Page 63 of Tower of Temptations

They gathered closer, each finding some way to connect—a hand on my arm, fingers in my hair, palms resting carefully over our miracle. The fear that had lived in me since that moment in Vittorio's study finally began to fade.

"Rest now," Giuliano murmured as my eyes grew heavy. His lips brushed my temple. "We've got you."

Morning light painted the room in gold as I drifted off, the quiet murmurs of seven changed men washing over me like a lullaby. My last thought wasn't about safety or protection—it was about love, and how it could turn even the deadliest of hearts gentle.

34

GIULIANO

The numbers on my phone blurred together.

Three territory disputes. Five of Vittorio's old captains making moves. And one meeting I couldn't push back any longer.

Rain turned Providence's streets into mirrors, each droplet carrying memories of lessons learned under my father's unwavering stare. Fifteen minutes from the hospital to Il Tramonto. Fifteen minutes to shift from the man I was becoming back to the son who'd spent decades trying to earn the Barbieri name.

My mind kept drifting to that hospital room, to Pearl's steady breathing, to Nico's watchful presence, and the others taking their silent shifts. That tiny flutter on the screen had changed everything, and I still hadn't found the words for it.

The restaurant looked exactly as it had when I was sixteen. Old brick and faded awnings, tucked between newer buildings like a stubborn memory. Rain made the neon sign blur, "Il Tramonto" bleeding red across wet pavement. My driver knew to pull upat the side entrance, where the security cameras had the best coverage. Where I'd watched countless men enter proud and leave broken.

I caught myself squaring my shoulders before walking in, an old habit from trying to meet his standards. Inside, nothing had changed: the same corner booth where my father held court, two espressos waiting with that precise spacing I'd learned to mimic. Back to the wall, eyes on the exits. His rules, drilled into me until they became instinct.

He sat there, a touch of gray at his temples now, but his eyes still cut like razors when they found mine. That look still made something in my chest tighten even after all these years of proving myself. Building my own empire. Making my own rules.

But here, in this booth where I'd watched him break men and build kingdoms over bitter coffee, I was still that kid trying to keep his hands steady on the cup, desperate to be worthy of the Barbieri name.

"Sit."

The espresso's bitter scent filled the air between us. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, the rain painting shadows across his face.

"Vittorio's captains," he said finally, breaking the silence. "You offered them legitimate businesses instead of bullets."

"Dead men can't earn." I met his gaze steadily. "And fear only works until someone offers a better way."

"A better way." He studied me over his cup, something shifting in his expression. "You dismantled his entire operation without a single war. No headlines. No bodies." His fingers traced thecup's rim, a gesture that usually preceded bloodshed. "Clean. Almost elegant."

"People saw profit in peace," I replied simply. "When you stop ruling through fear, they start seeing opportunities instead of threats."

The rain drummed against the windows. He took another sip of his espresso, his silence carrying more weight than words.

"These men of yours." He gestured slightly with his cup. "I've seen how they operate. How they move together." A slight nod, almost to himself. "That kind of trust... you can't buy that. Can't force it either."

I felt the shift in the air between us. He'd never approved of how I chose my inner circle—men who'd walked away from other families, who'd broken old ties to forge new ones. But now, there was something different in how he said it. Almost like respect.

"Strange times," he said after a moment. "When Salvatore's territory causes such... unexpected changes. Not just in business."

My jaw tightened but I held his stare. Everything in me wanted to keep Pearl away from this, from the weight of old blood and older promises.

"Your mother," he said quietly, surprising me with the mention, "she used to say some things matter more than business." His voice hardened slightly. "Took me too long to understand what she meant. Maybe you're smarter than I was."

He reached inside his jacket, pulling out a worn leather portfolio I'd seen it a hundred times but never been allowed to touch. The sight of it made my throat tight.

"Been thinking about the villa in Sicily," he said, running his thumb over the edge. "Air's better there. Might stay a while."

He opened it, and I caught the glint of his personal pistol, the gold-inlaid Beretta he'd carried since before I was born. Next came the key to his private vault, then his black ledger. The one that held three generations of our true accounts.

"You'll need these." He slid them across one by one. "Your grandfather's contacts are in there too."

I stared at the items laid between us—everything I'd spent years fighting to prove I deserved.

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