Page 86 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

“He offered,” the Don bites out.

I can feel my face morphing into a snarl. I catch Roberto’s eye, and he flinches. I’ll never forgive him for having sold Bianca off to those Albanian bastards. All for what? The ear of the syndicate? He would’ve gotten far more if she’d been made mine—Isitat the goddamn table!

“Wait,” someone says. It’s Don Vespucci, a good friend of DonSalvatore’s. He turns his beady eyes to me. “You killed the Accountant.”

I shrug. It’s true, though they don’t know the whole truth.

“You have something to do with this,” he continues.

It’s the moment of truth. I can remain silent now, keep my piece, and go on with my life. I’ll claim Bianca as mine, and we’ll be a family with our son. Except, we can’t. Enzo’s existence will raise so many questions. Even if he’d been born at full term when he did, that would set his conception back to May, when Bianca’s engagement had already been announced. There’s no way out of claiming we weren’t involved at the time.

Sometimes, the best defense is offense. They’re not expecting me to strike first. The best I can wrangle from this situation now is creating chaos that I can then somewhat control if the narrative is mine.

“Bianca Bonucci was carrying my son at the time,” I say.

It’s another blanket of silence for a few seconds, then the uproar picks up again, the Dons now on their feet. I remain seated, though. The power is mine, not theirs.

“Did you know about this?” someone throws at Roberto, who shakes his head, his jaw tense.

“And you, you covered for your sister,” another throws at Mattia.

“My allegiance is to my Don,” Mattia calmly replies.

I don’t turn to look at him, but he must know he has my thanks, for standing up for me like this. More than a soldier, he’s my best friend, and he’ll be my brother-in-law, too, soon if I have myway.

But the storm I just created in this room, it won’t abate anytime soon. I know this; we all know this.

“You killed the Accountant,” Don Vespucci shouts.

“That’s not news,” I reply.

“You didn’t want peace!” he throws, spittle flying from his mouth.

“He was taking what is mine,” I return.

“Because of you!” Don Salvatore accuses. “You’re the reason behind the war!”

We can all hear the click when it resounds in the room. All eyes turn to Don Vespucci, who has trained a gun on me.

I’m not afraid to die, but this old fucker won’t be the one to end me. I swear this on the life of my son. I lock eyes with him, goading him to even try to squeeze that trigger. Inside, I’m laughing. A quick glance showed me he’s not even unlatched the safety on the side. His generation, they’re all about revolvers. Give them a semi-automatic and it’s like asking them to handle a smartphone without an operating manual.

“Enough of this madness,” Mattia says in a strong, clear voice.

“Who are you to dare speak,cazzo?” Don Vespucci asks him.

If he’d spat after saying those words, I wouldn’t have found it strange.

“I am my Don’s second, is what I am. And as you’d all do well to recall, your seconds or yourconsiglieresare meant to be yourvoice of reason.”

I catch sight of Don Vespucci’sconsigliere, a man named DiPalto, stepping up to the aging Don and quietly touching his arm.

The hand holding the gun trembles. From tension or humiliation, I don’t know. The gun is lowered, sheathed, but not before fiery eyes meet mine from across the room.

“This isn’t over,” Don Vespucci murmurs.

“This is war,” Don Salvatore hisses at his side.

Mattia’s hand is on my shoulder. I take it as my cue to get up. I take my time, unfurling my tall frame which makes me tower over those men even with the table between us. My hands casually do up the top two buttons on my suit jacket, my eyes never leaving the men.

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