Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ezio
I got back to the study before dawn.
Outside the window, everything was pitch black except for the distant streetlights glowing dimly through the fog. I stood by the window and lit a cigarette, took a deep drag.
The smoke burned in my lungs, but it didn't burn away the images in my head.
Her lying in bed, turning away. Just two inches.
The way she looked at me—not angry, not crying. Something worse. Empty. Like nothing was left inside.
Fuck.
I crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, pressed too hard. The butt crumbled everywhere.
I shouldn't have gone.
Shouldn't have drunk that much, shouldn't have pushed open her door, shouldn't have—
Shouldn't have done that to her.
I closed my eyes.
Those eyes floated back up. Hateful. Cold. Looking at a stranger. No, worse than a stranger. The kind of look that saw through everything, saw it all, would never expect anything from you again.
She really hated me.
Not the kind of hate from throwing a tantrum. The kind that seeps up from the bottom of your heart, accumulated bit by bit over six months, finally breaking through completely tonight.
What the hell did I do?
I fucked her like a goddamn animal, and then she told me with that cold, silent stare: Get lost.
I slammed my fist on the desk.
Papers scattered everywhere.
My phone suddenly rang. Carlo, reminding me about the ten o'clock family meeting.
The succession confirmation meeting. I'd prepared for this for six months, dealt with all the power players, pressured who needed pressuring, bought off who needed buying.
Today was just getting those old bastards to sign off, officially confirming me as the next Don of the Visconti family.
I bent down to pick up the papers and started handling the backlog.
Should've been the most important day in years. I needed to focus, prepare fully for this meeting.
But the words on those documents blurred in front of me.
All I could see was her face—pale, gaunt, with nothing in her eyes.
Five in the morning. I finished the last document.
Stood up. Wanted to find her.
Wanted to push open her door, see if she was awake, wanted to—
Wanted to say what?
Sorry?
Then what?
I stood in the hallway, staring at her door. Stood there a long time.
My phone rang again.
"Boss, the car's ready."
"Got it."
I stood there in silence. Finally turned and left.
The family meeting started at ten.
Around the long table sat a dozen people, all core family members. Hart sat across from me, two other elders beside him, plus some cousins, representatives from various branches. My closest cousin Sebastian sat at my right and gave me a nod.
The conference room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning.
"Ezio," Hart spoke, his voice echoing in the empty room. "Today's meeting is to finalize your succession."
I nodded.
"Your father's been dead three years." He continued.
"By the rules, the heir should complete succession within a year.
But you've dragged it out for three. During these three years, there've been many voices in the family.
Some support you, but others question your ability—whether you have enough courage and wisdom to lead the family to greater strength. "
I narrowed my eyes slightly. My brain, exhausted from the all-nighter, suddenly cleared.
Since my father died, Hart had been my supporter. But now, what was this old fox getting at? Turning on me at the last minute?
But now wasn't the time to confront him. Until I figured out his angle, I could only watch and wait.
"Ezio, you've done some things. Expanding territory on the East Coast, the Chicago agreement, we've all seen it.
But..." Hart paused, looking at me. "But a true family head doesn't just handle business.
He knows how to balance internal family relationships, how to maintain the family's reputation and interests. And you—"
"What haven't I done well enough?" I asked, voice flat.
"Your marriage," Hart said. "The engagement party cancellation brought relations between Visconti and Colonna to a freezing point. You arbitrarily married some woman of unknown origins, made the family elders lose face. These—all failures as an heir."
I frowned.
True, when my alliance with the Colonna family fell through years ago, the family took massive losses.
But I'd handled the cleanup, recovered the lost interests from other projects, even pushed the group's stock up several points.
These old bastards profited plenty, which was why they finally let it go.
But now, a year and a half later, why bring it up again?
I looked sideways at Hart. He was looking at me, too, those old eyes clear, not clouded. Right now, they gleamed with calculation.
I asked without showing my hand. "What do you mean, Elder Hart?"
"Word came from the Colonnas." Elder Hart stared at me, his tone meaningful. "Bianca Colonna is pregnant."
I froze.
"What?"
"Bianca's pregnant," Hart repeated, a hint of amusement in those old eyes. "Your child. Old man Colonna called himself, made it very clear—the child is Visconti blood. They want the marriage completed soon."
