Page 40 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

A faint smile tugs at my lips despite the situation. "It's okay. I won't let him bully you." My voice is gentle but firm. I kiss thetop of his head, rocking him slightly. "Mommy will bully him back if he tries."

The fear hasn't vanished, but it no longer controls me. Marco's big reveal has snapped the last chain of doubt from my mind. Alessandro wasn't the enemy. Marco was. He always was.

I take a shaky breath, the realization settling in. For years, I carried hatred for the wrong person. Marco's arrogance blinds him—he doesn't see that he's underestimated me. His biggest mistake.

I close my eyes briefly, ignoring the pain throbbing through my body. My eye is swollen shut, and my ribs make a snap-crackle-pop sound when I breathe in. But the physical agony pales compared to the fire blazing inside me.

Alessandro is coming. He has to come. And when he does, Marco won't know what hit him.

ALESSANDRO

Imeet Enzo at the warehouse, he has gathered as many loyal men as we have. In the war room, the air is filled with the scent of gun oil and old paper. The long table is strewn with maps of Marco's compound, marked with red ink for every known entry point, guard rotation, and weak spot. Weapons—handguns, rifles, knives—are laid out in neat, deadly rows.

I stand at the head of the table, leaning forward. The men gathered around me are the ones I can trust with my life—men who have fought beside me and killed for me. They know the cost of failure. I have to trust them now. I can't allow doubt in my mind to distract me.

"Marco has Serafina and Leo." I point to the cellar on the blueprint, "I presume they'll be in here." It didn't look like they were in the house, the floor was bare concrete, and I saw brick walls. It looked dark.

Enzo steps forward. His face is grim, his voice steady. "Boss, Marco's expecting you. He won't make this easy. His compound is locked down tighter than a maximum-security prison. We can't just walk in."

He looks at the paper, "Getting in that deep, to where they are… is going to be a bloody nightmare."I don't expect it to be anything less.

I straighten, eyes hard. "We won't just walk in. We'll tear it down. Every wall, every man standing between me and my family will fall." I am not stupid. He's waiting for us. He knew I'd never come alone.

The men exchange looks. They understand.

"No outsiders. Only the men who bleed for this family." I look around the room. I am not taking chances, "He already got to someone in my camp, and I won't have another traitor in our midst."

Enzo nods and turns to relay the orders. Around the room, my soldiers begin to make plans. This is no longer just business. This is personal.

The heavy metaldoors groan open behind me. I don't have to turn to know who it is. I have ignored the thousands of calls from my father. He wants to tell me not to start this fight—but I am not going to listen.

"So, you're going to burn it all down over a woman and a child."

Yes, I am.

Matteo D'Angelo—my father, the man who built this empire on blood and fear—steps into the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He watches me with a cold, calculating gaze, the way a king watches a rebellious prince. I'm the prodigal son. I came back—but I didn't come back for him, and he can't stand that.

"I'm going to end this," I say, my voice a low growl. "I should have killed him long ago." My father wouldn't let me kill Marco back then, now he cannot stop me.

He chuckles darkly. "Marco is baiting you. You walk into his trap, and you risk everything we've built. Do you think this family can survive another war? Do you think you can?"

I don't care if I can, all I care about is Serafina and my son.

I face him fully, meeting his death stare. "This isn't about the family. It's about Serafina and Leo. And if you can't understand that, then maybe you built the wrong kind of empire. That boy is my family." I do not care if there is a war, if he survives it, or not. My father's agenda and mine are no longer the same.

Matteo's face hardens, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "I built this from nothing! Every brick, every dollar, every alliance was built with blood. For you! And now you're ready to throw it all away. For what?" He asks, "Some woman with no family, and a bastard that might not even be yours? What about Isabella? She's a good match, the right choice for you."

I take a step forward, towering over him. "I am doing it for the only thing that matters. Would you not have done the same thing for me? Why is my son any different?" I challenge him. My father always claimed he did everything for me—but it was really for him.

His lips curl into a sneer. "You're your mother's son. Soft. Weak." He wants to belittle me, to make me feel like shit—he wants me to cower and give in to him. Not this time. "It's her fault you are this way. Choosing the wrong woman can be a curse, I know."

God, he is a piece of work.

I don't flinch. "Maybe. But I will burn this legacy of yours to the ground before I let Marco take mine from me." He hasn't realized yet that I don't need him, the pleasing him is no longer my priority in life.

For a long moment, we stand in silence—two men carved from the same stone, a generational standoff. Then Matteo turns away, his footsteps fading into the dark. He's not giving up. He just can't see past his own stubbornness. Let him leave. Let him watch this precious empire burn if it means saving mine.

Outside the offices,the warehouse is alive with the threat of violence. Trucks are loaded with crates of ammunition, men check and recheck their weapons, and bulletproof vests are strapped on with tense hands. Rain pouring down outside, the cold bite of the early dawn frigid with tension.

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