Chapter 5

Thinking of my thoughtful, gentle boy—how he died on the most important morning of his life, at the hands of the one person he loved and trusted above all others—my heart ached with unbearable grief.

Regina's face twisted. "All I did was not drive him to that exam. Are you really going to keep dragging up something so small?"

"With this petty, fault-finding nature of yours, you're not fit to call yourself a father. Let alone stand at the side of the Falcone bloodline."

"You want the pact dissolved? Fine. I'll grant it. Bring our son here to this table, and I'll sever the marriage in front of every made man in this room."

Her voice carried the length of the hall, loud and sharp, cutting through the low murmur of the celebration sit-down as though she could no longer bear to breathe the same air as me. Two of her enforcers by the far wall straightened at the edge in her tone.

Seeing her so resolute, the old widow moved in eagerly, rings clicking once against the arm of her chair. "Regina, you should have done this years ago."

"Lorenzo is a nobody. Gutter blood. He never belonged inside the Falcone name."

"Blood from different worlds does not mix, child. If our precious grandson stays under this man's roof, he'll only be tainted by it. He'll forget the rules of the old Families. He'll forget who he is meant to become."

The rest of the Falcone line took up the chorus, their voices closing around me like a tightening noose.

"Go on. Bring out the heir. Don't let this worthless man poison the future of our young master."

Ringed by their contempt, I caught Rocco smirking again, gloating openly, one hand drifting to the knot of his tie.

The allied bosses and their gilded women all nodded along, praising Regina for her decisiveness. They sneered that I had never deserved the Falcone name, that I had overstepped, reached above my station, that I should have known my place among my betters. To them I was a stain on the Cosa Nostra. An eyesore at a table meant for kings.

Looking at their indignant, self-righteous faces, I laughed.

So this was the world they ruled. A world where betrayal, a soldier in your wife's bed, a bastard growing in her belly—all of it forgiven, natural, expected. But loyalty kept in silence, omertà held to the bone, made me the villain.

I had done nothing wrong.

Yet I was the one being judged. Mocked. Condemned at my own family's table.

What a joke.

I drew a slow breath, then turned to Regina and said, clearly, "I brought our son."

Her brow drew tight. She glanced around the hall. "Where is he?"

The others turned too, scanning the room for a boy among the crowd of tailored suits.

The old widow even fitted her reading glasses and squinted toward the far tables. "Where is my precious grandson?"

I reached into my coat, drew out the certificate, and laid it flat on the head table.

"He's right here."