54. Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Four
Mariella
N o one can rule la famiglia without this pendant?
Why?
I tilt my head, studying the piece of jewelry that’s normally hidden beneath Mateo’s clothes.
The pendant is a broken, worn piece of clay threaded onto a simple gold chain. I trace my finger lightly over it, surprised by its rough texture.
“Why is it broken?” I ask, looking up at Mateo.
His lips curve into a small smile, and he takes the pendant between his fingers. “It wasn’t always,” he says, his voice soft.
His tone piques my curiosity. “What happened to it?”
“It’s a long story,” he begins, his smile deepening. “You really want to know?”
I nod, settling closer. “Of course. I want to know everything about you. And something tells me this isn’t just an old necklace.”
He chuckles at that, his thumb brushing over the faint markings.
“You’re right. It’s not.” His tone grows warmer, the pride creeping in as he begins. “This pendant has been in my family for generations. My great-great-great-grandfather, Leandro De Marco, made it himself.”
“Made it?” I echo, intrigued. “Out of clay?”
Mateo nods, his expression softening with admiration.
“He didn’t have much back then. Gold and silver, those were for men with power and wealth. Leandro had none. But he had vision. He shaped this with his own hands, burned it to harden it. And he carved the De Marco crest into it to remind himself of what he believed our family could become.”
I run my finger along the faint lines of the crest, trying to imagine the man Mateo is describing. Someone carving a future out of nothing but clay and determination.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur. “But why is it broken? Where are the other pieces?”
Mateo’s eyes darken. “Toward the end of his life, Leandro’s vision had taken shape. He was proud of what he’d built but knew power could corrupt, or worse, divide the family. He believed power should stay with the rightful heir, and he wanted to ensure no one could seize it by force.”
I tilt my head, waiting for him to elaborate. His fingers tighten around the pendant as he continues.
“He broke it into three pieces. The first, the piece with the lion head, belongs to the Don. It’s passed from one Don to the next, ensuring continuity. The second piece goes to the second-in-command, someone who has earned their place through unwavering loyalty and service to la famiglia .”
“And the third piece?” I ask.
He pauses, his gaze distant. “It’s hidden. Only the current Don knows where it is, and he makes provisions for the rightful heir to find it when the time comes.”
I frown, trying to piece the reasons all together. “Why hide the third piece?”
Mateo’s gaze sharpens, and his voice lowers. “Because no one can claim power without it. Even if someone were to take the first two pieces, they couldn’t rule la famiglia unless they also had the third. It’s a safeguard, to ensure the leadership goes to the rightful heir and no one else.”
It makes sense. I glance down at the jagged edges of the pendant again. “So this piece…”
“Tiero gave it to me after our father was murdered. Emilio Barroni wore it before me, but he returned it to Tiero at papà ’s funeral as is custom. Then Tiero made Emilio consigliere, a role he’s excelled at.”
A role my father now covets.
“So the Don has always been a direct blood relative of Leandro?” I ask and Mateo nods proudly.
“Yes, we De Marcos have always fathered sons first.”
His smile is blinding and suggestive, and I squeeze my legs together to curb the sudden desire blooming inside me.
Is he picturing us making that son?
I sure am.
But what if I’m like my mother and only bear him girls?
Oh God. No pressure!
But it’s not her fault, it’s Father’s, right? From biology, I remember it’s the man’s sperm that decides the sex of the baby.
Argh, I don’t want to think about my father. Especially not when I’m in bed with Mateo.
He’s nothing like him. I have nothing to fear, right? He’s probably got super-sperm that ensures the boy chromosome wins.
Mateo’s hand brushes my arm lightly, snapping me out of my thoughts. His gaze softens, concern flickering in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head, studying me.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly, forcing a small smile. “I was just thinking.”
His thumb rubs a gentle circle on my arm. “About?”
I hesitate, shaking my head. “Biology.”
His brow furrows, but a hint of amusement curves his lips.
“Biology? Do I even want to ask?”
I laugh, the tension easing slightly, and I decide to shift the conversation.
“So the second-in-command wasn’t always a sibling?”
Mateo shakes his head. “No. My father didn’t have any. He chose Emilio Baroni as his second because he’d proven himself time and time again. It’s a role earned, not inherited.”
