gone home, saving him embarrassment from the scene I’m about to make. I head toward his study with ungodly speed, where he’s probably giving himself a pat on the back for his performance earlier today. When I swing the door open and see my mother slap him across the cheek, I realize I’ll have to wait in line if I want to give him a piece of my mind.
“How could you?!” she accuses, her green eyes piercing his black soul. “How could you do that to Marcello? Who are you right now? What kind of man would do that to his own son?”
“ Tesoro —”
“Save me your tesoros , Vincent! I want an explanation, not a declaration of love!”
I watch my father’s shoulders slump as he leans back on his desk for support, my mother’s wrath apparently too much for him to take.
There is a fine line where his lips should be as my mother continues to throw daggers at him with one scathing look.
“You have no idea what ruin you caused me today. I felt like I was a helpless child again, watching Pietro kill that man on his induction day. However, instead of having Gio and Dom to comfort me, I had to comfort two scared little boys after they witnessed their brother kill a man.”
“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. And neither should have the twins,” he replies evenly.
My mother raises her hand again, ready to swing another hard slap on my father’s face.
“Go ahead,” he says as he offers his cheek, my mother stopping her hand mid-air. “Hit me, tesoro . For I would rather feel the sharp pain of your hand than suffer another moment of seeing the hurt in your eyes.” He then swiftly leans off the desk and grabs her wrist, begging her to hit him again. “Do it, wife! By God, do it as many times as you need until all that rage and sadness bubbling inside you is extinguished.”
Instead of rage and fury, he’s met with my mother’s low sobs, which is all it takes to break a hard man like my father.
He pulls my mother into a fierce embrace, holding her as she trembles against him, and says, “It wasn’t him, tesoro. The man you and the twins saw today was not our Marcello. I promise you.”
My mother lifts her head off his shoulders, perplexed by her husband’s vague and confusing explanation of today’s events.
“I don’t understand,” she whispers, searching my father’s eyes for the true meaning behind his remark.
“I know you don’t, sweetheart. I know. But all I ask is for you to trust me. Trust me that our boy,” he says, pausing to press his hand on her heart. “ Your boy is still whole. Marcello will only have a faint recollection of what transpired today. I swear to you. Our son will remain the shy, sweet boy that you love so much. You can still keep that part of him safe in your loving embrace. Let the Outfit have the monster, tesoro. Let it sink its teeth on whatever it can, and this way, our boy will remain safe… will remain ours.”
Like me, my mother is still deciphering my father’s cryptic message when she sees me standing under the door’s threshold.
“Oh, honey. We didn’t see you standing there,” she says, quickly wiping the tears away from her eyes and stepping away from my father. Which apparently was the last thing he wanted if the tic of his jaw is any indicator.
“Jude, if you don’t mind, I need to finish talking to your mother before I deal with whatever new grievance you have with me.”
“You think you know me so well, don’t you?” I sneer, walking into his study instead of leaving like he wanted.
“I know enough. I know that when you get that look in your eye, no amount of logic or reasoning will make a dent in your fury.” My father groans, leaning against his desk once more, knowing that his conversation with my mother will have to wait. “So come out with it. How did I manage to get on your bad side today, son?”
“I just want to know if it’s true,” I say, stepping closer to him.
“Can you be more specific?”
“Was it ever your plan to name me your successor, or was the role always for Marcello?” This shuts him up. “Well, Father? Are you not going to dignify my question with an answer? Is that how low you think of me?”
“ Basta !” he shouts, aggrieved by the contempt in my voice. “If it’s the truth that you seek, son, then by God, I’m going to give it to you,” he threatens before marching toward me to close the gap between us. “It was never my intention to induct any of my children into the famiglia. Your mother and I had already given it enough as it was. We didn’t want to have our children give it, too. Need I remind you that it was you who opened that door? It was you who basically blackmailed his own father just to get his way. And to my shame, I conceded to your emotional extortion, knowing full well that, in doing so, I was sealing the fate of my other children into wanting to follow their brother’s footsteps. I did that because I loved you and genuinely believed you could be a good leader to the syndicate once I stepped down.” He then looks at my mother as he says the next words, “But the son that left for London to prove his point was not the son that returned.”
My jaw clenches, and my hands fist at the truth of his words.
