Chapter 46 #2
I shift a step closer, silent, still, but ready. I don’t care how important he is. The sight of his hands on her makes my pulse spike and my jaw clench tight enough to ache. If he holds on too long, if he pulls her in too close…
But Sophia doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t falter. She lifts her chin and meets his gaze with perfect, polished control. "Thank you for seeing us, Don Edoardo," she says coolly. "I thought it was time we talked."
"Of course, of course," Edoardo says, releasing her hands and gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"
Sophia sits with elegant precision, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knee. It's still too early in the morning even for me, but fuck, I'm done being overlooked. "A Blue Label would be great."
Edoardo turns to me, and his expression mirrors surprise. His eyes scan me from head to toe as his brain seems to work overtime, trying to figure out who I am.
"No, thank you," Sophia replies, throwing a glance at me that warns, Be Nice! "This isn’t about me. This is about this man—Raffael DeSantis."
Edoardo’s gaze shifts back to me. His expression folds into something skeptical and confused. He frowns. "I… don’t understand."
"Well," I start, stepping forward, "let me make it—"
Sophia clears her throat. Loudly.
I pause, biting down my next words, and mutter a quick curse under my breath. Then, pulling myself together, I meet Edoardo’s eyes and force my voice into something that resembles diplomacy. "I’m not just a soldier. I’m not just her guard. My name is Raffael DeSantis. And… I’m your brother."
The room stills as I let the silence hang. Let the weight of the words settle like ash over the polished wood and priceless paintings.
"Half-brother, technically," I add, because it feels important to say it myself. Edoardo stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Then he laughs, it's short and clipped. It’s the kind of laugh that’s more insult than amusement.
"Is this a joke?" he asks, turning to Sophia like I’m not even in the room.
She doesn’t blink. "Unfortunately, not. If you need proof, a DNA test will settle it quickly enough."
He scoffs, waving a hand. "This is ridiculous."
"I have it from a reliable source," I say, stepping forward again, voice cold. "That I’m Leonardo Zanello’s son."
I tilt my head toward the painting behind him, oversized, gold-framed, and glaringly familiar.
The resemblance is striking. The broad shoulders, the hard-cut jaw, and those eyes, icy and sharp, the same steel-blue I see in the mirror every day.
The man in the portrait looks more like me than the man standing in front of it.
Edoardo follows my gaze, then looks back at me. Slowly.
Like the pieces are starting to shift, but he still doesn’t want to see the whole picture. Just then, a knock sounds at the office door, and Edoardo’s brows draw together, but before he can speak, the door swings open and in walks Doc Brown like he owns the place, right on cue.
"Jesus Christ, who died?" he mutters, glancing around the room at the frozen faces. His wiry white hair sticks out in tufts like he’s been electrocuted, and his glasses are caught in their perpetual slide down his nose.
Edoardo stiffens. "Doc Brown?" His tone is half surprise, half irritation. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Doc snorts before he pulls a thick envelope from his bag, waving it dramatically. "You’re welcome, by the way." He glances at me, then Sophia, and back at Edoardo. "Guess who just had a rush order run through the lab faster than a cokehead in a strip club?"
Sophia rises gracefully. "Thank you for coming."
"I told you I’d make it happen," Doc grumbles. "Now someone offer me a fucking chair before my knees give out."
"Where did you get my DNA?" Edoardo asks, suspicion dripping from every word. "You can’t just—"
Doc turns slowly, like he’s annoyed at responding to such a stupid question.
He adjusts his glasses with one long finger and deadpans, "I have everyone’s DNA on file going back to the eighteen-hundreds, give or take a decade.
Your great-great-great-grandfather’s, too.
Back when he was still a greasy little stronzo scraping chicken shit off his boots in Sicily. "
Sophia coughs to hide her smile. I don’t even try. Even though I do wonder how the old bastard managed to acquire DNA from that long ago. On a second note, I'd rather not think about him going through old crypts…
Edoardo’s face turns a shade redder.
"I run a decent practice, not a fucking kindergarten," Doc continues. "Half your lineage is catalogued in my archives. You think the elite of this country don’t keep tabs on their own bloodlines?"
He slaps the envelope onto Edoardo’s desk.
