The room fell silent.
Nico turned his gaze back to me, impatience written all over his face. "So, Seraphina? Are you signing or not? Hurry up. We don't have all day to wait for you."
"Fine," I hissed, the word slipping through clenched teeth. "I'll sign it."
When I finally looked down at the agreement, I couldn't help it. A small chuckle escaped me.
It was almost laughable.
The terms were so simple, so brutally clean. A few thousand dollars. Just enough to survive for a short while. No territory. No claims. No rights. Nothing. A complete erasure of everything I had built, everything I had given. Every favor called in, every alliance brokered, every year spent holding together a dynasty that should have crumbled the day my father let this man through the gates of the Valente compound.
A clean exit.
I picked up the pen and signed my name in a few quick, emotionless strokes, as if I were signing off on something utterly insignificant. The scratch of the nib against parchment was the only sound in the room. Every capo, every associate, every wife and cousin pressed against the walls of that dining hall held their breath as if watching a woman sign her own death warrant.
Nico snatched the papers from my hand immediately, his eyes scanning the page. Then he let out a mocking laugh, loud and unrestrained.
"Good. Great," he said, clearly pleased. "Seraphina, you're our biggest benefactor! Thank you, for handing over the entire Valente empire just like that. My family and I will be living off your generosity for generations."
Giada, glowing with triumph, lifted her wine glass and drained it in one smooth motion. "Honestly, Seraphina," she said with a bright, theatrical smile, "you're like my fairy godmother. I should probably toast to you every year from now on." Her fingers drifted to the hollow of her throat as she said it, two fingertips pressing against the skin there, light as a whisper.
I smiled back.
Good.
Let's see how long that smile lasts.
Then everything changed.
My father, who had been standing there, forced to watch them revel in their victory, forced to watch a family legacy forged over five generations of blood and silence slip into the hands of a man who had once begged to carry his luggage, suddenly coughed.
Violently.
Once. Twice.
And then he collapsed.
Blood spilled from his mouth, staining the marble floor in a horrifying instant. The old Don of the Valente Family, the man who had once commanded the Commission of the Five Families with a closed-eyed pause and a single word, crumpled like something hollow had finally given way inside him.
"Papa!" I screamed, my voice breaking as I rushed toward him.
"Salvatore!" my mother cried out, dropping to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she tried to hold him up. Her fingers found the crucifix at her neck and closed around it so hard the chain bit into her skin.
The room erupted into chaos. Relatives surged forward from every direction. Someone lifted his head. Someone else tried to pour water into his mouth. Another pressed desperately at his pressure points, calling out instructions that no one could fully follow. Two of the old guard soldiers who had served my father for thirty years pushed through the crowd without asking permission, their faces grey.
Panic spread like wildfire, swallowing everything.
I looked at him. His face pale, his lips trembling, his breathing shallow and uneven. His heart had always been weak. Fragile. He had nearly suffered a stroke when I chose to undergo the hysterectomy for Nico, when the family doctor had told him his daughter would never produce a blood heir and the Valente line would end with her.
This… this might be the moment that finally broke him.
And Nico?
He just stood there, watching.
No urgency. No concern.
As if none of this had anything to do with him. He tugged the cuff of his left sleeve down over his wrist, a gesture so small and so automatic that only someone who had watched him for eighteen years would catch it. I caught it. I always caught it.
Then his gaze shifted, catching sight of someone pushing through the crowd. A tall man in a sharply tailored navy suit, moving quickly toward us. The soldiers near the door hadn't stopped him. No one had stopped him. He moved through that room the way only a man with his own army at his back could move through another family's territory: without permission and without apology.
"Lorenzo Marchetti?" Nico narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. "What the hell are you doing here? Don't tell me you're interested in Seraphina now. She's not exactly in demand anymore."
Lorenzo and Nico had come from the same place. The same dirt-poor fishing village on the southern coast, the same nothing beginnings. Back then, Nico had always looked down on him, mocking him, calling him a nobody, a peasant who would never amount to anything.
Lorenzo simply offered a calm, polite smile. Cool. Controlled.
He didn't even bother looking at Nico.
Eventually, my father regained consciousness, letting out a weak groan. With careful hands, people helped him to his feet and guided him away, escorting him to a quiet room deeper in the estate where he could rest. Two of his oldest soldiers flanked him without being asked, one of them murmuring into a phone, calling the family doctor.
"Where are the twins?" someone suddenly asked, breaking the tension.
"I think they went to get their admission letters," another replied uncertainly.
At that exact moment, the grand doors at the front of the hall swung open.
Two teenagers walked in.
Tessa and Adrian.
They had grown over the years, filled out a little, their features more defined now, but their smiles were still the same. Bright. Familiar. Once full of warmth.
But the moment their eyes landed on me, everything changed.
Their expressions hardened.
They turned away.
Without hesitation, they ran straight toward Nico.
"Dad!" Tessa beamed, throwing her arms around him. "Aunt Giada! We did it! We both got in!"
Nico's face lit up with pride. "I knew you would," he said warmly. "I'm so proud of you both."
