For a brief second, silence lingered between us.
Then Nico shrugged, dismissive, as if none of that had ever mattered.
"Well, that was then," he said casually. "Things change."
His gaze hardened, his tone turning blunt and unapologetic.
"I want a family now. I want children. And since you can't give them to me, I'll find someone who can."
"Exactly." Giada stepped forward at just the right moment, as if she had been waiting for her cue all along. She carried herself with polished confidence, her smile perfectly measured, like she was performing for an audience. Her fingers drifted briefly to the hollow of her throat before she let her hand fall.
"What's the point of keeping a woman who can't give you an heir?" she said lightly, her voice laced with cruel logic. "And what good is all that territory, all those tribute lines, if there's no blood to pass it down to?"
Her words were sharp, deliberate, designed to cut.
Around the room, heads began to nod. Some of the older capos exchanged knowing glances, others whispered in agreement, their expressions reflecting a quiet acceptance of her heartless reasoning. In this world, a dynasty without heirs was a dynasty already dead.
Unable to endure it any longer, my mother stepped forward, her grief transforming into fury. Her hand released the crucifix at her neck, and her eyes blazed. Her trembling finger shot out as she pointed directly at Nico.
"You," she spat, her voice filled with venom. "Have you forgotten where you came from?"
Her words sliced through the noise, forcing the room into silence. Even the soldiers standing along the walls went still.
"You crawled out of some dead-end fishing village in the south with nothing but lint in your pockets. You couldn't even afford a proper suit. You were hiding in a back room of a social club, surviving on handouts and table scraps like that was a proper life."
Her voice rose with each word, years of suppressed resentment spilling out.
"If Seraphina's father hadn't stepped in and covered your mother's medical debts, she wouldn't have made it through the month. Don't you dare forget that!"
The room was completely still now, every eye fixed on her.
"We didn't ask you for a single cent in tribute when you married our daughter," she continued, her voice trembling with both anger and heartbreak. "Instead, we gave you a house. We gave you a car. We welcomed you into our Family like you were one of our own blood."
Her lips quivered as she forced herself to continue.
"When Seraphina found out you liked slow-cooked ribs, she didn't just order them from the restaurant. She hired a chef, learned the recipe from scratch, and spent weeks perfecting it. Just to make you smile."
Tears streamed down her face, but her voice did not falter.
"And when your brother lost his crew and his wife walked out on him? Seraphina begged her father to help. Don Salvatore gave your brother a position. Caporegime of his own territory. Full protection. A seat at the table. We lifted your entire bloodline up."
Her voice broke on the last words.
"We treated you like family… and this… this is how you repay us?"
A heavy silence fell over the hall. Somewhere in the back, a glass was set down with exaggerated care, as though even the clink of crystal would be an obscenity.
Nico let out a short, humorless laugh, his expression turning impatient. He tugged the cuff of his left sleeve down over his wrist.
"Why are you bringing up the past?" he said dismissively. "That has nothing to do with what's happening now."
Then he turned his attention back to me, his gaze sharp.
"Well, Seraphina?" he said. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at the agreement?"
A slow, mocking smirk spread across his face.
"Not like it'll make any difference if you don't sign," he added. "The territory's already been transferred to the kids. There's barely a few hundred left in our joint accounts."
He tilted his head slightly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Tell you what. You can keep that. Consider it a thank-you for all the sacrifices you made for me and the kids. Should be enough for your retirement."
A wave of shocked gasps rippled through the crowd.
"If it weren't for Seraphina," someone whispered, unable to hold back, "his mother wouldn't even be alive."
"He'd still be a nobody," another voice added. "No territory, no standing, nothing. He wouldn't be sitting at the head of any table without the Valentes."
"They dragged him out of poverty, and he turned around and cleaned them out. Played his cards perfectly. Poor Don Salvatore…"
"And look at him now," someone else muttered bitterly. "Grinning like he just hit the jackpot."
