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“You’re right it doesn’t. But it does mean I have to protect his legacy. And that’s what I’m doing. Protecting what he chose over us time and time again.”
Alec doesn’t argue with me. And I walk away from him to the car, where Ryder has the door already standing open. I slide inside. “Straight back home.”
As I prepare to face the Famiglia, the weight of the legacy we carry bears down on me. My father may be gone, but his influence and his teachings live on within the Famiglia.
It is my duty to ensure that the foundation he built remains unshaken, even in the wake of his departure.
As the heavy wooden door creaks open, Alec, Declan, and Knox enter, their footsteps echoing in the solemn silence. I follow behind them as a hushed acknowledgment sweeps through the room as the brothers position themselves behind me.
Tradition demands their standing until I take my seat, a symbolic gesture of respect for the ascending Capo. There’s no pretending we don’t all know why we’re here.
I approach the ornate chair at the head of the table, the weight of expectation settling on my shoulders. As I seat myself, the subtle rustle of fabric indicates the unanimous acknowledgment of the Famiglia.
The dimly lit room buzzes with tension as the men of the Famiglia occupy their positions, each one a cog in the intricate machinery of our world.
Five figures, distinguished by the weight of authority they carry, sit in a calculated arrangement, their faces etched with the stoic demeanor expected in these hallowed chambers.
These five men are the men who hold up the Amorys. The same way the pillars help the foundation hold a building aloft. We are the foundations, they are the pillars.
At the head of the table sits Lorenzo Moretti, the Consigliere, his sharp mind and shrewd calculations guiding the Famiglia through the labyrinth of alliances and power dynamics within the criminal underworld.
Beside him, Marco Rossi, a man known for his cunning strategies and ruthless execution of orders, observes the proceedings with an unreadable expression.
On Lorenzo’s left, Giovanni Russo, the Caporegime responsible for orchestrating the Famiglia’s lucrative racketeering ventures. His eyes, cold and calculating, survey the room, acknowledging the weight of the moment.
Opposite Giovanni, Carlo Vitale, the Enforcer, a man whose reputation for swift and merciless justice precedes him. His presence alone would normally send a subtle tremor through the room. But all the men here today are powerful, he’s just another man.
Completing the assembly, Antonio Lombardi, the Accountant, maintains a meticulous record of the Famiglia’s financial endeavors, his ledger a testament to the delicate dance between legality and criminality that sustains our existence.
The air thickens with the hold of unspoken words as Lorenzo begins the proceedings.
“Xander, we gather today to discuss the transition of power, a solemn moment in the history of our Famiglia. Your father’s legacy demands a seamless continuation, and we look to you to find a guide through the challenges that lie ahead.”
The dim light casts shadows on the faces of those assembled, the gravity of their responsibilities etched into every line and furrow.
I nod at him. There is no hesitation in me. Even a whiff is enough to bring any of these men to the conclusion they can overthrow me. “And I am ready to lead.”
A dissenting murmur emerges from Marcello Russo, a brash and impulsive soldier known for his recklessness. His eyes bear a challenge, his posturing suggesting an unsettling desire for confrontation.
As the murmurs gain momentum, I lock eyes with Marcello, a silent warning passing between us. “Marcello,” I address him with a steely resolve. “Is there anything you wish to say at the table?”
“Are we truly together in this? Your Father, bless his soul, had kept us tight. And he kept tight with us. Are you willing or ready?”
I do not give him my attention as I answer the question. “Questioning the unity of the Famiglia is a dangerous path. We are bound by loyalty and tradition. Disrupting that harmony jeopardizes not only your position but the stability of our organization. And every dissent will be squashed. There should be no question of that.”
The room falls silent, the unspoken threat lingering in the air. The other men exchange glances, recognizing the gravity of the moment. Tradition dictates respect, and any deviation breeds consequences.
Lorenzo, sensing the need to redirect the focus, interjects, “Let us discuss the Famiglia’s future under Xander’s guidance. The challenges may be formidable, but so is our resolve. We have watched him lead. Nothing changes now.”
The shadows dance on the walls as the discussion unfolds, the fate of our Famiglia hanging in the balance. The room holds a loud silence before Giovanni Russo breaks it with a gruff voice, “Xander, your father held this Famiglia together with an iron grip. Can you do the same?”
My response is measured, “Giovanni, I aim not only to maintain but to elevate our standing. My father’s legacy demands nothing less.”
Carlo Vitale leans forward, his cold eyes locked onto mine, “Legacy means nothing if you can’t enforce it. We need strength, not aspirations.”
I meet his gaze evenly, “Strength is earned through respect, Carlo. A united Famiglia is an unstoppable force. Division is our only weakness.”
Antonio Lombardi’s voice holds a hint of skepticism. “Earning respect takes time. Time we may not have. What’s your immediate strategy, Xander?”
