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"Get everyone together," I tell the caller, my voice steely with determination. "We'll deal with this—swiftly and decisively. But first, I must go consult my father on what's to be done."
I walk into my father’s bedroom and find him wheezing. For the first time, I see what he’s struggling with. The cancer overwhelms him and spreads through his lungs as we speak.
“What is it?” he asks, struggling to sit up. He motions at his bedside, and his bodyguard reaches over and gives him a nebulizer. I wait while my father takes his medication.
The air in the room feels heavy like I'm underwater or trapped beneath a layer of ice. My mind is running a mile a minute, but my body feels paralyzed—frozen in place as the weight of everything that's happened crashes down on me.
The fear is a snake coiling around my chest, constricting until I can barely breathe, threatening to swallow me whole.
"Philippe," my father calls weakly from the bed, and I snap out of my stupor. It's not the time for this; he needs me. I shake off the fear, the panic, the sense of helplessness and move towards him, my hand trembling as I reach to help him sit up.
"Easy now, Dad," I say softly, trying to project an air of strength and confidence even as my insides churn with doubt. "You need your rest."
“The nights are the worst,” he confesses.
“If only I’d known,” guilt washes over me.
“What happened? Tell me,” he demands.
I fill him in on the Bratva buying Vitalin from our suppliers, on them already having entered our market, and on how our warehouse was blasted into pieces.
"Son," he begins, his voice struggling through the pain, "I know this seems impossible, but we've faced worse before. We'll get through it, under your guidance," he says, making it clear that I’m to deal with this alone.
Making it clear that there’s a new Don Accardo while the old breathes what could potentially be some of his last breaths on earth.
I’ve never felt lonelier. Tatiana comes to mind.
"Get some sleep," I tell him gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "I'll take care of everything."
"Thank you, Philippe." His eyes close, and in that moment, I see a flicker of fear beneath the surface—a fear that mirrors my own.It's a startling reminder that even the strongest among us have moments of doubt.
But we cannot dwell on it. We must move forward, adapt, and survive.
As I leave the room and close the door behind me, I take a deep breath and let the mask of confidence slide back into place. My men are waiting, their eyes filled with concern and anticipation. They look to me for guidance, for reassurance—for salvation.
"Alright," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "Here's what we're going to do..."
And with those words, I step into my new role as Don, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. This is who I was born to be, who the Moirai have destined me to become: a leader, a protector, a force to be reckoned with.
I can only hope that fate will be kind.
Returning to the table, I waste no time in launching our counteroffensive. "Gather our tech experts on call. We need to block all trucking routes for the Russians," I command, my fingers drumming against the polished surface of the conference table.
Once they're on call, I engage the high-level AI tracking software on my laptop, pulling up maps and satellite images of the city. The screen flickers with digital life as I set our hacking systems into motion. Every truck route the Russians use to move their product through the city must be blocked—diverted or shut down entirely.
If we can cripple their supply chain, it will buy us precious time to regroup and plan our next move.
The hours drag on, each minute seeming to stretch into eternity as I orchestrate our defenses and counterattacks against the Bratva. Sleep tugs at the edges of my consciousness, but I force it away—there's no time for rest when my family and empire are at stake.
"Boss," Antonio, one of my most trusted Lieutenants, calls out, snapping me out of my moment of waking sleep. "We've successfully blocked all trucking routes for the Russians. What's our next move?"
"Blow up their trucks, blow up their warehouses, blow up anything and everything the Russians own that has Vitalin in it. Try to keep the collateral damage minimal. Most of their men are just earning a living, like the rest of us."
My men nod solemnly, understanding the depth of what I just said. We're at war with the Bratva, and they will surely come for us once we end their latest economic pursuit.
"Good work." I straighten in my chair, trying to shake off the exhaustion that clings to me like a shadow. "Keep me updated on the progress. I'll be in my chambers."
The weight of my responsibilities seems to grow with each passing second, but there's one more thing I need to do before I can allow myself a moment's respite. Something to feel less lonely, to help heal the pain. Once in my room, I pick up my phone and dial the number of an old friend.
