Chapter 12
Reese never fired.
Mauro’s shot struck the weapon from his hand.
One bodyguard drove Reese to the floor.
Marco’s pistol disappeared under a table after another guard hit his wrist.
Celeste screamed.
Not from fear for Reese.
From realization.
“You were going to kill us.”
Reese laughed from the marble.
“Eventually.”
Marco lunged toward him.
Two guards restrained him.
“You son of a—”
Reese laughed harder.
“Now you’re offended?”
He looked at Anna.
“Ask the maid how that feels.”
Marco went silent.
Vittorio watched Reese.
“Who gave you the order?”
Reese spat blood from his lip.
“No.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It mattered enough for you to kill your partners.”
“They weren't partners.”
Celeste stared at him.
Reese looked at her.
“You were furniture.”
That hurt.
More than Vittorio expected.
Celeste had built her entire identity around status.
Family.
Jewels.
Position.
Being dismissed as furniture cut deeper than violence.
Reese continued.
“Marco was muscle.”
He looked at Marco.
“Bad muscle.”
Marco surged again.
Reese smiled.
“And Anna was blame.”
Then Mia.
His smile faded.
“The child was a problem.”
Vittorio stepped closer.
“Who was the beneficiary?”
Reese said nothing.
Vittorio tried another angle.
“Who needed Marco sitting at the head only temporarily?”
Silence.
“Someone who couldn't walk in tonight.”
Reese’s eyes flickered.
There.
Mauro noticed.
Vittorio continued.
“Someone the old capos wouldn’t accept immediately.”
No response.
“Someone connected to my father?”
Reese went still.
That was enough.
Vittorio looked around the dining salon.
Older capos.
Men who had served the previous generation.
One of them looked away.
Anthony Romano.
Vittorio’s father’s distant cousin.
Seventy.
Quiet.
Respected.
Rarely ambitious.
Too rarely.
Vittorio looked at him.
Anthony met his eyes.
No fear.
That was wrong.
“Anthony.”
The old man stood.
Marco stared.
Celeste whispered:
“No.”
Anthony adjusted his cuffs.
Reese smiled from the floor.
There it was.
Confirmation.
Vittorio looked at Anthony.
“You.”
Anthony’s expression remained calm.
“You've become difficult to recognize.”
Vittorio almost smiled.
“Everyone says that before betrayal.”
Anthony looked toward Anna and Mia.
“This.”
He pointed.
“This is exactly what I mean.”
Mia moved closer to her mother.
Anthony continued.
“The Romano house once inspired obedience.”
“Now?”
“Now a child interrupts dinner and the boss kneels.”
Vittorio said nothing.
Anthony's contempt deepened.
“A maid poisons the order of the house simply by crying.”
Anna stared.
Celeste almost smiled.
Even now.
Even after learning she was disposable.
She still liked hearing Anna diminished.
Anthony continued.
“Your father understood hierarchy.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
“My father also understood loyalty.”
“He understood fear.”
“Not the same.”
Anthony smiled.
“You sound like your mother.”
That was intended as an insult.
It failed.
Vittorio stepped closer.
“Why the powder?”
“To show weakness.”
“Why Anna?”
“Disposable.”
Anna flinched.
Anthony noticed.
No remorse.
“See?”
He looked at her.
“She hears the truth and still expects comfort.”
Vittorio stared at him.
Anthony continued.
“People like her survive because houses like ours feed them.”
Anna’s red hands clenched.
Anthony smiled.
“She should be grateful.”
Mia looked at him.
“My mommy works.”
Anthony laughed.
“Everybody works, child.”
Then he leaned slightly toward her.
“Some people simply matter more.”
Vittorio moved between them.
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
“Again.”
Vittorio’s voice dropped.
“Again what?”
“You bend.”
Anthony smiled.
“For servants.”
Vittorio looked around the room.
“No.”
Then back at him.
“I notice what you don't.”
Anthony's smile thinned.
“What?”
“Who keeps the house standing while men like you talk about owning it.”
Silence.
Vittorio gestured toward Anna.
“Twelve years.”
Then Mia.
“Born under this roof.”
Then Celeste and Marco.
“Family by blood.”
Finally Anthony.
“Family by name.”
He paused.
“Only one group spent tonight trying to destroy my house.”
Anthony’s expression changed.
Vittorio stepped closer.
“Not the servants.”
For the first time, some capos nodded.
Anthony saw it.
His real plan had depended on one belief.
That old loyalty would automatically choose blood over character.
It wasn’t happening.
So he changed tactics.
He smiled.
“You still haven't checked the wine cellar.”
Mauro turned.
Vittorio’s eyes narrowed.
Anthony continued.
“You think midnight was about the mansion.”
May you like
He shook his head.
“It was about what leaves it.”
