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“But,” he continues, swirling the glass like it holds secrets, “you’re young. The families fear you might not live up to—”

“Bullshit,” Riccardo snaps, slamming a hand on the table so hard the glasses rattle. The girl beside me jerks.

Enzo grabs Riccardo’s arm, whispering harshly. “Not now.”

I lift a hand, controlling the storm before it starts. “It’s fine.”

Then I look at Bellandi and speak calmly. “I understand their fears. I’ll reassure them through my actions. They have nothing to worry about.”

Bellandi inclines his head, the smile sharpening. “I trust you completely. You’re just like your father, bless his memory.”

My jaw ticks.

That’s a comparison I don’t deserve. Or want.

I keep my voice even. “That’s a comparison I’m unsure I’ve earned.”

Bellandi chuckles. “In three days, there’ll be a dinner. Nothing formal, just a gathering of the families. Bring your brothers. They’d love to see you all. And hopefully they’ll see that jail hasn’t made you… weak.”

His words curl like smoke—too light to grip, too thick to ignore. Enzo rolls his eyes. Riccardo hisses again under his breath.

“I’d love it,” I reply.

Bellandi sets his glass down and adds, “Also, it’s time you think about marriage. A decent girl, someone with poise. Start a family. It’ll solidify your place. The mafia is, after all, about family. I know a few lovely girls—”

I stand, the motion slow. The chain between my wrist and the girl’s jerks taut. She stumbles as she rises with me, startled, catching herself on the edge of the table.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say smoothly. “Enzo, see him out safely.”

Bellandi stands and offers his hand. I take it, firm but brief.

“Good man,” he says, patting my shoulder like I’m still twelve.

Enzo falls in behind him as they exit the room, their footsteps fading into the corridor.

Riccardo leans forward, eyes flicking to the doorway. “You should’ve let me blow his fucking brains out.”

I reach for the bottle of water in front of me and pour calmly into a glass. “And have the other families think we’re at war with our own blood?”

Riccardo shrugs. “Would’ve been worth it.”

Enzo steps back into the room, rubbing his neck. I watch him for a few seconds, then push my chair.

“Which one of you fools did it?” I ask, voice low, but it carries.

Enzo blinks. “Did what?”

I kick the leg of the table. It shudders under the force, plates rattling. The girl flinches beside me, eyes squeezed shut like she’s expecting a bullet to fly.

“Which one of you brought Bellandi down here?” I say again.

Enzo shifts uncomfortably, mumbling under his breath, “I told you guys he’d be furious.”

Riccardo answers. “We thought you’d handle Bellandi once you got out of jail. But you haven’t. And I couldn’t sit still.”

Enzo sighs. “He convinced us to make some inquiries about Bellandi.”

There it is.