Page 146 of He Should Be Mine

The chair across from him is low, not by accident. It’s a power play. But I don’t adjust. I let myself be looked down on. Let him feel the full weight of his authority.

“I received the news this morning,” the Don says. “About Riccardo.”

My hands remain on my knees, fingers curled into stillness. My voice is level. “I assumed you would.”

His gaze lifts at last, dark and unblinking.

“He was a liability,” he says quietly. “But he was my son.”

It hits like a shot to the gut. The simplicity. The truth of it. I don’t flinch, but something inside me twists.

My throat is dry. “I didn’t want it to happen like that.”

He arches one thick, silvered brow. “But you did want it to happen.”

I hold his gaze. “Yes.”

Silence stretches between us, long and taut.

Then he exhales. Long and slow. “Tell me everything.”

So I do.

I tell him about all the ways Riccardo has fucked up. The mistakes. The needless enemies created by his incompetence. The growing grumblings of the ranks. The lost consignments. The lack of grace, class, honor and tradition. His fondness for drugs. His unpredictability.

The Don listens silently to it all. When I finish, he takes a slow, careful sip of his drink.

He leans forward now, watching me closely. “Why did you do it?”

No accusation. No theatrics. Just that steady, terrifying calm. He has heard the facts. Now he wants the reasons.

I don’t hesitate. “He was hurting someone I love.”

His brow lifts slightly. “The boy?”

I freeze. Swallow.

He knows.

I hadn’t expected that. Not yet. Not from him.

“Yes,” I say quietly. One syllable. The hardest one I’ve ever spoken.

The Don watches me, his expression is unreadable. “It wasn’t the desire to be heir?”

“No, sir,” I say honestly. “But heir was a role I was ready to take on.”

He considers this. Nods once. “That makes you perfect for a position of power.”

I let the words settle over me. They land like the first drop of blood on fresh snow.

The Don is quiet for a long time. Then he reaches for the wine, refills his glass with a slow, steady hand.

He takes a sip. Sets it down.

“You were always the better choice,” he says at last.

I blink.