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“You need to retaliate,” I ground out. “Show them the Falcone family won’t be dicked around.” The Falcones—not me. “And it’s time for me to leave.”
Gabe frowned but didn’t argue. Matteo shook his head, clearly displeased, but kept his silence.
I turned away from them, surveying the room with a scowl.
Cristo looked at me with a mixture of concern and contempt.
Failure and weakness—that was all they were probably seeing when looking at me.
Gabe stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. “We need to discuss our next move. Together.” He focused on me and raised a brow. “The Morettis won’t back down from this, not after what happened to Bruno. If we want to avoid an all-out war, we need to take action now.”
“And do what exactly?” Cristo demanded, eyes hard. “Beg for their forgiveness? Offer them tribute to soothe their wounded pride?”
Gabe shot him a quelling look. “We send a message that we won’t be cowed. A show of strength to discourage further attacks. But we also reach out.”
“Salvatore Moretti was an unfortunate accident,” I said, anger simmering beneath my skin. “Now they went after me. On our turf. This is as personal as it comes, and even if I went after Bruno myself—I would’ve been well within my rights to retaliate.”
“Perhaps,” Gabe said and cracked his neck. “But we started it all when Fausto killed Salvatore Moretti, and now, we escalated the conflict by killing Bruno. The Morettis will see us as the aggressors, and they will see it as a blood debt that must be repaid.”
I curled my hands into fists, rage and frustration warring within me. “You think I don’t know that? You think I wanted this to happen?”
“I know you didn’t mean for things to unfold this way,” Gabe said, his voice gentle.
I could take whatever my brother dished out.
But him being gentle to me told me exactly how much he was pitying me. And not only did I not help my situation,
I made the situation for the family more complicated. It came down to me as the factor that had to be removed to settle this situation.
Fuck.
Gabe squeezed my shoulder, then let go. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re facing the possibility of all-out war.”
The words sunk in, heavy and grim.
War.
If the Morettis came at us with the fury of a vendetta, the streets of Malta would run red with blood. Innocents would be caught in the crossfire, lives destroyed over a pointless cycle of violence.
And it would be my fault.
All because of what my parents started. All because of who my father was.
All because of me.
My life was spinning out of control, and I was dragging my family down with me. And what did I do for the past couple of days?
Chase after Fee as if I didn’t have a worry in the world—other than how deep I could bury my dick in her sweet pussy.
Fuck.
The guilt rose like bile in my throat. I dropped my gaze, unable to bear the condemnation in Gabe’s eyes.
The disappointment.
I was never meant to lead this family. Now, more than ever, that truth was impossible to escape.
A knock sounded at the door, and my mother peeked inside, eyes red-rimmed. “May we come in?”
