Chapter 4
Antonio looked down at his three-year-old son, his gaze sharpening with intense, analytical clarity.
"What black box, Lucas?" Antonio asked gently.
"The shiny box under the back seat," Lucas whispered, his small fingers tracing the gold signet ring on Antonio’s hand. "Uncle Damian showed it to Auntie before you arrived. He said when Daddy went to the meeting with the Chicago delegates, they would make the lawyers stamp the paper."
Antonio’s jaw tightened until the skin over his cheekbones pulled taut as a drum.
He didn't shout. He turned his head toward the open banquet doors, where the two bodyguards still stood over Damian in the hallway.
"Frank," Antonio commanded, his voice slicing through the room.
Frank, a six-foot-three enforcer with a scarred brow, stepped into the dining room immediately. "Yes, Don Antonio."
"Take Lucas to the third-floor private nursery," Antonio instructed, his tone brooking no compromise. "Have Mrs. Gable draw him a warm bath and prepare a fresh plate of chicken and fruit. Station four armed men outside his bedroom door. If anyone approaches that corridor without my personal clearance, put two rounds through their chest."
"On my life, Boss," Frank replied with deep reverence.
He stepped forward, extending his broad arms. Lucas hesitated for half a second before Antonio kissed his forehead, smoothing back his dark, sweat-dampened hair.
"Go with Frank, little bird," Antonio murmured softly. "Daddy has some business to settle with the family. I will be upstairs to tuck you in."
"Okay, Dad," Lucas nodded bravely, wrapping his arms around the enforcer’s neck as Frank carried him swiftly out of the room.
The moment the heavy double doors clicked shut behind Frank, the last vestige of paternal warmth evaporated from Antonio’s face.
The room fell into an icy, suffocating vacuum.
Antonio reached into his tailored vest pocket, drew a pair of black leather gloves, and pulled them over his fingers, smoothing the seams with mechanical precision.
"Dante," Antonio said, addressing his second-in-command standing by the sideboard.
"Boss," Dante stepped forward.
"Go down to Damian's Mercedes in the courtyard," Antonio ordered, his slate-grey eyes locked onto Lavinia’s trembling figure. "Search beneath the rear bench. Retrieve the lockbox."
"Right away, Don Antonio." Dante turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.
Lavinia backed away two steps, her heels catching on the hem of her sapphire gown as she bumped against her banquet chair. "Antonio, listen to reason! Damian was only preparing contingency plans! With the Chicago syndicate encroaching on our eastern terminals, we needed a secondary line of succession! If federal prosecutors indicted you, the family assets would be frozen under the minor child’s name!"
"A secondary line of succession?" Antonio repeated, walking slowly around the head of the table. "You drafted a conservatorship over my son while I was forty miles away negotiating a peace treaty?"
Cousin Marco, sitting three chairs down, suddenly pushed himself up from the table, his face flushed with panicked agitation. "Antonio, I swear to God, I had nothing to do with any conservatorship! Damian told us this dinner was just a reconciliation banquet! He told us you wanted the family reunited!"
Antonio stopped beside Marco’s chair, resting his gloved hand on the wood.
"And when Damian dumped my son's dinner into the trash bin, Marco," Antonio whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from the capo’s ear, "did that look like reconciliation to you?"
May you like
Marco couldn't answer. His throat clicked as he swallowed dryly, his gaze pinned to the floorboards.
"You sat there," Antonio said, every word dropping like an iron weight into the silent room. "You smelled the roast, you drank the port, and you watched a three-year-old child beg for water. That makes you an accomplice, Marco. And in this house, accomplices share the debt."