"Confirmed. Ninety-nine-point-nine. You’re brothers. Half, but still. Zanello’s swimmers visited more than your mother."
The silence that follows is so thick it could be cut with a scalpel.
Neither Sophia nor I flinch. This—all of this—was her idea.
She told me Edoardo wouldn’t just take our word for it.
That men like him only believe what’s printed and signed in triplicate.
So she called Doc Brown. And after I agreed to compensate him very generously—because no one gets Doc out of bed without a little blood or money—he showed up.
If my place surprised him, he didn’t let on. Just stepped inside, took the swab from my mouth, then turned to Sophia with a grin and kissed her on both cheeks. "Glad to see you alive, sweetheart," he said.
She smiled in a way I’ve rarely seen. Soft and safe. She melted into the doctor like she’d known him forever. Later, after he left, she told me the rest.
That he was the only one who ever knew what Roberto did to her. That he was the one who supplied her with birth control behind that sick bastard’s back. Protected her in the only way he could.
I didn’t know whether I wanted to shoot or thank him.
Maybe both.
We watch Edoardo open the envelope with slow, jerky fingers, like it might explode.
He pulls out the papers, scans the first page, and then the second; his eyes narrow even more as he pretends to understand the science behind it.
We know he doesn't. But it doesn’t matter.
The seal, the signatures, the stamp of Doc Brown’s lab, it’s all there.
The truth is printed in black and white.
Doc, completely unbothered, strolls across the room and makes himself at home at the liquor cart. He sniffs at a few crystal decanters before settling on one, pouring himself two fingers’ worth of what looks like very old, very expensive whiskey.
"You’re welcome for the validation, by the way," he mutters, tossing it back like well water. "And for the fact I didn’t charge you extra for expedited results, though I should’ve, considering I had to bribe two techs and steal electricity from a dentist’s office."
Edoardo’s face is stone when he finally looks up from the papers. His eyes land on me and harden. "So what?" he says, quiet and sharp. "Brother? You think that entitles you to something? You expect me to hand over half my kingdom because of this?"
I tilt my head, calm as hell. "Technically," I say, clearing my throat, "since I’m older… it would be my kingdom."
The silence in the room snaps like a wire pulled too tight.
Edoardo’s hand moves fast, faster than I give him credit for.
He yanks open the drawer of his desk and pulls out a sleek black handgun, pointing it at me, then at Sophia, then at Doc Brown, his aim bouncing between all of us like a fuse waiting for fire.
Before the barrel can settle on her, I step in front of Sophia, placing myself squarely between her and the weapon. She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t gasp. She just exhales. Soft. Controlled. Like she expected this all along.
Doc Brown doesn’t even stop pouring his second drink.
"I’d think real hard before you pull that trigger, Don," he says mildly. "You might hit a nerve. Or worse, me. And I don’t die easily. Ask your cousin. Oh, wait, you can’t.
He's dead." He swallows the liquor down.
"Half my staff knows about this, and before you go hunt them down, let me tell you that I have a few other bits of insurance in place.
" He cracks his neck. "In the event of my untimely death.
And I'm sure these two," he nods at Sophia and me, "have some fail-safes in place as well. "
While I watch Doc Brown toss back Edoardo’s liquor like water and deliver death threats with a shrug, I realize something else.
He’s enjoying this. Not just the chaos, he's enjoying watching Edoardo squirm. He would like nothing more than to be the one pressing the pressure point. He doesn’t like our Don. Not even a little.
And yet, he's putting himself in the crosshairs. Not recklessly. Doc Brown never moves without contingency plans. But still, this isn’t a man afraid to die.
He says he has fail-safes in place, and so do I, but Edoardo is unpredictable, and I'd rather not need them. Because even with every angle covered, every threat anticipated, I can’t stomach the idea of something happening to Sophia.
I should’ve told her to stay home.
I hadn't exactly expected a loving family reunion, but looking at the rage bleeding into Edoardo’s face, I suppose I should have expected the gun. He’s unstable at his best and unpredictable when cornered.
And now he’s dangerous.
My eyes track his every movement, trying to calculate how fast I could draw mine if he even thinks about aiming at her again. Maybe I’d get there in time. Maybe not.
Edoardo paces behind his desk, the gun still in his hand, and all the while, his mind is visibly churning. He’s not bluffing anymore. He’s thinking. And he’s not happy.
