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“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Moretti,” he says calmly. “The Family would like to speak with you in private.”
“I expected as much.” I follow him to the waiting car, into the cool leather interior, and the silence that follows, a silence that persists until we arrive at the downtown hotel where he and the other senior members of the Family are no doubt staying. I follow him into the gilded elevator, still silent as we go up to the penthouse floor, past copious security, and into the richly appointed suite where I see five other men, equally aged and equally powerful, sitting in the living area, all with cut-crystal glasses of liquor in hand. One nervous-looking man is seated at the far end, dressed in a suit that would look expensive anywhere except in this room, where every man here except for him has access to the finest of Italian tailoring.Giacomo’s lawyer, I expect,I think as I take the seat that Don Fontana motions me to.
“You know why you’re here, of course, Alessio,” Don Fontana says, addressing me familiarly, though I know I should not do the same. “Mr. Smithwick will read Giacomo’s will, and we will discuss what it contains and how you will be a part of that. Although, of course, I’m sure you have some idea of what is written there.”
“I do.” I meet Fontana’s gaze evenly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that I will be able to fulfill Don Mancini’s wishes. We—disagreed on his choices. I’ve given him my answer, and death doesn’t change that.Nothingwill change that,” I emphasize, and Fontana shrugs.
“We will see. And we’ll discuss.” He nods to the lawyer. “Mr. Smithwick, please read the will.”
“Ah—of course.” The lawyer takes out a leather portfolio, opening it. The first part is more minor legal details and some of Giacomo’s assets, all of which have been put in trust for Gianna, and the matter of the mansion, which is also hers until the matter of her marriage is decided. “Turning to the topic of Don Mancini’s daughter and her marriage—” Mr. Smithwick clears his throat. “It is his stated desire that Alessio Moretti wed his daughter, Gianna Mancini, when she turns twenty-one, or in the case of his untimely death, as soon as possible. It is also his desire that Mr. Moretti take on the surname of Mancini, as was always desired, and that he take over the position that Don Mancini previously held, effective immediately. It will be at Mr. Moretti’s pleasure who remains in their current positions of rank within the organization, and who Mr. Moretti desires to replace.”
“Well, there you have it.” Fontana turns to look at me. “It should be neatly handled. You will take Giacomo’s position as his stated and desired heir. And since his death could not be called anything other than untimely, you will also marry his daughter as soon as it can be properly arranged, once she’s been given a period of time to grieve.”
He says it calmly, flatly, as if it’s all been decided. As if before the will was read, I hadn’t said that I felt certain I knew what was within it and what my decision would be.
“No.” I give my answer as calmly as I can, asrespectfullyas I can, but it won’t be changed. I made up my mind about that before I ever left New York.
“No?” Fontana raises grey eyebrows. “Alessio, the will is clear. Giacomo has said—”
“And I know whatI’ve said.” I know I shouldn’t have interrupted him, but I can’t bring myself to sit there and listen to him tell me, at length, what I already know. What I’ve already argued about, also at length, with the man himself—with my adoptive father, an argument that broke both of our hearts long before it was broken all over again with the news of his death, before I could speak to him again. “My adoptive father and I have had this discussion. He knew my feelings on the matter and what I wanted. If he chose not to amend his will after I made mine clear, that was his prerogative and his choice. But I will not marry Gianna, and I do not want to be don.”
Fontana regards me calmly, as if I haven’t even spoken—as if I’m nothing but a child having a tantrum.He might regard me that way,I think grimly. But it won’t change anything.
“I can think of any number of men, off the top of my head, who would be grateful for Gianna Mancini’s hand in marriage,” he says slowly. “Who would even beg us for the chance. Giacomo Mancini was powerful. He was respected. And the man who marries his daughter will inherit that along with his mafia and his wealth. There’s no reason why you should refuse, especially as this was his request.”
