I received the call in the afternoon. Mother’s voice had been thin and clogged with tears. She’d asked if I’d been alone, and then she’d whispered the words I’d half been expecting. ‘Your father’s dead. He’s finally gone.’
I’d gone cold, tightening and redrawing into myself. I’d called the airport, had the plane prepared for a flight back, and grateful Mel had gone out on the town with Lucian, I’d driven to the airport alone.
It was evening now, the air still as my brothers and I huddled around the family house. Nobody was saying much, and the space seemed chillingly quiet for the number of people gathered in the living room.
Mother sniffles and wipes at her eyes. ‘Do any of you need anything? A meal? Some coffee?’
Her eyes are pleading, as though she’s asking us to give her something to do with herself. Her green eyes are cloudy, filled to the brim with tears that she holds back. I shake my head no; my stomach is too knotted to let anything slip past my clenched lips.
‘I’ll have some coffee, mother. Actually I’ll come with you.’ Knox says. He stands and follows Mother, hugging her gently to his side as though to offer her strength. I watch them go, then close my eyes and lean back into my chair.
‘It’s your turn now.’ It’s Alec. His voice is quiet, a confirmation of something I already know. The weight of leadership, of responsibility, now rests squarely on my shoulders.
‘Can we not talk about this today?’ Declan rasps out.
I open my eyes and run a hand through my hair. ‘I’ll inform the Famiglia by morning. Get ready for the meeting.’
‘We should bury him first.’ Declan’s voice breaks the heavy silence. He stands and walks to the window.
For the first time in a long fucking while, Declan doesn’t look put together. His hair isn’t slicked back perfectly against his skull, and his agitated pacing shows not an iota of control.
He paces the room, a caged restlessness that mirrors the storm within. The loss of control, the unraveling of the carefully crafted facade, is a testament to the depth of his grief.
I turn to him, frustration lacing my words. ‘We will. But the meeting will be held tomorrow. We always knew this would happen. We’ve been preparing for it for years now. We will not hide our faces in the sand and pretend reality doesn’t exist.’ I snap at Declan, who glares at me.
I fist my hands at my sides and stand. ‘Do you understand? You will be at the meeting bright and early.’
He nods and I leave the room. The men of the Famiglia will be here soon. The most high ranking members at the table will want to know if he is dead. Truly and fully gone.
And they will want to sniff like sharks at the smell of blood, searching for a weakness they will never find in me.
I’m glad Melissa is gone. That she’s away safe and tucked away in Cabo where none of this will get to her.
I’ll call her later when I have a better grasp on my emotions. When I know how to tell her the man who trained and reared me is dead. When I don’t feel this cold fist of air in my chest strangling my every breath.
I am relieved that she is spared from the intricacies of our dark world, shielded from the machinations that now require my undivided attention. Even more so, that Lucian doesn’t have to see this.
Exiting the house, I feel the cool night air on my face, a stark contrast to the heated emotions within. The famiglia will demand answers, and I will provide them. My father’s death marks a shift, a transition that we cannot afford to stumble through.
Alec follows beside me as I walk to the car. “He’s right, you know.”
I glare at him. “The responsibility doesn’t fall to you. Do you know what happens to men who don’t protect their ranks? They get trampled by rabid dogs who want their share of the meat.”
“It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to mourn Father.”
“You’re right it doesn’t. But it does mean I have to protect his legacy. And that’s what I’m doing. Protecting what he chose over us time and time again.”
Alec doesn’t argue with me. And I walk away from him to the car, where Ryder has the door already standing open. I slide inside. “Straight back home.”
As I prepare to face the Famiglia, the weight of the legacy we carry bears down on me. My father may be gone, but his influence and his teachings live on within the Famiglia.
It is my duty to ensure that the foundation he built remains unshaken, even in the wake of his departure.
As the heavy wooden door creaks open, Alec, Declan, and Knox enter, their footsteps echoing in the solemn silence. I follow behind them as a hushed acknowledgment sweeps through the room as the brothers position themselves behind me.
Tradition demands their standing until I take my seat, a symbolic gesture of respect for the ascending Capo. There’s no pretending we don’t all know why we’re here.
I approach the ornate chair at the head of the table, the weight of expectation settling on my shoulders. As I seat myself, the subtle rustle of fabric indicates the unanimous acknowledgment of the Famiglia.
The dimly lit room buzzes with tension as the men of the Famiglia occupy their positions, each one a cog in the intricate machinery of our world.
Five figures, distinguished by the weight of authority they carry, sit in a calculated arrangement, their faces etched with the stoic demeanor expected in these hallowed chambers.
