Chapter 3
There had been nine raised glasses.
I remembered every face.
Gianni Vale.
Marco Denton.
Samuel Price.
Eric Costas.
Darren Bell.
Two retired captains.
One cousin.
And Anthony Rourke.
Camille and Declan’s uncle.
Nine people.
Not random laughter.
Recognition.
They thought Arthur hitting the grass was the beginning of a transfer they had already discussed.
I called them forward.
One by one.
No one wanted to be first.
Good.
“Why did you toast?”
Gianni answered eventually.
“To Luca.”
My son looked sick.
Arthur stared at him.
I continued.
“For what achievement?”
Silence.
Anthony Rourke finally smiled.
“For the next generation.”
There it was.
I walked toward him.
“Which next generation?”
“Yours.”
Wrong.
My children are not extensions of my authority simply because they share my blood.
That had always been one of Arthur’s worst traditions.
Apparently it had survived him.
Anthony explained the story as they understood it.
Arthur would formally withdraw from the Founder’s Chair tonight.
Luca would occupy it after his wedding to Camille.
Not as operational boss.
At first.
He would become “family anchor.”
A polite title.
Meaning old captains could route disagreement with me through my son.
Then if I ever “lost consensus,” Luca would be positioned as natural alternative.
I looked at him.
“You created a rival court inside my own family.”
He shrugged.
“You created the need for one.”
Of course.
My reforms.
Again.
I centralized command after years of older branches bargaining privately.
Removed hereditary privileges.
Closed collections I considered predatory.
Stopped relatives from treating DeLuca resources as birthright.
Anthony called that isolation.
I called it leadership.
Then Arthur said:
“Tell her the rest.”
Anthony’s smile faded.
My father already knew something.
“What rest?”
Arthur looked at Luca.
“The Rourkes didn’t want him in that chair.”
My son frowned.
Anthony said nothing.
Arthur continued.
“They wanted his name attached to it.”
Different.
Important.
“Why?”
Arthur’s eyes moved toward Camille.
“Because once Luca married her, every decision challenged through him could be called DeLuca family business.”
I understood.
The marriage was not merely social.
It was camouflage.
Rourke influence wearing my son’s surname.
I turned toward Camille.
“You weren’t marrying into DeLuca.”
May you like
My voice stayed calm.
“You were trying to build a door through it.”
