Page 83 of Brutal Vows

“Stand tall, figlio mio. A De Luca never bows.”

Even as a child, I understood what he meant. There was no room for weakness in this family. No space for mercy. My father didn’t just raise a son. He built a weapon.

“This place doesn’t suit you anymore,” Dario murmursbeside me, his sharp gaze flicking over the grand foyer below.

“No,” I agree. “It never did.”

We stop at the double doors of my father’s old office. I hesitate for half a second before pushing them open.

The room is exactly how I remember it. A massive mahogany desk dominates the center, flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with ledgers, records—proof of every deal, every betrayal, every life my father crushed beneath his heel. The smell of aged leather and cigar smoke still lingers, despite the years that have passed.

I step inside, the ghost of my father’s voice whispering in my ears.

“One day, all of this will be yours.”

I loved him. I admired him. I feared him.

He taught me everything—how to read a man’s weakness in a single glance, how to make someone beg without ever lifting a weapon, how to control an empire with nothing more than a carefully placed threat.

“A leader doesn’t demand respect,figlio mio. He inspires it. Your men will follow you because they want to and not because you inspire fear.”

I approach the desk, running my hand over its surface. I remember sitting in that chair as a boy, my feet not even touching the floor, while my father towered over me, a smile on his face.

“A king must know how to kill, Vitali. Never let another man do what you are too afraid to do yourself. But always remember that mercy is just as powerful as a gun.”

I grip the edge of the desk, my jaw tightening.

My father ruled through loyalty but my uncle tried to lead through fear. He saw his own men as disposable. He believed power was maintained through bloodshed alone.

But I have learned something that neither of them could teach me. Power isn’t just about fear. It’s about control. It’s about knowing when to strike, when to withhold, when to destroy, and when to build.

Dario exhales beside me. “So, what now? You’ve taken back what’s rightfully yours. You have the power. The name. The respect. What do you want to do with it?”

I turn to face him, my decision already made.

“It’s time to change things,” I say. “The De Luca Empire doesn’t belong here anymore. It’s time to pass it on to someone new.”

Dario smirks. “And how do you plan to do that?”

I step around the desk, taking the seat my father once occupied.

By changing the status quo.

By handing it to someone I don’t want to lose but deserves what I am willing to reward.

I meet Dario’s gaze, my voice sharp, unyielding.

“We start by burning the old ways to the ground,” I tell him casually. “It’s yours, my friend. You will be the newDon.”

Dario stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You’re serious?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge of disbelief in it.

I lean back in the chair—hischair—my father’s throne that never truly belonged to me. It belonged to the man he wanted me to be, not the man I have become.

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t,” I reply smoothly, my fingers tapping against the wood. “The De Luca empire is yours now.”

Dario scoffs, shaking his head. “You fought too damn hard for this. You took back your father’s empire, wiped outeveryone who stood in your way, and now you’re just… handing it over?”

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