Chapter 3
My father’s ring was more than jewelry.
Not officially.
Nothing inside families like ours is official when symbolism works better.
For thirty years, that signet had been used during emergency gatherings.
If the boss was incapacitated, the person carrying it could call the senior captains together and be heard before anyone else.
Not obeyed automatically.
Heard.
In the wrong hands, that was enough.
My father died when I was twenty-seven.
I inherited command younger than many men liked.
Bianca helped me survive those first years.
That was what I believed.
Evelyn told me what she saw the morning of our wedding.
“I went looking for Bianca because your mother’s earrings were missing from the dressing room.”
I almost smiled.
So ordinary.
“Instead I found her in the old breakfast library with three men.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Vale. Peter Sloan. And your uncle Enzo.”
My expression hardened.
Enzo died last year.
Marcus still advised two of our waterfront crews.
Peter retired six months ago.
All old names.
All men who had questioned my age when I took control.
“What were they doing?”
“Passing your father’s ring between them.”
My chest tightened.
Evelyn continued.
“They were arguing about whether enough capos would support a family council after the wedding.”
There.
Not removal.
Control.
“Why after the wedding?”
“Because they thought marriage would make you easier to pressure.”
I stared.
“How?”
“They planned to say you were distracted by a new wife.”
Of course.
Create a weakness.
Then offer structure to solve it.
Evelyn overheard Enzo say something worse.
“If Raffaele refuses, we remind him the ring never belonged to him alone.”
I almost laughed.
My father’s own symbol being used to imply he wanted me restrained.
“Did you confront Bianca?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was stupid.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Because I thought your sister loved you enough to stop.”
That hurt.
She did love me.
May you like
That was what made everything after possible.
Love and control had always been dangerously close in Bianca.
