MARCELLO
A few days later…
My father’s verdict was delivered a few days ago, and today is the day to hear what Judge Lambert decided his sentence should be.
After hearing it, I walk out of the courtroom without looking back.
There's no weight in my chest, my steps aren't lighter, and I don't feel any different after hearing the sentence.
The only thing that's changed is that now the world knows what I've always known: he was never untouchable.
Two days in jail or twenty years, it doesn't matter. From the moment I handed Toni the last of my father's leverage, I knew he was a dead man. The bars, the trial, the press, it's all just theater. The real punishment is the silence that follows when power is stripped clean away.
Voices blur around me, reporters, lawyers, some idiot shouting about injustice. I ignore them all. But as I push through the courthouse doors into the bright, sterile light of morning, I feel it.
A presence.
Tense, coiled, and familiar. In the way poison is familiar once you've tasted it. On instinct, I glance to the left and straight at Donna Margarita.
She's dressed like she's attending a wedding, not a sentencing.
What is she even doing here? Her hair is set in soft waves, her body packed in a designer blouse and pencil skirt.
Dark sunglasses cover the upper part of her face, and red lipstick is painted on her lips like war paint.
Her smile is that of a viper, cold and deadly, when her gaze meets mine across the marble steps.
She's enjoying this. She wants me to see her.
I slow, just enough to make it clear that I have.
She lifts her sunglasses with a delicate touch, revealing eyes that have seen too much and cared too little.
"What a shame," she says in a smooth voice, as smooth as honey and laced with venom. "All that power, and not a single bullet fired in his defense. Tsk. You boys really have changed."
I don't respond. I just look at her. And for a moment, I think she's trying to provoke me into something messy. Something public. Interesting. Why would she want me to do this?
She's angry. That much is clear. Not just at Carlos, though she's practically vibrating with satisfaction over his conviction. No, this is deeper. Focused and deeply personal.
Like an arrow to the chest, I feel the truth. She wanted him sentenced for Jacomo. She wanted blood. And she didn't get it.
Yet, she's smiling.
I wonder if to her, any crack in our foundation is a chance to slide the knife in deeper. But that only makes me question why? What is she getting out of this? What would be her endgame? If the families lost their power, so would she.
"Tell Toni I'm proud of him," she adds as she turns to go. "Even I didn't think he had it in him."
I watch her walk away, every click of her heels echoing like a countdown. She is walking like a victor; the sway of her hips is proud and light.
"What did the old bat want?" Luciano asks me, stepping out of the SUV that just stopped by the curb.
"Damned if I know." I'm still staring at her walking away. As if she feels my gaze, she waves her hand in the air.
"That can't be good," Luciano says darkly.
"No," I agree, and climb into the car.
The next morning…
"I'm sorry to inform you that your father was killed last night. I assure you we're doing everything we can to find out—"
I hang up on the warden and lean back in my chair.
Dead.
He's finally dead.
I search deep inside myself, trying to find a trace of emotion. But there is none. My heart rate isn't even elevated. I don't feel triumph; I don't feel grief. I don't feel anything at all. No satisfaction. No rage. No closure.
Just silence.
The kind that settles in your bones, like dust in an abandoned room.
He's gone.
The man who bullied my mother into a shadow of herself. The man who turned my childhood into an emotionless time warp. The man who never gave a damn about me.
I thought I'd feel something when he finally met the end he always deserved. Maybe a dark thrill. Maybe some sense of justice.
But there's nothing.
Because hating someone requires giving them power, and he hasn't had that in a long, long time. Now he's just… gone. A bad chapter closed. An ugly smear on my family name is finally wiped clean.
Good riddance.
I reach for my glass of whiskey, swirl the amber liquid once, then toss it back. It burns, reminding me that I still feel something, just not for him.
I call Toni.
"I don't want to know," I say first, before he can speak. "But you need to know that we're good."
There's a pause, but it's not hesitation, it's respect.
"I'm glad," he replies, his voice as smooth as ever; he doesn't pretend to deny it.
Good. The last thing we need is lies between us.