These five men are the men who hold up the Amorys. The same way the pillars help the foundation hold a building aloft. We are the foundations, they are the pillars.
At the head of the table sits Lorenzo Moretti, the Consigliere, his sharp mind and shrewd calculations guiding the Famiglia through the labyrinth of alliances and power dynamics within the criminal underworld.
Beside him, Marco Rossi, a man known for his cunning strategies and ruthless execution of orders, observes the proceedings with an unreadable expression.
On Lorenzo’s left, Giovanni Russo, the Caporegime responsible for orchestrating the Famiglia’s lucrative racketeering ventures. His eyes, cold and calculating, survey the room, acknowledging the weight of the moment.
Opposite Giovanni, Carlo Vitale, the Enforcer, a man whose reputation for swift and merciless justice precedes him. His presence alone would normally send a subtle tremor through the room. But all the men here today are powerful, he’s just another man.
Completing the assembly, Antonio Lombardi, the Accountant, maintains a meticulous record of the Famiglia’s financial endeavors, his ledger a testament to the delicate dance between legality and criminality that sustains our existence.
The air thickens with the hold of unspoken words as Lorenzo begins the proceedings.
“Xander, we gather today to discuss the transition of power, a solemn moment in the history of our Famiglia. Your father’s legacy demands a seamless continuation, and we look to you to find a guide through the challenges that lie ahead.”
The dim light casts shadows on the faces of those assembled, the gravity of their responsibilities etched into every line and furrow.
I nod at him. There is no hesitation in me. Even a whiff is enough to bring any of these men to the conclusion they can overthrow me. “And I am ready to lead.”
A dissenting murmur emerges from Marcello Russo, a brash and impulsive soldier known for his recklessness. His eyes bear a challenge, his posturing suggesting an unsettling desire for confrontation.
As the murmurs gain momentum, I lock eyes with Marcello, a silent warning passing between us. “Marcello,” I address him with a steely resolve. “Is there anything you wish to say at the table?”
“Are we truly together in this? Your Father, bless his soul, had kept us tight. And he kept tight with us. Are you willing or ready?”
I do not give him my attention as I answer the question. “Questioning the unity of the Famiglia is a dangerous path. We are bound by loyalty and tradition. Disrupting that harmony jeopardizes not only your position but the stability of our organization. And every dissent will be squashed. There should be no question of that.”
The room falls silent, the unspoken threat lingering in the air. The other men exchange glances, recognizing the gravity of the moment. Tradition dictates respect, and any deviation breeds consequences.
Lorenzo, sensing the need to redirect the focus, interjects, “Let us discuss the Famiglia’s future under Xander’s guidance. The challenges may be formidable, but so is our resolve. We have watched him lead. Nothing changes now.”
The shadows dance on the walls as the discussion unfolds, the fate of our Famiglia hanging in the balance. The room holds a loud silence before Giovanni Russo breaks it with a gruff voice, “Xander, your father held this Famiglia together with an iron grip. Can you do the same?”
My response is measured, “Giovanni, I aim not only to maintain but to elevate our standing. My father’s legacy demands nothing less.”
Carlo Vitale leans forward, his cold eyes locked onto mine, “Legacy means nothing if you can’t enforce it. We need strength, not aspirations.”
I meet his gaze evenly, “Strength is earned through respect, Carlo. A united Famiglia is an unstoppable force. Division is our only weakness.”
Antonio Lombardi’s voice holds a hint of skepticism. “Earning respect takes time. Time we may not have. What’s your immediate strategy, Xander?”
Alec speaks up, “Antonio, my brother knows the value of time. We’re not starting from scratch; we’re building on a foundation our father laid meticulously.”
But Marcello Russo, brash and insubordinate, can’t resist challenging, “Building on foundations is for architects, not Capos. What’s your plan, Xander, besides pretty words?”
My patience wanes, “Marcello, loyalty is earned, not demanded. If you question your place, perhaps you need to reassess your loyalty.”
Declan, always the voice of reason, attempts to diffuse, “Enough, Marcello. The Capo has spoken. We move forward as one.”
Giovanni, not easily deterred, adds, “Actions speak louder than words, Xander. We need to see what you’re made of.”
With calculated calm, I lean back, “Then watch closely, Giovanni.”
The meeting ends soon and as is tradition, I lead the men back to the house to give their final respects to Mother. The house is already crowded with the men who work for us. Sandro is by the door, a cigar stuck to the corner of his lips.
I ignore him, heading straight to Mother with my brothers. Sedric is off by the side, speaking to his son.
I head towards them, but movement by the stairs catches my attention, and I lift my head to look, the air freezing in my icy lungs. What the fuck is going on here?
