Page 125 of Stricken

We stare at each other for a while. Tony looks older, more fragile than I've ever seen him.

The silence is heavy with unvoiced emotions.

"Let's talk, nephew," he finally grits out.

CHAPTER40

NICO

The crimson stain on the floorboards pools like spilled wine. Or at least that's what it looks like in a weak, flickering candlelight—a morbid reminder of the violence that transpired a little while ago. I sidestep the blood, my gaze darting to Tony slouched in the armchair, face half-shrouded in shadow now from the angle his head is tilted downward.

Today was too much. I'd never lived through an attempted murder and a heist before. I hardly remember much from the time of war that claimed my father's life. The deaths were there. But it was never this close.

Tony's begins speaking in his tired raspy voice. "You already know what I'll ask, Nicola. If you stop this nonsense—" his entire face contorts as he flicks his wrist up into the air as if swatting a fly away—" with Solovey, I'm willing to forgive you for your… deviant ways."

Yes, I had a feeling this would be my uncle's game.

"What do you mean by ‘deviant ways'?" I ask carefully. "Do you see me wanting to be myself as some sort of illness?"

Tony waves a dismissive hand, ignoring my question. "I'll put you in charge. But that's my condition." Exhaustion bleeds into his tone as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Roberto and Salvatore, those useless sons of mine. No head for business, no brains at all." He shakes his head. "Roberto can't even manage a simple transaction without making a mess of things… And Salvatore is a mistake. That traitorous bastard—" Tony lifts his head to look at me. "But you, Nicola." His eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they bore into mine. "You've got potential. Smarts. Drive. Everything they lack. You are my brother's son."

I swallow hard, a war raging inside me. Lead the empire, gain Tony's favor, but forsake Vlad? The mere thought of never seeing him again tears at my insides like jagged glass. Yet the temptation dangles before me, tantalizing and terrible.

"I won't repeat myself twice, nephew. You know what needs to be done." He leans forward, his gaze hardening. "If you want to be the heir, to take your rightful place at the head of our family's business, then you will sever ties with Solovey. Permanently."

The gravity of his words feels like a pound of bullets lodged in my gut. To have everything I've ever wanted, the power, the respect, the legacy... but at what cost? The image of Vlad's face emerges in front of me. The idea of losing him, of never again basking in the warmth of his proximity, sends a wave of panic through me.

Tony reclines back in his chair. "Otherwise, Nico, you're free to go." His voice drops to a whisper, a velvety threat. "But know that if you do, there's no coming back."

I stand there, frozen, my mind reeling as I try to process the magnitude of the choice before me.

Seconds stretch into one another until I finally turn to leave, my footsteps heavy, each one a struggle against the emotional storm raging inside me. As I approach the door, Tony's voice reaches me once more like a final twist of the knife.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, nephew?" His words are deliberate, measured, heavy. "If you want the empire, you will not see Solovey for as long as I'm alive."

I pause, my hand on the lever to open the door, the metal cold against my skin.

If you want the empire, you'll forget who you are and become who your dying Uncle thinks you should be.

I glance back over my shoulder, meeting Tony's gaze. There's something in his eyes, a hidden message that I can't quite decipher. Is it a test of my loyalty? A challenge to see how far I'm willing to go? Or is there something more, a deeper game at play?

The questions swirl in my mind, along with uncertainty and doubt. I hesitate, searching Tony's face for answers, for a glimmer of clarity in this twisted web of manipulation. But his expression remains inscrutable.

I nod, a single, terse movement, before wrenching the lever to slide the door open.

Then I step out into the hallway.

As the door closes behind me with a soft click, I lean against the wall, my head in my hands. The corridors of the Morelli mansion—ruined by gunfire—sprawl out before me like a labyrinth of secrets and lies, of duty and desire. And I'm lost, trapped in the middle, with no clear path to follow.

I'm afraid, terrified that no matter what I choose, it will be the wrong decision. That in the end, I'll lose everything, everyone, that matters to me.

CHAPTER41

CHIARA

I'm too old for another war,Chiara Morelli thinks as she kneels at her bedside where pillows are tossed haphazardly like relics of abandoned dreams. Her hands are clasped together in fervent prayer while the crucifix on the wall above is looking down on her.

"Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome," she whispers, the familiar words of the Lord's prayer spilling from her trembling lips. "Give me strength. Guide me in these dark times."

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