Page 5 of The Scars We Keep
He believes this is just a test.That I’m still that seventeen-year-old kid sitting in silence, taking notes, praying not to mess it up.He doesn’t see the man sitting here now, the man who buried that kid with his own hands.
I’m twenty-five.I’ve seen what loyalty costs.I’ve made men scream through broken teeth.I’ve slit throats in the dark and smiled after.He thinks I don’t know how many bodies this chair has sent into the ground.But I do.
I helped dig the holes.
Poor fucking bastard.
If these men want to test me, then let them.They’ll find out quickly that I don’t bluff.I lean forward, elbows on the table.Wood creaks under my shifting weight.
“The first man who moves from this table eats a bullet before his next breath.And the sons of anyone who follows will bleed beside him.”My voice is cold, calm, the kind that makes men swallow wrong.
The room freezes.
Chairs stop creaking.
Glasses hover in midair.
“Test me,” I say.“I’ll paint these walls with your blood, fuck your wives while they’re still dressed in black, and have your daughters calling my men daddy by morning.”
I place my hands on the table.
“You think the De Luca name is dead?”I say.“I’m still breathing.And as long as I am, every one of you answers to me.”
The silence that ensues is heavy.Uncomfortable.It creeps across the table and settles into bones.
Moretti finally pushes back.
“Why should we follow you?”He asks.“What do you bring that Matteo doesn’t?”
I don’t hesitate.
“I’ll find Matteo, and I’ll fucking put an end to him.”
A ripple flows through the room.Sharp breaths.Eyes flickering.No one interrupts me now.
“You want to know how that helps you?”I continue.“It closes the wound.No ghosts.No loose ends.No divided loyalty.”
Arturo Serrano shifts in his chair.I turn my head and look straight at him.
“And I’ll bind the families,” I say.“Not with promises.With blood.”
His jaw clenches.
“Your daughter,” I say calmly.“She becomes mine.I marry her.We seal this the old way.De Luca and Serrano tied so tight no one can pry us apart without losing a hand.That’s how this fucking helps you.Stability.Control.Profit.A future that doesn’t bleed out in the streets.”
I lean back into my uncle’s chair and claim it with my spine.
“Now you get to decide,” I say.“You follow me and live rich, or you back a ghost and look over your shoulder for the rest of your life”
Serrano leans back, eyes narrowed, with a cigarette burning low between his fingers.All eyes in the room are on him as he taps the ash into a gold ashtray, before he looks me straight in the eye.
“You think you can tame her?”Arturo Serrano asks, voice rough with amusement, but his eyes are all steel.Testing me.
I don’t blink.
“I won’t tame her.I’ll marry her.There’s a difference.”
The air lingers still for a beat too long.Smoke coils.Glasses sweat.No one moves.
