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Father's intelligent eyes bore into mine. I know he's contemplating the answer, and that fact alone pisses me off because the answer should be clear. We need to punish De Lucas for their insolent behavior. It's been eleven years since that fateful day at the docks, and plenty of things have changed.
For starters, our family name holds meaning and power now. If my father asked for Marzia's hand for me now, they would never turn him down. The Bernardis have grown too powerful, and the thought of our rage when they turned us down would make Marzia's parents too afraid to say no to us. But I don't need their approval anymore. All I need is my father's permission to destroy them.
"I need to think about it," father mutters, making me growl out loud in frustration.
"Think about what?" I grind out through gritted teeth. "They need to be taught a lesson. Sending this invitation here is the last fucking straw. They think they've got you by the balls, father. You can't let them treat you this way."
"Figlio," father sighs. "What do I always tell you?"
"That doesn't matter right now," I hiss. "All that matters is-"
"Tell me." His tone is insistent, and I groan out loud, running a hand through my hair.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," I manage despite the rage unfurling in the pit of my stomach. Father nods at my words.
"It's true," he says simply. "So be patient while we figure this out."
"But that invitation was for a masquerade party in less than a week," I mutter. "They're going to announce their engagement there. Everyone will know. You don't want to make an enemy of Vitto Donati, father."
"Haven't I already?" the old man's eyes sparkle with mischief just as he is taken over by a shattering cough. He pulls out a handkerchief from his suit pocket and covers his mouth. When he pulls his hand away, I see traces of blood on the white cotton.
My eyes fly to his, a silent question waiting for his answer. But the answer never comes. Father pockets the handkerchief and lightly shakes his head to warn me not to speak of this in front of my brothers. I furrow my brows, not understanding why. Is father ill?
"Everyone out," he speaks up all of a sudden. "Leave me with Adrian for a few minutes."
Dutifully, my four brothers file out of the room. Cillian's cold, hard gaze follows me as I pace the room. I don't know what his fucking problem is now, but he's getting on my last nerve. He wants to be a rebel, fine, but he doesn't have to disrespect father every step of the way. I glare at him in return, and he's the last to leave the room, slamming the door on his way out and making father shake his head in disapproval.
"That boy refuses to be a part of this family," father mutters under his breath before turning his attention back to me. "We need to talk about this upcoming masquerade party. I know you're eager to strike by then, but I think it's too soon."
I fist my hands again, snarling my answer. "You know as well as I do once that marriage is announced, there's no way they'll go back on their word. Vitto will marry her and she'll never be free again."
"Maybe it's for the best," father shrugs carelessly, making my blood boil in my veins. "You need to forget about that De Luca girl, Adrian. It's been years since you've seen her. A decade."
It's been longer than a decade, but I don't correct him even though everything inside me is screaming, telling me to fight him on this.
"I'm not waiting for them to get married," I hiss. "What's the point of enacting revenge on them if I don't get Marzia?"
"Why is it so hard for you to be patient?" father grunts. "This rush you're in means you're not careful. It will not end well if we seek revenge now. We need time to gather our resources. I am not starting a war with both the Donatis and the De Lucas."
"Maybe you should," I mutter.
"What's that?" Father's voice is thunderous, demanding an answer, but I'm not afraid of him - I never was.
"I said, maybe you fucking should, father," I hiss again. "Those families are insolent and need to admit who the new capo in town is."
"You're getting ahead of yourself, Adrian. We aren't-" Another coughing fit takes over and he covers his mouth with the handkerchief again. This time, the blood blooms on the white cotton and he's unable to hide it from my view. As he pockets the handkerchief, I glare at him.
"Are you hiding something from us, father?"
"What, the coughing?" He waves his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Non ti preoccupare, don't worry about it."
