Page 154 of Twisted Vows

Izzy crosses the room toward us. For a moment, her sharp edges soften, just a fraction.

“The recording Sophia found,” she explains quietly. “About Gabi plotting against our father. That’s what sealed it.” Her mouth presses into a hard line. “I suspected for years, but I never had proof. She handed me the key to his cage.”

She doesn’t say thank you. Women like Izzy never do. But the slight nod—the way her eyes hold mine a beat too long—that’s her version of gratitude. A heavy, bone-crushing silence follows.

I go still. The weight of this new reality slams into my chest…power, responsibility, a crown crafted from blood.

“You were the only logical choice.” She folds her arms over her chest, every motion smooth and deliberate. “The men respect you. Fear helps.”

A short, bitter laugh slips out. “Fear is cheaper than loyalty.”

“Then spend it wisely.”

The ceremony is quick and efficient. Each Capo steps forward, extends a hand, and mutters a pledge of allegiance. I listen with half-lidded eyes, reading tone over words. Lies sound sweeter. Truth always stumbles.

When the last voice fades, I say, “Less noise on the streets. More legitimate fronts. No more bodies unless it’s necessary.”

A few brows rise. One Capo scoffs. “You want to make us merchants now?”

“Merchants live longer.”

Izzy tilts her head. “And the Riccis handle the muscle. How convenient.”

I meet her gaze without blinking. “This is the first move toward stability. We can make more money and not lose needless lives in needless wars. Trust me, I don’t plan to weaken us. We’ll still do what we have to do.”

They buy my explanation mostly because they want to. Greed and exhaustion are easy bedfellows. By the end, half the room looks ready to follow me into the next fire. The other half is calculating how to outlive me. Balance.

When the talk shifts, I push my final demand. “Sophia and her mother. Full protection. No questions.”

A murmur ripples through the room, and Izzy’s eyes narrow. “You’re really going to burn family resources for a schoolteacher?”

“She’s not just that.” Nonna Rosa’s tone leaves no room for argument. “The Ricci bloodline protects what it claims.”

The room quiets. No one challenges Rosa.

Her support hits harder than expected. The Benedetti matriarch doesn’t back men like me unless she sees the value.

Afterward, we clink crystal glasses and toast with expensive wine. The ritual is meant to seal new power in blood and ceremony. The hot, heavy drink burns down my throat.

Eventually, I excuse myself and step outside into the courtyard. The dawn hangs pale and hollow, mist curls over the marble statues, and my breath fogs the air. The weight of the new title feels like armor I can’t take off.

Walking the perimeter calms the noise. My fingers brush the stone walls, tracing cracks only I notice. I’ve memorized every entrance, every shadow. The villa’s bones speak if you know how to listen.

My shrink would’ve had a field day with this, the man who couldn’t save his brother now responsible for an entire family. Good thing I stopped seeing him years ago.

Somewhere behind me, Marco catches up, his voice low. “You did it, Don Ricci.”

“Don Benedetti,” I correct softly. “Don’t forget who the house belongs to.”

He offers a weary grin. “Still feels right.”

“It’ll feel right when it stops bleeding.”

He hands me a fresh blade and a file with a bow. The act of grinding steel slows my heartbeat. The rhythm’s a meditation. One scrape for every lie I’ve told. One for every promise I’ll have to honor.

Izzy appears in the archway of the gardens. “You clean up well for a corpse.”

“Should’ve buried me when you had the chance.”