"Goddamn it," he mutters. "Who’s the whoring mother?"
Doc takes another sip, then shrugs. "That wasn't exactly in my contract, but I can check."
Edoardo lowers himself into his seat and sets the gun in front of him, one hand resting lightly beside it. "See that you do."
Doc smirks, tips an invisible hat toward Sophia, and gives me a nod before turning on his heel and strolling out, closing the door behind him.
"I suppose I could have the tests rerun," Edoardo says, buying time.
"You could," I agree, still watching the gun on the desk like it’s breathing. "But the result won’t change."
"If you think I’ll give up my seat easily, I’ll—"
I hold up a hand. "That’s not what I’m here for." My voice stays even and controlled. "I’m not here to stir unrest. I just want to marry Sophia… and keep her safe."
Edoardo scoffs and rolls his eyes like this is beneath him, like he’s losing a game he didn’t realize he was playing until it’s too late. "What else do you want?"
The gun is still within reach, but I take a step forward anyway, placing myself between it and Sophia. I stop at the edge of his desk and plant both hands on the surface, leaning in just enough to be threatening without saying a word.
"Make no mistake," I tell him. "I have the means to press my claim. Some of your capos would jump at the chance to back me."
I let that sit. Let it sink in. His jaw works side to side as he grinds his teeth, no doubt thinking of a few names. So am I.
"Let’s make a deal," I say, locking eyes with him. And in that moment, I see it, the cowardice. The empty bravado. The brittle edges of a man who’s already lost and knows it.
Fortunately for him, I'm not ready to wear the crown.
Not yet. "I meant what I said. I don’t want your throne.
Not now. What I want is for Sophia to be safe. And to make that official."
Edoardo exhales like it hurts. "What deal?"
"I’ll marry Sophia. And you’ll name me the capo of her widowed family rights."
Edoardo leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest. He doesn’t look at me right away. Instead, he tilts his head toward Sophia, studying her like he’s trying to read something that’s no longer written in a language he understands.
"And what does the lady think?" he asks dryly. "Do you want to marry your bodyguard?"
Sophia doesn’t hesitate. "No," she says smoothly. "I want to marry Raffael DeSantis, a man who has done more to protect me than my own blood ever did. Or you."
The slap of her words echoes louder than any gunshot.
Edoardo grits his teeth, and for a second, I think he might lunge across the desk, but there’s too much calculation in his eyes. He’s not impulsive. He’s dangerous in the way cornered men are: methodical, spiteful, and desperate to save face.
He looks at me again. "You want to be the capo of a family that was gutted. The family you killed?"
"I think it gets me exactly what I want," I reply. "Control over what matters. Her. And enough leverage that no one tries anything stupid."
He barks a laugh, and it sounds sharp and bitter. "You think you’re clever."
"No," I say, dead serious. "I think I’m done waiting."
Edoardo’s smile fades. He studies me, tapping one finger against the desk like a metronome ticking off the seconds to violence. "The other capos won’t like it," he says finally. "They’ll know you killed Roberto."
I raise an eyebrow. "Who knows? Most of them don’t even know I exist."
That makes him pause.
Sophia told me last night that the capos might object. Might scream. Might threaten to pull their support. But mostly? They’d be angry with Edoardo. For letting things slip so far. For failing to protect his bloodline. For hiding a threat he didn’t see coming. For not protecting Roberto.
"You’re the Don," I say. "They’ll do as you say."
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t argue as his gaze swings to Sophia. "You will do as told? Marry this man, not pull a stunt at the altar?"
I resent the way Edoardo is talking to Sophia and am about to tell him, when Sophia rises to stand by my side. "I know where my loyalties lie, Don Edoardo."
The way she looks at him makes me want to choke the bastard.
"I can talk to Marcello; once he knows I'm happy, he won't object, and my father… as we know, is dead." She trails off.
"Fine," Edoardo concedes. He stands and holds out his hand.
"Welcome to the family, Capo Raffael DeSantis.
" I take it and shake, because Sophia's manners are rubbing off on me.
But Edoardo and I both know that this is only the beginning of our little game.
I'm not done, and neither is he. "I'll announce it at the next meeting. "