Page 48 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

"Yes."

"It's about fucking time," Enzo sighs after a pause, clearly resigning himself to the decision. "I need a few hours, then I'll be back with everything you need." Alessandro slaps him on the back, a sentimental gesture, and Enzo says goodbye. It's going to feel like a thousand years between now and tomorrow.

ALESSANDRO

The D'Angelo estate is different than I remember. The grandeur, once a symbol of power, now feels hollow. The lavish decorations and high ceilings don't impress me; they revolt me. The chandeliers glimmer above me, but they no longer shine like the diamonds I once thought they were—ghosts of the past clawing at the corners of my mind. When I was a kid, I thought they were diamonds in the sky above me, like stars in my own home.

I push open the doors of my father's study. The scent of expensive whiskey greets me, mingling with the faint undertone of cigar smoke. Matteo D'Angelo sits behind his desk, the dark wood gleaming under the muted light. Smoke hovers above where his lit cigar rests beside him. Glasses perched on the end of his nose. His eyes fixed on the glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid slowly.

"You've finally decided to crawl back home," he murmurs, not bothering to look at me. "I assume Marco is no longer our problem."He was never his problem, only mine.

His voice is indifferent, but I understand the bite beneath it. The cold, familiar need to control me. I step forward, standingtall, the loyalty is all gone now. I no longer respect him or fear him.

"Marco is dead. His empire is dust. And I'm done." I say with confidence.

The glass stills in his hand. Then he leans back, inspecting me like a man confused.

"Done?" he echoes, his voice soft but lethal. "With what, exactly?"

"All of it. The family. The business. The murder." My voice doesn't falter. "I'm done being your son." I once read that you could 'divorce' your parents and it seemed like such a fantasy—I'm old enough to just leave now. I don't need a judge or social worker to say I can go.

A slow, rough chuckle rumbles from him. He rises from his chair, moving with the grace of a big cat. "You think you can just walk away? You're a D'Angelo. That name doesn't come with freedom. It comes with a crown of bullets and knives." It's a noose, not a crown.

I take another step forward, closing the space between us. "Then I'll drop the crown. Let it sink to the bottom of the river with the rest of this cursed legacy." I'm done; he just can't accept it. He won't let go, because he cannot lose. It's not in him to admit defeat.

His eyes flash with fury, but he masks it quickly, smoothing his expression. "And what will you do? Hide behind that woman and her bastard child? Trade guns and blood for playdates and tea parties?" He's mocking me. Pushing buttons, trying to get me to snap. "Be a kept man? You really are an embarrassment." He is the embarrassment, not me. I will be a better father than he ever was.

My fist clenches. I lean in, my voice low and razor-sharp. "Speak about them like that again, and I will put you in the ground with Marco."They can share a fucking grave.

For the first time, I see him hesitate—only for a heartbeat—before he straightens. "You think love is what you want? The world we live in will devour you. And when it does, you'll have nothing. Not my protection. Not my power. Love won't save you then, boy." It has already saved me—from him.

I stare him down, unmoving. "I'd rather have nothing than be a puppet in your blood-soaked theater. I don't want your power, or money, or protection."

My father circles me slowly like a vulture eyeing its prey. He would pick my eyes out if he could.

"Walk away, and you forfeit everything. The businesses. The money. The men. You'll be nothing but an unemployed man with a woman and a child. No protection. No shield. They will all come for you. For her. For the boy. I will wash my hands of you for good." I know he's making empty threats, but I also know that it is still a possibility. I won't ever be completely free from my family name.

"Let them come," I say quietly. "I won't let Leo grow up in this life. I won't let Serafina live another day in fear." My son is where the cycle ends, I am breaking the pattern. "I'm a better man than you, I will be ten times as powerful, without the mafia."

Matteo stops inches from me. His breath is warm on my face. "You think this is noble? This is weakness. You are so weak, just like your mother." It always comes back to her, to his bitterness and anger towards her.

My fists tremble with the urge to hit him, but I keep them at my sides. He wants me to break. To lash out. I won't give him that satisfaction. My mother was an angel; she was not weak. He broke her. He killed her.

"No. This is a strength. The kind you'll never possess." He'll never know true family—genuine love. Not the kind that is bought or forced.

For a long, suffocating moment, we stare each other down. The past and future looking at one another.

Then, he turns away. "Go, then. But when your enemies gut you and leave the bodies of your family to the flies, don't come crawling back here." He looks at me with absolute revulsion, "I have no son."

I turn without another word, walking away from the man who raised me to be nothing but a weapon. I have no father, I never had one.

Serafina standsoutside by the car, Leo still sitting in the back seat playing with his toys. She lifts her head as I approach, searching my face with wary eyes. She's been waiting out here—where she didn't have to face the monster who made me.

"What did he say?" Her voice is steady, but the tension in her shoulders gives her away.

I reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My touch lingers. Her warmth grounds me, tethering me to the choice I've just made. "It doesn't matter what he said. We're walking away from here and never coming back."

Her eyes widen, shocked. "He let you go? Just like that?" She doesn't understand yet—I wasn't asking for his permission.

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