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Franco nodded, then his face turned into a frown, taking in the blood dripping from my arm. “You? You’re bleeding.”
I nodded, jaw clenched. It would take more than a scratch to rattle me. “Just a cut. Nothing serious.”
Franco nodded, and then he gave Giuseppe a kick, but flinched and groaned and grabbed his knee. “This is a betrayal I won’t soon forget,” he growled. “And there will be consequences.”
Giuseppe sprawled out on the sofa and hung his head.
“He’s a Moretti, you dumbass.” Apparently, Franco was too pissed to let it go.
Whatever his reasons for giving up control of the family, Franco seemed determined to stand by my side. Even against his own people.
I cleared my throat, drawing the attention of the room once more. “Trust is a fragile thing,” I said, my voice hoarse but determined. “And I don’t blame anyone for doubting me.” I met first Giuseppe’s, then Sergio’s suspicious gazes head-on before focusing back on Vittorio and Rosario.
“Hell, I have plenty of doubts of my own. And this situation is far from ideal.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their stares. “But the truth is, none of that matters now.”
Their eyes bore into me, searching for signs of weakness or deceit.
But I had nothing to hide—not anymore.
“Growing up, after Gabe left, all I wanted was to take over as head of the Falcone family,” I continued. “I pursued this path, was borderline obsessed.” I took a deep breath, then smiled. “But more and more, I realize I’ve been chasing the wrong things, the wrong dream all along.”
A murmur rippled through the room, and I pressed on. “Truth is, I don’t care so much about the position. Don’t care enough to risk my life for it.” I sighed. “Now that you’ve met me, you should take your time to decide what’s best for the Moretti family.”
And I would take my time to decide what was best for me. Fee came to mind, rolling her eyes at me, fiercely defying me, laughing with me. She was my light in the darkness, my escape from this world of violence and shadows. And I would do whatever it took to win her back.
I squared my shoulders, standing tall. “If you’ll excuse me now,” I said and bowed to Vittorio, then extended my hand.
For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on. Then Vittorio stepped forward and gripped my hand in a firm shake.
I turned my attention to Franco, who was balancing on one leg. The pain in his eyes was evident, but there was also something else there—respect, maybe even gratitude.
“Let’s get that leg of yours checked out,” I said gently, moving toward him. I supported him, and we limped toward the exit together, leaving the Morettis behind.
“You should really not kick someone who’s already down. It’s bad sportsmanship,” I said.
Franco chuckled, the sound strained but genuine. “Well, you should at least thank me for saving your ass.”
“Saving my ass? I’m glad you didn’t accidentally jump me. Also, you kick like a girl.”
“Alessandro.”
We stopped, and I turned back at Vittorio’s barked command.
The mood in the room had shifted.
Everyone was staring at us, including Sergio, who was standing upright again, favoring his hand.
Their skepticism seemed to have dissipated as they observed our camaraderie.
“The choice is yours. But we’re one family,” he said.
He said nothing more. He didn’t welcome me. Didn’t pledge anything. But it was a truce. And that was good enough for me.
I nodded at him and turned back, and when Franco and I walked out of the club together, it felt like we’d made a small but important step toward unity.
I helped Franco into the black SUV, then pulled off my jacket. My shirt was blood-soaked, and my arm was throbbing.
During our drive to the hospital, the conversation between us flowed easily.