“But in theory, the Don could pass the necklace on to a second or third son if he didn’t deem the first one fit to rule, or to any other man for that matter?”
“In theory, yes. But that has never happened.”
I watch him closely as he stares at the pendant, and while he seems proud of his heritage, I also see the weight of this tradition on his shoulders. The legacy of la famiglia is more than a piece of jewelry, it’s a constant reminder of who he is.
“You’re our Don’s successor, right?” I ask. When Mateo nods, I press further. “So you could find that third piece?”
“I have the passcode, but I don’t know where Tiero has hidden it. And honestly? I hope I never find out.” His voice drops, tinged with weariness. “I have no desire to be Don. It’s not a responsibility I ever wanted. I’m happy with the way things are.”
Relief washes over me, a surprising comfort settling in my chest. If Mateo truly wants to marry me—someone pinch me still—the last thing I’d want is the burden of being the Don’s wife.
The expectation to produce male heirs looms heavy, and given my lineage, that might be a problem. Besides, from what I hear from mamma , the other wives all seem to claw for influence like it’s a blood sport. I want no part of that.
“So only the chosen successor would have all three pieces and become the new Don,” I say, more to myself than to him.
“Yeah.” Mateo’s tone is steady, but his gaze sharpens. He absently tightens his grip on the pendant in his hand. “The rightful heir has to present all three pieces of the pendant and unite them at the rite of succession ceremony. Only then does the De Marco empire become his.”
I nod slowly, the logic behind it clicking into place.
“It’s a way to ensure loyalty and unity. To remind everyone of the chain of command.”
“Exactly.” Mateo’s eyes flick to mine, his expression unreadable. “The power stays where it belongs.”
I study the pendant, my thumb tracing its jagged edge. “So this tiny, fragile piece of clay…” I shake my head in disbelief. “… is the key to your entire legacy.”
He chuckles, a deep, rich sound that warms my chest. “Funny, isn’t it? That something so small could carry so much weight.”
“It’s not funny,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet his. “It’s beautiful. The idea that your family’s entire history is tied to this, it’s incredible, Mateo.”
His smile softens as he watches me.
“It’s more than just history,” he says quietly. “It’s who we are. Where we came from. Leandro wanted us to remember that no matter how powerful we became, we started with nothing.”
I glance up at him, surprised by the pride threading through his voice.
“It’s humbling,” I admit. “To think about all that came before you.”
He nods, holding the pendant up so the edges catch the light. “It is. And it’s also… a reminder. Of what I have to live up to. Of the responsibility and debt I carry as a De Marco.”
Without thinking, I reach out and place my hand over his. “You’re doing more than living up to it, Mateo. You’re honoring it.”
For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes locked on mine. He smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes my heart ache in the best way.
“I’m glad you see it that way,” he murmurs. “Most people wouldn’t understand.”
I grin, squeezing his hand. “I’m not most people.”
“No, you’re not,” he agrees, his voice warm.
He leans in and kisses me, thoroughly. When he pulls away, we’re both panting, the air between us charged with expectation.
“And now, dolce mia , you are going to be part of that legacy.”
The weight of his words settles over me. Trepidation and pride clash, vying for dominance inside me.
You were raised to be a Mafia bride , I remind myself. You can do this.
Mateo’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Now that we’ve wandered down memory lane,” he says with a teasing lilt, “let’s pack a bag. We’re going away for a few days, just you and me. I want you all to myself.”
I gape at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.
“When did you decide that?” I ask, laughing, as he gets off the bed and pulls me up with him.
“This morning when I watched you sleep, I dreaded having to leave you for the rest of the day to take care of business,” he replies, guiding us through the room and into his walk-in closet.
“How are you going to take care of business if we go away?” I giggle, loving that he wants to spend time with me.
“I won’t. Romeo can take over for a few days. You’re my priority.”
My insides turn warm and gooey. I’ve never been anyone’s priority.
I open my mouth to reply but stop dead in my tracks when Mateo steps behind me, slinging an arm around my front, and I get a glimpse of his closet. The sheer size of the room registers first. It’s massive, easily the size of my bedroom at home. But something else catches my eye, and my jaw drops.
My toes sink into the plush carpet as I freeze.
“Why are all my things in your closet?”