Chapter 3
Marco’s motive surfaced faster than Celeste’s.
Not because he was more honest.
Because pride makes men impatient.
“You’ve been squeezing the capos for years.”
I stared across the council table.
“Squeezing?”
“Routes. Accounts. approvals.”
“Authority.”
“Control.”
There it was.
Not entirely false.
I had centralized Romano after my uncle’s death because too many capos behaved like small kings.
Some appreciated it.
Others hated it.
Marco hated it most.
“What changes if I become sick?”
He looked away.
I almost smiled.
“Marco.”
He exhaled.
“Temporary council.”
Of course.
“How temporary?”
“Until you recovered.”
“And who chairs it?”
Silence.
I knew.
“You.”
His jaw tightened.
Celeste would manage the mansion.
Marco would manage the organization.
Sibling symmetry.
Elegant.
“How long had you planned for?”
“No plan.”
“Then why four test drinks?”
His expression changed.
Anna had heard correctly.
The drinks were tests.
Not necessarily to harm me severely.
To learn whether the substance worked consistently.
Whether Anna displayed recognizable symptoms.
Whether staff noticed.
Whether the household physician would attribute weakness to exhaustion or something ordinary.
Then, on the chosen night, I would become unfit enough for the council to “protect continuity.”
No gunfire.
No open coup.
A sick boss.
Concerned relatives.
A maid with damaged hands.
A temporary council.
By the time I recovered, temporary authority might have become familiar.
I looked at Marco.
“You didn’t need me dead.”
He said nothing.
“You needed everyone to practice obeying you while I was still alive.”
May you like
That was the real plan.
A rehearsal for succession disguised as concern.
