Page 72 of Conall's Reign

“Smart,” Maxim muttered, his tone thoughtful. “And Vanello? What was his role in all this? Do we even know? Taking the Olivetos off the board? Do we think that he was playing Cosimo the whole entire time?”

I exhaled slowly. “So… this is going to blow your mind. After his ten minutes were up, it was Vanello who shot Cosimo.” The room fell silent.

Remo was the first to react, slowly exhaling as he leaned back. “He shot another don in front of a witness?”

“Yeah.”

Angelo let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

When Francesca told me, I couldn’t believe he let her live. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“That’s not all,” I added. “He showed Francesca proof. DNA evidence that he somehow obtained proving he’s her father.”

Silence stretched between us. Angelo and Remo exchanged glances, but their faces showed no shock. It wasn’t the murder that rattled them—it was something else entirely.

Remo shook his head. “This doesn’t change what we already knew. We always suspected we weren’t legitimate, but this? This means she?—”

“Our mother,” Angelo interrupted bitterly, “was a bitch.” The weight of that statement hung heavily in the room.

“She played everyone,” Ilias murmured.

“Our mother,” Angelo interjected bitterly, “was more malicious than we realized. She slept with him intentionally, I guarantee it.”

Silence stretched again before Angelo leaned back with a groan. “Well, at least we know where we get our cutthroat tendencies.”

Remo snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

“You’re literally the most violent person here.”

Remo shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I got it from her. Maybe my papa is some psychopath out there. You just know our bitch of a mother picked out each daddy special based on what they could do for her or on how to thumb her nose at Don Santelli.”

Maxim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we focus?”

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. “Vanello didn’t say anything else. She demanded a phone, and he gave her one.”

“Nothing?” Ilias pressed.

“He said that she wasn’t … disappointing.” I shrugged.

“I suppose that’s something. Our little Frankie is certainly not a disappointment,” Remo said smugly.

Ilias leaned forward. “So what does this mean? Do we think he’ll back off? Stop the trafficking?” Ilias’s eyes narrowed, and I could see he was already making mental calculations.

I flexed my fingers, repeating my movements to steady myself. “We wait. We watch. And we don’t make a single fucking move until we know exactly what game Vanello is playing.”

Angelo groaned. “You and your waiting.”

I shot him a look. “Do you want to make a move without knowing all the pieces?”

He raised his hands. “Fine. But if you start moving those damn coasters around again, I’m out.”

I looked down. Without realizing it, I had arranged the coasters on the coffee table into perfect rows. I gritted my teeth and forced my hands to my sides.

I ignored them. The game had changed. I simply needed to figure out how to navigate it.

“We’re still targeting the trafficking runs, right? We’re in agreement on that?” Maxim asked with a frown. “We can also pick up the remnants of the Oliveto outfit. There’s no way they will be able to recover. We can’t let Vallone take over their territory.”

“Hell yeah.” There was unanimous agreement among us on this matter. “I think we should continue pursuing those shipments as we have been. Nothing changes there until we know otherwise, but perhaps we should take it easy in other areas until we see what unfolds.” I pushed the coaster back into place where Remo had moved it, shooting him a glare.

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