Page 50 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

“You killed Ardian Abrashi.”

His words make me pause. I remain silent, though. He can’t know this. It was all made to look like an accident.

A fleeting smile touches his lips. He knows, and he’s playing with me.

“That’s what I’ll tell the syndicate, anyway.”

He won’t confirm or deny. Neither will I.

“But why would you—” I stop, staring at him. “An eye for an eye?” I jump to my feet, incensed, rage coursing through me. “You’re gonna sacrifice yourself to them?”

“It will bring peace, Leo,” my grandmother says.

My father downs his whiskey in a single gulp. “It’ll make my deathcount for something.”

No! He can’t do this. He’ll be gone—

But that’s exactly it. Hewillbe gone. The dementia will take him from us before death takes his soul away. He’ll end up a shell of a person, a husk of the man he is, the Don he is.

At least this way, he goes on his own terms. Victorious.

“No one else can know about this,” I say softly, recalling his earlier words.

“There will be blowback on you,figlio.”

Because when this happens, everyone will think I’m responsible for the death of Abrashi, for why this war started. Never mind that Bianca Bonucci disappeared—there could’ve been another alliance. The Albanians, another family this time, higher up their echelons, set their sights on Paloma Salvatore, Don Salvatore’s daughter. The Don has refused the match every time he’s been approached, which also led to this state of affairs with those fucking Albanians trying to walk all over us.

But an eye for an eye will also bring a truce. It is an alliance of sorts, too, via death and not marriage.

We can’t keep going on with this war. Too many have been killed already.

I gulp, hard, the sob lodged in my throat not going down. Don Pellegrini told us boys to appear ruthless and untouchable outside our home. Inside these walls, Eduardo Pellegrini, the man and father, told us we could be real men—and real men feel, rage, cry. There’s no shame in that, in private, behind the closed doors of our home.

“If this is your will, it shall be done, Don Pellegrini.Padre,” I saywith my head lowered.

“You’re going to take over,figlio,” he tells me. “You’ll be Don Pellegrini when I’m gone.”

I can’t believe we’re talking about his death and the aftermath so calmly, in such a rational way. The monster in my blood is raring to be let out, to rage, to shatter something, to kill each and every one of those goddamned Albanians. If I had my way, that’s exactly what I’d do, show them who the boss is on this territory.

Yet, I also recall what my father has always told me. The ruthless, calculated side of me, that ice-cold monster? He said it would come in handy one day. Provided I learned how to channel it, to control the beast in my blood at the same time as I let my colder mind take the reins.

“The syndicate has a lot of rules in place for a Don,” my grandmother says.

I turn to her. “You think I’m not ready for this position?”

I didn’t say this in defiance or anger. I didn’t take it as an attack on my masculinity or the fact I have Pellegrini blood in my veins. It was just a question, a young man asking for wise counsel. My father could’ve kept his diagnosis to himself, at least not shared it withNonna—her heart must be breaking knowing her son will be dead soon. No parent should ever have to outlive their offspring.

ButNonnaValeria was married to a small-time soldier who became acapoand later aDon. She raised her only son to be one, too, when his father was brutally taken from him when he was still little. Now, my father, my Don, is going to leave my life soon. Who’ll be left?Nonna. She’ll be here for the thirdgeneration of Pellegrini men who ascended as Dons.

As such, I value her input, her advice, her opinion.

“You still have some things to learn,” my father says.

I turn to him now. “So teach me,Padre.”

He nods. “So be it.”

There’s no point hiding from the hard questions now. He has a plan, and he’ll implement it when he deems best.

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