My mind went blank for a moment.
Bianca was pregnant?
When did that happen?
I didn't remember being with her.
Then I remembered that night.
Three months ago. The night I got blackout drunk because of Olivia. Because the way she looked at me kept getting colder, because she kept growing more distant, because I didn't know how the hell to get close to her. I drank too much, so much the last memory was all blur.
Woke up the next morning, Bianca was lying naked next to me.
My head was a mess then. Didn't think much of it. Or rather, didn't dare think about it.
"I don't remember—" I started.
"Of course you don't remember." Hart cut me off, his tone carrying that patronizing elder's teasing.
"Men, you know. Drink too much, wake up the next day remembering nothing.
But that doesn't matter. What matters is the Colonnas claim this child, and we claim it too.
Now both family elders agree. Just waiting for you to nod. "
I stared at him.
That morning... did I really... with her...
Memory was all fragments. I tried to remember, couldn't think of anything.
But the child. If she really was pregnant, the timing fit.
"I'm not marrying her."
The conference room went silent for a moment.
Hart looked at me.
"You won't marry her?" His voice was slow. "Then who do you want to marry? That stripper?"
My fingers clenched tight.
"She's your wife in name." Hart continued, his voice carrying that nauseating amusement. "But we all know what that really is. You think she can actually be the Visconti family's lady of the house?"
Someone laughed. A low chuckle from down the table.
I turned to look. A rat-faced, scrawny man was grinning, showing yellow teeth—a distant cousin, usually invisible in the family. Got bolder these past few years riding Hart's coattails.
"What's funny?"
He froze.
"Nothing," he said, the smile still not wiped off his face. "Just think Hart's right. Ezio, what the hell were you thinking? Marrying some whore from a strip club as Mrs. Visconti?"
The air solidified.
I looked at him.
"What did you say?"
"Am I wrong?" Marco shrugged. "Everyone knows that woman danced at the club, dressed like a prostitute.
Those men in the audience—hell, who knows how many of them touched her?
If your father were still alive, knew his son married trash that crawled out of the slums, wouldn't he be so pissed he'd climb out of his coffin—"
I stood up.
The chair legs scraped against the marble floor with a piercing screech.
Marco's smile froze instantly.
Everyone looked at me.
I walked around the table and stopped in front of him. He shrank back, but his chair was against the wall. Nowhere to retreat.
"Ezio—"
I ignored him, reached into my jacket, and pulled out the knife I always carried.
The blade flashed under the lights.
His face changed.
"Ezio! What are you—"
I pressed his hand flat on the table.
Aimed the knife point at the back of his hand.
"No! Don't! I'm sorry! Sorry!"
The conference room went dead silent.
I looked at him, looked at that terrified face, and drove the knife down.
The blade went through his palm and stabbed into the solid wood table with a dull thud.
Blood spurted out, splashed on my cuff, and splashed on the face of the guy next to him.
Marco let out a bloodcurdling scream.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His face went white as a sheet instantly, sweat rolling down his forehead. "You're fucking insane!"
I leaned down, grabbed his hair with my other hand, pressed his face on the table, pressed it in that pool of blood.
"She's the mother of my child." I leaned close to his ear, voice soft. "You ever use that kind of word about her again, the next cut is your tongue."
He trembled all over, lips quivering, couldn't speak.
I twisted the handle.
The blade turned half a circle inside his palm, bone cracked, more blood gushed out, his screams grew more piercing, echoing through the conference room.
"I'm asking you a question. Did you hear me?"
"Yes! Yes, I heard you!" He nodded frantically, tears and snot all over his face.
I pulled out the knife.
Blood poured from the wound. Marco collapsed on the table, clutching his hand, whole body shaking.
I wiped the blood off the knife with his jacket sleeve.
The conference room was silent as death.
Everyone stared at me like I was insane.
"Anyone else want to say something?" I asked, voice flat, gaze sweeping over everyone present.
Hart stared at me, face iron-gray, but said nothing.
I stuck the knife back at my waist, walked back to my seat, planted both hands on the table, leaned forward looking at everyone. "She's my wife. Mrs. Visconti. Anyone I catch talking about her again won't want to know what happens."
The conference room was silent as death.