Clara POV
The green digital numbers glowed on the screen.
The countdown glared back at me: four minutes and twelve seconds.
The telephone vibrated against my palm.
The caller ID showed Carmela Moretti—my mother-in-law.
I swiped to answer and lifted the instrument to my ear.
"Clara, you will calm yourself this instant." Her voice was sharp and demanding.
"Franco has messaged me. You are threatening a war over a trifle."
"A trifle?" My voice was a low rasp, the words scraping past my teeth.
"Your son's mistress struck your grandson."
"Boys are slapped, Clara," Carmela said with complete dismissal. "It builds character."
"Franco is a powerful man. It is normal for a Boss to have a comare."
"It is your duty as his wife to look the other way, to keep the family's peace."
A sharp pain began to throb behind my eyes.
In that moment, I understood how deeply the rot had penetrated this family.
"There can be no peace when the Romano bloodline is disrespected." I spoke slowly, letting her feel the weight of every syllable.
"Do not tear this family apart, Clara!" Carmela's voice rose to a shrill threat.
"You are only a wife. You have no power without my son."
I took the telephone from my ear and ended the call.
I glanced at the countdown. Two minutes and thirty seconds.
I looked over at my son, Leo.
He was sitting on the edge of the damask sofa, holding a cold towel to his cheek.
He looked so small and broken.
My phone rang again. It was Franco.
I answered it and put it on speaker.
"Clara, my mother informs me you hung up on her," Franco sounded furious. "You are embarrassing me."
"Is Isabella in the automobile with you?" I asked, my voice a placid surface over a great depth.
"No, she is not," Franco snapped.
"She is weeping in the washroom because you have terrified her. I am not bringing her there. I am not making her kneel. You will accept your place."
I stared at the timer. One minute and ten seconds.
"You are choosing her over your own blood," I stated, a fact that settled in my mind like a block of cold stone.
"I am choosing to maintain order," Franco countered.
"I am the Boss. My word is law. If you cannot handle the way our world is, perhaps you are not fit to be the wife of a man like me."
The timer hit thirty seconds.
I listened to the cadence of his breathing through the speaker.
A cold clarity settled over me. He truly believed I was weak.
He had mistaken my years of silence for stupidity.
He actually thought my father left the entire criminal enterprise to him.
The timer hit zero.
A loud, piercing alarm chimed through the stillness of the living room.
"What is that noise?" Franco asked, his confusion evident.
"It is the sound of your reign ending." I tapped the screen to silence the alarm. "The final stroke of ink has just been drawn, Franco, and your account is now zero."
I ended the call and turned the phone off.
The time for talk was over.
The vendetta had begun. And somewhere in the city, in a secure vault Franco had never known existed, my father's true will was waiting for my signature.
