Page 140 of The Mafia King's Reign
No one likes being summoned like this, especially the dons. They're used to being the ones who call meetings, who issue orders, who make men wait on their pleasure. But no one refuses either. That's the difference between respect and fear; I have both.
I move to the head of the table, and the room falls completely silent.
I stand at the head of the room, flanked by my brothers. Matteo looks resigned, like he's already mourning the decision I'm about to make. Raffaele is stone-faced, playing his cards close as always. Elio keeps glancing at me like he's not sure what I'm about to do.
That makes two of us.
Well, that's a lie. I know exactly what I'm about to do.
"You all know why we're here," I begin, my voice carrying across the crowded room. "Marco Marino. The traitor who ran with my father's bride forty years ago. The man who took our money and fed information to our enemies. The man whose daughter is about to become my wife."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some nod. Others lean forward, hungry for blood, for justice, for the spectacle of an execution.
"Many of you expect me to announce his execution. That would be the traditional path. The expected path. The path my father would have taken without hesitation." I pause, letting them taste the anticipation. "The path that would satisfy the old debts and restore honor to the Vitale name."
I let the silence stretch, watching faces. Some men are already satisfied, thinking they know how this ends. Others are more cautious, sensing something isn't quite right.
"But I am not my father."
The murmurs grow louder, confusion mixing with anger. Someone in the back curses under their breath.
I hold up a hand, and they fall silent immediately. That, at least, still works.
"Marco Marino is now under my protection. As of this moment, he is family. Anyone who harms him, threatens him, or so much as looks at him wrong will answer directly to me." I let my gaze sweep the room, making eye contact with each don, each captain, making sure every man feels the weight of my words.
The room erupts.
Questions. Protests. Angry voices demanding explanations. Don DeLuca's face turns purple. Don Greco half-rises from his seat. My brothers shift uncomfortably beside me—Matteo's jaw is clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
I wait until the noise dies down, standing perfectly still at the head of the table like a statue. Like a king.
"I know this is unexpected. I know some of you disagree." My voice cuts through the remaining murmurs like a blade. "But let me be clear: this is not a discussion. This is not a negotiation. This is not subject to a vote. This is the word of the Vitale Don, and it is final."
I step forward, and every man in the room takes an unconscious step back. Even Don DeLuca, with all his years and cunning, shifts in his chair.
"The Vitale family is about to gain a queen. Valentina Marino will be my wife. Her family is now my family. Her blood is now my blood. Anyone who threatens that threatens me directly. And we all know what happens to men who threaten me."
Dead silence. Good.
"The debt is paid through this union. The sins of the father and mother are absolved by the daughter's sacrifice. She didn't choose this life, but she's accepted it. She's given up everything, her freedom, her future, her father's safety—to stand beside me. That kind of loyalty deserves protection, not punishment."
I scan the room one more time, daring anyone to challenge me.
"Now." I straighten my jacket. "If there are no questions, I have a wedding to prepare for. Thank you for coming gentlemen. You are all dismissed.”
I walk out of the hall without looking back, my brothers falling into step behind me. I can feel the tension radiating off them, the questions they're dying to ask.
"Not now," I say before any of them can speak. "Give me one hour. Then we'll talk."
* * *
I find Valentina in the garden, sitting on the same bench where I first tasted her, where everything between us shifted from arrangement to something far more dangerous. She's staring at the fountain, a book lying forgotten in her lap, her mind clearly miles away.
"Mind if I join you?" I ask, hoping to finally get her to speak to me.
She seems startled at first, her body tensing, but then she breathes when she realizes it's just me. I love that she's not afraid of me anymore, that she can relax in my presence even when she hates what I represent.
"You should be sleeping." I approach slowly, like she's a wild animal that might bolt.