I’d known this was coming, but it still horrifies me. Not only the idea of what has been asked of me, but how it makes me feel. Before I’d come back to Chicago, I hadn’t been able to even think of the idea of marrying Gianna. But after seeing her in the church today—
That hot flicker of desire stirs deep in my belly again, and I try to ignore it. A look and a touch of the hand, that’s all it was. There’s no reason for it to make me think of her any differently than I ever have, no reason for it to make my mouth go dry and my heart beat harder at the idea of what marrying her would mean, the idea of taking her to bed, of taking that innocence that I’ve been entrusted with against my own desires.
Or rather, against my will, now. My desires, it seems, aren’t my own to command any longer.
“It’s impossible,” I tell Fontana curtly. “She’s my stepsister. That’s reason enough for me not to marry her.”
Fontana just chuckles, shaking his head, a sentiment that’s shared among the others in the room. “You weren’t raised together,” he says dismissively, waving a hand. “There’s no blood relation. It’s a foolish excuse, Alessio, and you know it. But what I can’t understand is why you insist so strongly on pushing back against this. There’s wealth and power in it for you, along with an exceptional marriage. You will be raised from consigliere to don with one signature. Men have killed for less.”
“I’m not interested in power, and I’m not interested in a wife. But if I were interested in either, I wouldn’t gain it by taking advantage of Gianna Mancini. And that’s all this is. She’s too young, all other arguments aside. And my feelings about the rest of it still remain.” I clench my jaw, refusing to be moved. “I won’t change my mind about this. I’ll stay to ensure that Giacomo’s affairs are settled, and then I will be returning to New York and my position with Don Romano.”
Fontana’s lips thin. “You insist on continuing this obstinance, despite both Giacomo’s wishes and ours? Despite being told what you’ve been asked to do, something that any other man in your position—”
“I’m not any other man,” I tell him coolly. “And I’ve given you my answer.”
I can tell that I’ve made him angry. It’s clear in his posture, in the set of his jaw as he answers. “Very well, then. If this is your position, and if you can’t be moved from it, then we’ll fall back on our second choice for who will take the mantle of don, and Gianna’s hand in marriage—since you decline to accept.” He turns and looks at the others, who nod.
“And who is that?” I speak before I can stop myself, before I can think better of the question I’m asking. They’d be within their rights not to tell me—I’ve voluntarily given up my right to inherit all of this, and they’re under no obligation to tell me what their plan is in the event of that. But Fontana, for whatever reason, replies. And within moments, I think I understand why.
“She’ll be married to Andre Leone,” he says calmly. “I don’t know that his family will be willing to have him take on the Mancini name, which is regrettable. They will not want to sacrifice their family name, which means the Mancini empire will be absorbed to raise up the Leone name.” Fontana shrugs. “But such is the way life goes, sometimes.”
There’s something deceptively quiet in his voice, and I think I know why. I’m even more certain of why he told me this in the first place, when I see the expectant look on his face, waiting for my reaction.
I know very well who Andre Leone is—the eldest son of Giacomo’s rival in Chicago, Enzo Leone, the head of one of the mafia families within the organization. It’s no secret that he’s resented Giacomo’s refusal to make him underboss despite his pristine family line, and that he has always wanted Giacomo to agree to promise an eventual marriage between his son Andre and Gianna. Now, it seems, the Family plans to give him exactly that since Giacomo is no longer here to protest his daughter’s marriage.
And I could put a stop to it, with a word.
Fuck. My jaw tightens, anger pulsing through me—anger at myself, at Giacomo, but especially at the Family and Fontana. He knows what he’s doing; I can see it in the smug twitch of his lips, and I know what he’s expecting me to say. He knows that there’s no way I can go back to New York with a clear conscience, knowing that I’m leaving Giacomo’s legacy to be absorbed into the Leone family, knowing the triumph they’ll have, knowing I’m abandoning Gianna to Andre Leone’s bed.
But I can’t have her in mine. Iwon’t. So what is the compromise?
I let out a slow breath. “There is another solution here, Don Fontana,” I say carefully. “One that perhaps serves both of our interests.”