If he'd tried to feed me some bullshit about fate or coincidence, he would have proven himself untrustworthy, and I would have been forced to eliminate him.
I like him much better as an ally than dead.
Now I can accept the simple truth: a son avenged his father.
That's not betrayal. That's tradition.
"I didn't have the patience to listen to the warden," I say, leaning back in my chair. "What's the official version?"
"Stabbed in the showers. Shiv to the gut, couple more for good measure." He lists without much emotion. "Looks like the Russians had their hand in it."
"The ones you're in business with?" My tone is dry.
It's no secret that Grigori, the Russian Pakhan, and Toni are opening their own security business.
It's blatantly obvious that the Russians would have had no interest in killing Carlos other than as a favor for Toni.
But even in the mafia, you have to have some proof to throw out accusations—especially an accusation that impacts another capo—and I have a feeling that neither Toni nor Grigori will talk on this matter.
Silencing Edoardo, who I'm sure is fuming on his end of the city.
Toni outsmarted him, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. It's fucking brilliant.
"If you want to talk to Grigori, I can arrange it." Toni offers.
"Like I said, I'm good. No hard feelings toward you or the Russians." The other capos might expect me to retaliate on behalf of my father's death, but I'm going to disappoint them. Most of them already know what's coming next, and it has nothing to do with the Russians.
However, there is one loose end I do need to take care of.
Lester. The man in jail assigned to my father's security.
Either he's dead too, or he looked the other way when it happened, and that I cannot and will not let slide.
Unless he's dead, he will be punished for Carlos' death. It's what we call collateral damage.
I can't have a traitor run free. No matter whether I liked my father or not.
A moment of silence passes between Toni and me.
I appreciate that he doesn't offer me his condolences.
He knows I have nothing to grieve for. Stephano and I helped him take Carlos down.
Fuck, I delivered the files that helped bury him.
If I hadn't stolen my father's leverage over Judge Lambert, he wouldn't have ended up in jail.
"It's probably bad timing, but I wanted to make sure you're still coming to my wedding?" Toni finally interrupts the silence.
"Maldives, right?" I don't wait for him to acknowledge. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll bring my fiancée."
Fiancée. The word tastes like a double-edged sword to me. I'm proud to call her mine, but I would much rather call her my wife.
He doesn't sound surprised, which doesn't surprise me. He has surveillance on me just like I have on him. It never hurts to know what your allies are up to. Knowledge is the one currency in the mafia that is worth more than even money.
"Looking forward to meeting her," Toni replies politely.
We hang up, and I immediately pick up the phone again. As much as I hate it, I need to plan a funeral for my father. It's expected by La Famiglia. Like it or not, it looks like I'm a team player now, so I call my assistant to tell her to make the necessary arrangements.
A few days later…
The wake for Carlos Orsi is done. Not that the fucker deserved one, but since I'm starting a new chapter in my life—including a family of my own soon—I play by La Famiglia's rules.
There is an upside. Once the entire burial and wake shit is over, Toni, Enrico, Stephano, and I are able to have a small meeting amongst ourselves without arousing Edoardo's suspicion too much.
The wake was held in the city, and now we're all piled in my penthouse.
I hand out glasses filled with Blue Label, and Enrico leans forward, elbows on his knees, holding a glass balanced between his fingers. "My old man sends his regards; he's not backing Edoardo if the vote comes."
"First smart thing he's done in years," Stephano mutters, rubbing a hand down his jaw. "Mine's still playing both sides. Pretends he's loyal to Edoardo, but I've put some feelers out to my sources in Venezuela. He's got cash going offshore there. Lots of it."
"Venezuelans again?" I don't like how they keep popping up everywhere out of the sudden.
"Same network Matías came from," Stephano says. "Only bigger. Cleaner. These aren't your run-of-the-mill street gangs; these fuckers are building something."
"Something?" Toni wants to know, leaning back on one of my couches.
Stephano nods. "Shipping routes. Shell companies. Private security contracts. All backed by blood money. They're laundering through oil and tech."
I exhale slowly, "And Edoardo's involved?"
