? Dons ?
“Welcome to the Marviano family, Alex.”
The words settled in Alex’s mind like a lock clicking shut. For a moment, it felt as if a chain had been fastened around his neck. He stood still, unsure whether to take Carlo’s outstretched hand. Would shaking it mean accepting something deeper, something binding?
“Uh, Don Carlo,” Dante called quickly from the side, breaking the silence. “City manners are still kinda new to him, including the handshake part.”
To Alex, it felt like Dante had just saved him from signing a contract.
“Oh, my mistake then, Alex,” Carlo said with a warm smile, pulling his hand back. “I only meant to greet you.”
Alex gave a small nod, stiff and wary, his heartbeat steady but heavy.
Silvano finally rose from where he’d been speaking softly with Olivia. “Sweetheart, do you mind if I speak with Alex over there for a few minutes? I’ll finish quickly, then I’ll take you to look around. Guests should be arriving soon.” He turned toward Katie. “Of course, only if your mother doesn't mind.”
Katie shook her head with a polite smile.
Olivia nodded eagerly, excitement bright in her eyes. "Don't take too long!"
Emilio gestured toward a quiet table set for four. “This way, Alex.”
The three Dons moved together: Carlo, Silvano, Emilio. Alex followed, his chest tightening.
From the corner, Dante watched them go, his usual grin fading. He didn’t take his eyes off Alex, silently hoping this conversation wouldn’t turn into something else.
Then his glare came back to the girl sitting on the other side of the table.
Katie sat between him and Olivia, feeling caught in the middle of what could only be described as an electric glare exchange — the kind of stare that practically made the air sizzle between them.
“Olivia, honey,” Katie started cautiously, “um… would you like Dante to accompany you later on the tour with your grandpa?”
Olivia folded her arms, lips pressed tight. “Thanks, but no thanks. It's a tour for me, not a charity walk. I don’t need someone tagging along just to fill space.”
Dante forced a tight-lipped smile, a vein at his temple threatening to pop.
Katie turned to him, trying the different side. “Hey, Dante. Do you like Olivia’s dress?”
Dante looked her up and down, summoning all the patience he had. “Yep. It’s nice.”
Olivia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Did you just look me up and down like you’re pricing fabric?”
“I had to look at the dress to tell!” Dante barked defensively.
“Mm-hm. Next time, try doing it without measuring,” she said, her tone smooth and merciless.
Dante groaned. “You make it impossible to be nice, you know that? See, lady Katie?”
Olivia crossed her arms. “And the compliment too—work on that. It came out like you’re some expert. And who are you to comment on my dress?”
“Your mom asked!” he shot back.
“Then say I look beautiful,” she snapped, “or something better than ‘yep, it’s nice.’ That came out dry and disrespectful.”
“Well then, you don’t! You’re anything but beaut—”
Katie’s worried glance cut him off before he could finish. Dante bit his lip, muttering, “Whatever,” and slumped back in his chair.
The boy and the Dons took their seats. Alex sat across from Emilio, with Carlo on his left and Silvano on his right.
Silvano leaned back, his voice calm but carrying weight. “So… Gilbert’s son.”
Alex looked up, unsure if he should answer.
“You know,” