Chapter 8
Darkness lasted twenty-three seconds.
It felt longer.
Emergency lights came on across the estate.
By then I was already running.
My men moved with me.
August refused to stay behind.
I didn't waste time arguing.
The main house appeared beyond the trees.
One upstairs window broken.
Two men down near the side terrace.
My guards.
Alive.
Disoriented.
I entered through the kitchen.
No gunfire.
No screaming.
That worried me.
Chaos is loud.
Control is quiet.
Cesare wanted control.
I found Mason in the library.
Safe.
One of my oldest bodyguards had locked him inside with four women and two children.
I almost collapsed when I saw him.
He ran into me.
“Dad!”
I lifted him.
Again.
For the second time that day, I understood how quickly a man's entire world can fit inside thirty pounds.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
Then pointed.
“That man wanted Grandpa.”
“What man?”
“Old man.”
Cesare.
“Where?”
Mason pointed toward the private dining room.
August entered behind me.
His face hardened.
“He's here.”
I handed Mason to the guard.
This time he didn't fight me.
Maybe he had finally seen enough fear in my face to understand.
The dining-room doors were open.
Cesare Bellandi stood at the far end of the table.
Seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Cream summer suit.
Same Bellandi eyes.
He looked like my father if somebody had taken all the warmth out.
Three armed men stood behind him.
Two of mine stood beside me.
August entered last.
Cesare smiled.
“Brother.”
August stared.
“You should have left me dead.”
“You were useful alive.”
“I noticed.”
Cesare's gaze moved to me.
“You've caused trouble.”
“My son found my father chained to a bed.”
“You see trouble differently than I do.”
“Apparently.”
He smiled.
There was no guilt.
That clarified things.
“Why August?”
Cesare looked offended by the simplicity of the question.
“Because men remember him.”
“So?”
“So men obey memories longer than they obey boys.”
I was thirty-eight.
To Cesare, apparently, still a boy.
“You needed him to remove me.”
“I needed him to make removal look legitimate.”
There it was.
Not law.
Not documents.
Not titles.
Mafia legitimacy.
The old patriarch telling the old men that Rocco had broken faith.
That was all Cesare needed to split the family without fighting everyone at once.
“And Julian?”
“A useful ego.”
“Vanessa?”
“A useful fear.”
“Dominic?”
“A useful loyalty pointed in the wrong direction.”
August looked at his brother.
“You used everyone.”
Cesare smiled.
“That's what leadership is.”
“No.”
My father stepped beside me.
“That is what cowardice looks like when it learns strategy.”
Cesare's smile disappeared.
Good.
“Why tonight?” I asked.
He looked toward the darkened pool.
“Because every important Bellandi was already inside one fence.”
Simple.
Brutal.
Efficient.
Then I understood the final piece.
“You weren't planning to kill all of us.”
“No.”
“Somebody had to survive.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Cesare looked toward the library.
Toward Mason.
My blood went cold.
August whispered, “No.”
Cesare smiled again.
“A child can be taught.”
I stepped forward.
His three men raised their weapons.
My men did the same.
Cesare continued.
“Mason would grow up believing his father destroyed the family.”
I stared at him.
“And who would teach him that?”
“You already know.”
He touched his own chest.
For the first time all day, I understood why Vanessa's choice had been between me and Mason.
Cesare didn't merely want my position.
He wanted my son afterward.
May you like
Not as leverage.
As a replacement he could shape.