“I didn’t understand how you could spend most of your teenage years giving your mother and me hell, demanding your birthright, and when I finally conceded and gave it to you, that same fire was no longer in sight. It confused me, son. And it also worried your mother. Many nights, we lie in bed just talking about how best to help you, Jude. Your mother was adamant that you were depressed, and for a time, I actually agreed with her, thinking maybe the job was just too much for your good heart to handle. Your mother and I even talked about asking you to see a therapist. A therapist, Jude! Something that is completely forbidden in the Outfit as we run the real risk of telling our family’s secrets to a Fed instead of a qualified practitioner. I was that concerned for you, son.”
He drags his hand over his weary face, his mind going to that particular time in our lives.
It’s true. I was more shell than a man during those first three years I returned home. However, I never realized that my parents saw it, too.
“I just wanted to help you, son, but I didn’t know how since I didn’t understand why you were so melancholy in the first place. It was your mother who made the intuitive choice to call Victor. If something happened in London to make you change so much, then maybe he would know.” My father then takes a deep breath and says, “You can imagine your mother’s surprise when Victor told her that his daughter was suffering from the same affliction. It wasn’t hard for us to piece together the puzzle after that.”
“I told your father that you must have fallen in love with Mina,” my mother then chimes in. “So we assumed heartbreak was the reason behind your drastic change. We thought our Jude returned to us half the man we knew him to be because you had left the best part with Mina—your heart.”
I swallow dryly at the pain in both my parents’ faces. I was so wrapped up in my own suffering that I had no idea they suffered right along with me. But my broken heart had never been their responsibility to mend. That would have to be my doing and mine alone.
“I told your mother it couldn’t be possible.” My father shakes his head. “If you really had feelings for the girl, you would never return home. If you cared for Mina a fraction of what I feel for your mother, it would have been impossible to leave her behind. You would have moved heaven and earth to keep her. That couldn’t be the reason for your depression.” He then pauses for breath. “But then I watched you pull a gun on Marcello and Dominic. In a fucking capo meeting, no less,” he starts to roar. “I knew you’d never kill them, but in that moment, I also knew that you would drop them to the floor in a heartbeat if it meant preventing the woman you loved from getting hurt. That’s when I had proof that your mother had been right all along. In that meeting room, you didn’t see blood. You didn’t see family. You only saw her. And that, son, told me everything I needed to know. It cleared up my doubts about why your heart was never in this because you left it in London with her just like your mother predicted. Now… will you stand there and deny what we know to be fact, or will you be the man we raised and admit what your mother and I already know?”
Emotion clogs my throat at the intensity in his eyes.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I try to deflect, demanding we move off the subject of Mina and what leaving her did to my heart. “Am I to be your successor or not?”
Disappointment bleeds out of my father at the question I repeatedly throw at his feet.
“No, Jude. My succession has an heir. And that’s Marcello.”
As I swallow that hard pill down, it dawns on me that losing my birthright pales in comparison to having to watch the woman I love walk out of my life.
“Marcello has proven his loyalty more times than I can count without having to resort to extortion,” he adds with that disappointed taint in his voice.
I’m about to agree with him when Marcello steps inside the room, having heard the whole sordid conversation.
“No, Father. I don’t want to lead the Outfit when you step down. It was always Jude’s birthright to be Capo dei capi. If Jude wants the throne, it’s his. He deserves it. I’d follow my brother proudly, regardless of that fact. So give it to him. I don’t want it. I never wanted it,” Marcello states with conviction.
And then I see something that I had hardly ever seen from my father as he looks at Marcello—utter devotion and fatherly love.
He grabs Marcello by the nape and presses his temple to Marcello’s.
“It’s because you don’t want the crown that you’ll be a good king. I promise you, son. I’ll help you every step of the way, but you will take my place when the time comes.”
Marcello closes his eyes, breathes my father’s heartfelt words into his body, and releases all doubt.
“If that is your will, I will abide by your rule.”
Proud tears water my father’s eyes as he leans in to press a hard kiss on Marcello’s forehead. After collecting himself, he pulls away from him and turns to me.
“You wanted an answer, and I’ve given it to you. Now it’s my turn to ask the questions.”
I brace myself for his wrath, for his fury and indignation, but all I get is the same devoted stare he showed Marcello reflected back to me.
“Have I failed you so badly, Jude, that you have your priorities so screwed up? I know you love Mina. I saw it in every interaction you had with her. So tell me this, son, will you fight for what is really important in this life, for the only real treasure any man can hope to find in this world, or will you let it slip away from your fingers for a second time?” He then steps toward me and places a protective hand on my shoulder. “Take it from me, Jude. If you don’t do everything in your power to fight for your true heart’s desire, you will regret it for the rest of your days. I didn’t raise a coward. Don’t be one now.”