Page 40 of Claimed At First Sight

He watches me in silence before saying, “A Don who rules through fear alone eventually loses respect. A Don who seeks approval loses power.”

The fire crackles behind us.

“Men should never need to wonder if you’ll do what’s necessary,” he continues. “Hesitation destroys empires faster than bullets. But brutality without vision destroys them too.”

It’s not the lesson I expected today.

“Being my firstborn made you my heir. Being able to lead is what makes you worthy of succeeding me.”

The words settle in the room. From Father, that is praise. Possibly the highest he has ever given me.

His attention moves toward the darkening western grounds.

“Everything is yours now. Do what needs to be done.”

That surprises me. Father has always resisted modernization, clinging to the old ways even when they no longer serve us.

I look beyond the glass to the stretch of snow-covered land, and once again picture winter sunlight spilling through glass into a room filled with warmth and green life.

“I will.”

Chapter Twelve

Maximo

The heavy gold signet on my right hand has passed from one Don to the next for generations.

It belongs to me now.

Less than an hour ago, Father removed it before every capo, made man, and old ally gathered inside the family chapel. Then he placed it in my hand and declared that the family was mine.

The formalities afterward were brief. Aldo, as consigliere, offered his loyalty first. The others followed, one by one, until every man in the room had acknowledged what most of them had accepted long ago.

I am Don Marco.

Now the chapel’s incense and solemnity have given way to soft music, whiskey, and cigar smoke in the ballroom.

Conversations gradually turn to business, and the altered hierarchy is already apparent. Men who once approached Father first turn to me without hesitation. Others watch more carefully, assessing how my leadership might benefit or threaten them.

Good. Uncertainty keeps men attentive.

Aldo remains near me for much of the evening, subtly managing the flow of people approaching me while Gabe handles the smoother social maneuvering across the room. Rafa looks thoroughly entertained, intimidating half the younger soldiers merely by standing near the bar.

Remo disappeared ten minutes ago. I find him in one of the side lounges with his laptop open despite my direct order not to work. At least he has moved from chapel surveillance to financial reports.

Women circulate through the gathering too, their attention drifting my way in careful intervals. More than one man finds a reason to bring his daughter into a conversation with me, each introduction accompanied by polished smiles and calculated eye contact.

None of them interests me.

“I was beginning to think you planned on ignoring me all evening.”

Vittoria Bellandi steps into my space with a champagne glass in one hand. Her blonde hair falls in glossy waves over one shoulder, diamonds glittering at her throat beneath the golden light. Every movement is practiced to perfection.

Vittoria was raised for rooms like this. Raised to become someone’s queen. Her father has been angling for an alliance with my family for years. Even if Mialina wasn’t in the picture, I’d have no intention of giving him one.

“You’ve survived,” I tell her.

A faint smile curves her mouth. “Barely. Half the room looks terrified of you now.”