Page 83 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

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I don’t flinch, but I feel it.

The shift.

The expectation that I was always going to be the wildcard in a silk suit with a sharp smile and soft hands.

They gave me time because they thought I’d burn myself out.

They gave me a wife because they thought it would settle me.

And now, they’re laying the ledger bare.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees.

"You think they’re testing us."

"I know they are," Luca replies. "They want to see if we’ll fight for what we built."

"And if we don’t?"

Marco turns from the window. "Then we lose the city. Inch by inch. Not in one clean coup, but in a hundred little betrayals. And once we bleed enough, someone bigger steps in."

It’s not just business anymore.

It never was, but this is different.

The idea that our own men might be the ones holding the knife—there’s history in that.

Men who forget where they came from tend to dig up the past to make a new future.

And the Salvatore name might be carved into marble now, but it’s still fresh.

Still drying.

"You want me to help," I say, though it’s not a question.

Luca lifts his glass. "No. We want you to lead."

My laugh is hollow. "You’re not retiring, Luca."

"No," he agrees. "But I’m no longer in the streets. You are. They know your face. You’re the one they followed into clubs and back alleys, into back rooms with stacks of cash and silk-draped girls. They looked up to you once. If there's anyone who can rally the forces, it's you."

I bristle, but Marco’s nod cuts through the heat rising in my chest.

"He’s right. You’re not just a Salvatore anymore. You’re a father. You’re a husband. That’s power, Dante. If you wear it right."

I sit back.

Let it settle.

Let the past seven years of indulgence and chaos trickle back in, then flicker away like ash.

I’ve been many things.

Reckless.

Charming.

Disposable.

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