Page 113 of Brutal Crown

“You’re just like him,” he says after a beat. “Your father.”

My heart starts to beat faster. I resist the urge to clench my fists. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Why did you call me here?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I realized we’ve never had a proper one-on-one. You and I. And now that you’ll soon carry the Romano name?—”

“Nothing has changed,” I cut in. “It doesn’t matter whose name I carry. I still despise you.”

“You’ve managed to grow even braver,” he chuckles to himself, but he doesn’t sound amused.

“I’ve grown smart,” I correct, lifting my chin. “I’ve learned how this game works. Power isn’t loud, Don Romano. It’s quiet. It’s who gets to speak last and still be obeyed. You destroyed my family, and I’ll never forget that.”

Silence stretches between us like a tight wire.

Dante doesn’t blink. He leans back in his chair and folds his hands on his chest. “Your father destroyed it himself. I killed him because he made himself a problem.”

“Wrong,” I say, stepping forward. “You killed him because he saw the rot in this family and had the audacity to name it. He discovered things about your filthy family and your filthy traditions.”

“He made all the choices,” he replies evenly. “Some of them were good. Most of them were foolish. He was warned, and I gave him more chances than you know. He knew what he was getting himself into, yet he did it anyway. You think I wanted to make a martyr of him?”

My hands ball into fists on their own accord.

“You really believe that?” I ask. “Or is that just the lie you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Actions have consequences, Rosalia. Adriano knew the consequences of digging into where he didn’t belong. Breaking rules has a price.”

“You think I care about your damn rules?” My voice cracks. “You killed a man who would’ve died for me. For what? To keep your twisted empire intact?”

He exhales slowly. “This conversation isn’t about the past.”

“Everything is about the past,” I snap. “Including this child.”

His eyes narrow, just slightly.

“A child with both Romano and Ricci blood,” I say, stepping closer. “Did you think marrying me off to your son would erase history? That pretending this baby belongs to him protects you?”

He rises from the chair slowly, walking to the window behind him, where the sun has dipped on the horizon, giving way to the moon. “This marriagedoesprotect you,” he says quietly. “And the child. That’s why you’re here. We both know who the father really is. But if you want to survive, and youshouldwant to, then you’ll keep your mouth shut. Let Francesco believe what he wants. Let the world believe it too.”

“And if I don’t?”

He turns to face me, his voice colder than the room. “Then you’ll be making the same mistake your father did. Fighting a battle you can’t win. And believe me, not even I can protect you if this all goes to shit.”

I take a breath. “I don’t want your protection,” I say. “I want you to bleed the way my father bled. I want you to wake up every night hearing the sound of his voice. The sound of mine. Because unlike my father, I don’t want justice. I want ruin. I want you to wake up every day wondering when it’s coming.”

He watches me for a moment that feels too long. Then:

“I’ve buried a hundred enemies,” he says quietly. “But you’re the first one who came back as a daughter. I don’t know how to feel about that.”

My throat tightens. I hate that he says it like that. Like I mean something.

“This baby…” I press my fingers to my stomach. “This baby is my war against you. My reminder. My legacy. I will tear your name apart the same way you tore mine.”

He watches me with that unreadable expression of his. Then, he nods. It is slow and deliberate. A ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth.

“Then raise the child well,” he says. “Live up to that threat.”

There’s a pause, thick with everything unspoken. But his mask is back on, and I can’t read him. Maybe this is all just a game to him.