Chapter 7
Helena Bellini watched the execution of Silvio from her chair, her entire body trembling violently. The reality of the situation had finally shattered the last remnants of her matriarchal arrogance. She was not immune. Her blood status meant absolutely nothing in the face of her son's wrath.
"Matteo," Helena whispered, her voice cracking as tears carved clean lines through her impeccable makeup. "Matteo, please. I am your mother. I gave you life."
Matteo slowly turned away from Dominic. He walked back toward the head of the table, his polished shoes stepping carefully over the spilled wine that dripped onto the floor. He stopped in front of Helena’s chair.
"You gave me life," Matteo agreed, his deep voice carrying a hollow, devastating emotional void. "And you have spent the last thirty years attempting to control it. You treated my empire as your personal bank account. You treated my capos as your personal servants."
He leaned down, his beautifully angular face coming level with hers.
"But you crossed the only line I ever drew, Mother," Matteo said softly. "You terrorized my daughter. You told a three-year-old child that her father was going to disappear, and you conditioned her to accept a traitor in my place. You robbed her of her innocence for political leverage."
"I was going to take care of her!" Helena pleaded, reaching out with shaking, jewelry-clad hands to grasp his suit jacket. "She would have been raised like a princess, Matteo! I love her!"
Matteo looked down at her hands on his lapel. With a look of pure, unadulterated disgust, he reached up and forcefully peeled her fingers away from his suit.
"You love power," Matteo corrected her coldly. "You do not know the definition of love."
He stood up to his full height, turning his back on her. He looked out over the remaining guests at the table. The white American adults, the elite of the Bellini syndicate, watched him with absolute reverence and deep, paralyzing fear.
"Let this be absolute," Matteo announced to the room, his voice echoing with measured, dangerous authority. "The old ways of this family are dead. The backroom politics, the betrayals, the endless jockeying for the throne—it ends today. I will not tolerate a single dissenting whisper. If any of you harbor doubts about my leadership, draw your weapons now and face me."
He stood perfectly still in the bright, cinematic light, a wide-open target.
No one moved. No one breathed. The absolute loyalty of the room had been violently, permanently cemented.
"Good," Matteo murmured. He turned his attention to his lead bodyguard. "Clear the room. Escort the guests to the front gates. The dinner is concluded."
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As the terrified guests stood up and quickly filed out of the dining room, desperate to escape the slaughterhouse, Dominic pushed himself up from the floor. Realizing that begging had failed, a sudden, desperate surge of survival instinct seized him.
"I won't die on my knees!" Dominic roared, launching himself toward Matteo’s exposed back.
