Page 62 of Merciless Queen

Today’s my eighteenth birthday, which means the position is mine. More so, I canfinallystrike against the Bratva. Elio’s supported my revenge ploy since the moment I called him, sobbing over Padre’s deceased body. He was the only person who was allowed to see my pain, given he’s been my honorary uncle for most of my life. But the damn Commission forbade him from retaliating against the Bratva, threatening to remove him as Capo and me as successor if we went behind their backs. Then the organization would be handed to another family and out of my hands forever. The Commission has that power since Elio isn’t a Mancini relative nor from the original Five Family bloodlines, he’s held to stricter standards than Padre was. Then I will be.

Elio’s hand comes down on my shoulder as we settle in front of the laptop, for the virtual meeting with the Commission. “Ready, Capo?”

“Not who I am yet.”

The screen flashes as the meeting begins, and seven faces fill smaller boxes. No one moves at first, all identical statues of old mobsters, and I hold my breath, counting how long it’ll take before they finish with their stare down.

Ten seconds until the centre one shifts and leans toward his screen. “Young Mancini. Hello.” Withered, thin lips pull up on the sides in the closest thing he can get to smiling.

I’m no longer young. That’s the entire point of this meeting, but I bite my tongue and greet him cordially back.

“This won’t take long,” he starts. “The others and I have already discussed the matter of your succession. We feel you’re not quite ready for the role of Capo.”

Not quite ready.

Notready.

I’ve worked every fucking day for five years alongside Eliogetting readyand they’re claiming otherwise?

I feel weak. Like my limbs are faltering, even as I’m sitting, and my head pounds. They can’t do this to me. To Padre. To our Family.

“What?” I finally manage to choke out. “Why?”

The Commission member’s lips thin even more. “You’re too young, Zeno. We’ve been watching you since your padre died. You’ve been irrational. Temperamental. It’s too risky having you lead the businesses right now.” His eyes flick to Elio beside me. “You will remain in interim for the time being. Same rules apply; if we catch wind of you continuing this war, we’ll have you both removed.”

Beneath the table, my hands latch tightly around the chair, forcing my rage into it before not-so-accidentally throwing the laptop across the room. “You’re willing to allow a capo’s death to go unpunished? Ursin Volkov deserves to pay. Why won’t you see that?”

“You’re only proving our point, young Mancini.”

I huff, my pounding heart trying to cool itself before the asshole Commission members make this worse. “Fine, but I’ll promise you this: you better keep your scouts watching me because every single fucking day from here on out, I will prove I’m fine to lead.”

“Do that.”

The screen switches off, leaving the room in tense silence.

“I’m sorry, Zeno. I wish we could?—”

“I’m failing Padre,” I interrupt. Maybe they’re right, and I haven’t shown much responsibility since his death. For a while I stopped contributing at all, stopped working deals, only focusing on the Volkovs’ demise. “No longer. Padre will be avenged, but for now, the Commission needs to see they’re wrong. It’s one thing to allow his murder to go unpunished, butanother to watch the organization fall into another Family’s control.” Padre would despise that more, considering the Mancinis have been a part of the Five Families since the Cosa Nostra’s conception.

When tightness courses through me and I fall against my door—mydoor because out of all the rooms in this place, mine seemed the most suitable—I return from the memory of one of my worst days.

After waiting seven goddamn years from Padre’s death to my eighteenth birthday, the Commission dragged my hell out longer and made me wait another three. On my twenty-first birthday, they agreed I worked hard and felt I had the Cosa Nostra’s best interests at heart.

Remaining quiet for the five years following, up until Ursin’s death, was semi purposeful and semi not. At first, I played nice, before the Commission found any reason to yank my power away, but then Volkov kept disappearing on me and it was a game of cat and mouse where neither of us was the cat.

I failed Padre when I was eighteen by not being good enough to succeed him. I failed him again by not being behind Ursin’s murder. I refuse to fail him now. Which is why, what Vanessa’s admitted can’t change anything, no matter how much I might sympathize.

Before my stupid bleeding heart entertains the notion of returning inside and continuing our conversation, I shove off the doors and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The villa was quiet when we entered earlier, which means Nero, if I know him, is probably hiding with a liquor bottle on the back deck.

When I pass through the kitchen, Venus lifts her head from her food dish and glances past me. Damn disloyal dog, preferring my captive, but maybe that’s just Vanessa’s personality. As much as I hate to admit, she’s alluring, and has been since the first instance she looked my way. She’s Venusherself, the Roman goddess of love, beauty, sex, fertility, and victory.

Vanessa. Volkov. Venus.There’s irony.

I pat Venus’ head as I pass. “Traitor.”

Her panting tongue and wagging tail tell me she has no idea what I’ve said. She trots behind me as I continue through the kitchen and toward the back door, spotting a figure through the glass doors. Venus pushes past me when I open the door, heading to greet him. At this point, I’d think the dog loves everyone more than me.

“Hey, hey!” Nero shoves off the railing at her approach and after a few quick pets, nods to me. “Look who’s alive. You had me worried.”

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