Enrico speaks up. "There's chatter. Quiet meetings. A few Venezuelan names showing up on guest lists they shouldn't be on. If he's not taking a cut, he's protecting someone who is."
Toni looks thoughtful, "What's the endgame? Replace the old families with a new power structure?"
"No," I say automatically as things become clearer to me, "Replace the families with one family."
The room falls silent as each one of us works through my words.
It's a fact that Edoardo has repeatedly announced that he wants to ring in a new era.
It just hadn't occurred to me that he might want to get rid of us, just like we want to get rid of him.
My words hang in the room like smoke from a bad fire.
"Edoardo's not smart enough to plan that," Toni points out.
"He doesn't have to be," again I feel the truth in the pit of my gut, "He's just the face."
"And the hand on his back?" Toni digs deeper, before he looks from me to Stephano, then Enrico.
Nobody says her name; we don't need to. But it hangs in the air like a cloud of poison gas would. Donna Margarita. Our Capo dei Capi's mother-in-law. It's the only thing that makes sense. She's been pulling strings for years. She sat herself up in a role of power, controlling Edoardo.
The silence shifts and starts to grow heavy. I watch Enrico finish his drink in one swallow. Stephano is the one to break it. "She's playing a long game. If we don't move first—"
"She'll burn us all," I finish for him.
Toni agrees. "So we move."
"Not yet," I decide. "Not until I know exactly what she's hiding. And where she buried it."
Stephano leans back, brows drawn. "You think there's more?"
I'm convinced there is. "I know there is."
Enrico tilts his head, frowning. "You mean like blackmail? Insurance?"
I shake my head. I'm still theorizing, but the more we dig in, the clearer things become to me. "Worse, something she doesn't want Edoardo to know. Something that would ruin him if it came out."
Toni questions, "And what makes you so sure she hasn't already used it?"
That one is easy. "Because if she had, he'd be dead by now."
Stephano scrubs a hand over his face. "What the hell did we let into the inner circle?"
"Not we," Toni corrects. "Edoardo."
Enrico grimaces. "So what do we do?"
I stare out the window while my mind works overtime, "We dig, we find what she's buried. And then we burn it, before it burns us."
Toni raises his glass. "To fire, then."
I meet his eyes, "To war."
Toni hangs deliberately back for a few minutes after the others leave, giving me the impression he has something to tell me.
"It was a pleasure meeting Violet," he says, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer. "You two look… content."
He pauses, watching me go still.
Content?
Is that supposed to mean soft? Or is he angling at something else?
My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. "She's not part of this," I say coolly.
Toni's eyes flick up to mine. There's a flash of amusement there, the kind only a man who knows exactly how far he can push without losing teeth would wear. "Relax. It was just a compliment. She's got fire. Suits you."
He stands and straightens his jacket. "On that note," he adds casually, as if it's an afterthought, "I think you might be interested in knowing that Enzo Carbone will be landing in New York tomorrow morning."
My spine straightens. "What?"
He just smiles. "Ciao, Marcello."
He walks out like he didn't just toss a grenade onto the table.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment.
I have no idea how he got that intel—or how he knows Enzo is Violet's father, and therefore of considerable interest to me—but secrets don't stay buried long in our world.
Not when names like Carbone are attached.
"I'm very interested in that piece of information," I murmur to the empty room. "Thank you."
What in the hell is Enzo doing here?
Blood revenge?
Family reunion?
A cleanup job?
None of those outcomes are appealing, and I have a feeling I won't like the answer when it lands. Waiting isn't exactly my forte.
But there's one thing I can do in the meantime. A grin spreads over my face.
I grab my phone and call my assistant. "Get the private jet ready. I'll be heading for the Maldives. And find out where Toni's wedding will be. Reserve a place for two."
"Yes, Mr. Orsi," she replies, not giving away that it's the middle of the night and that she was probably asleep.
Now all I have to do is surprise Violet with the early trip.
That should buy me enough time to figure out what the fuck Enzo Carbone is planning—and whether I'll need to greet him with open arms or open fire.