Page 7 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don
Her disrespect should be punished and he knows it.
Last year, Isabella accused me of murdering her mother.
I resolved that with her father, Leo, by arranging a marriage between her and Roman so Roman could keep an eye on her and find out why she’d think such a thing.
“I have proof.”
Antonio turns to her. “Gabriella, you need to stop.”
“No—”
“Listen to your father,” I warn her.
I don’t say more, waiting for her to finally recognize the error of her ways.
Every eye in the room is on me.
"Don Calabresi—" she starts, but I cut her off with a raised hand.
"Ms. Monti, you need to leave." I hold her gaze, keeping my voice level despite the storm raging inside me.
Antonio shifts again. "Marco, perhaps we could?—"
"No, Antonio." My tone softens slightly for my old friend but remains firm. "La Corona has protocols. Traditions. They exist for a reason."
I nod to Carlo, one of my security men stationed by the door.
He steps forward, not threatening, but a clear signal that I'm serious.
Gabriella's cheeks flush with anger. "You can't just?—"
"I can," I interrupt. "And I am."
Carlo opens the door, a silent invitation for her exit.
"This is ridiculous," she hisses. "Dad, tell them…"
Antonio looks torn, glancing between his daughter and the other Dons.
I can see the struggle on his face, wanting to support her but knowing the rules.
"Gabriella," he says gently, "perhaps it would be best if you waited outside."
"I'm not going anywhere." Her voice doesn't quaver. "Not while you're discussing my father's business."
The other Dons look from her to Antonio, clearly expecting him to be more forceful.
This standoff is unprecedented, a woman challenging a Don directly in front of the entire council.
It's more than disrespect. It's a direct challenge to Antonio’s authority and mine, since we're in my house.
My gaze never leaves her as I speak, my voice soft but laced with warning. "Perhaps I wasn't clear, Ms. Monti." I step toward her. "You're in my house now. My territory. My rules."
Her eyes flash with anger, but I catch something else there too, a flicker of uncertainty.
Good. She should be uncertain.
"This is a meeting of La Corona," she counters, "not your personal fiefdom."
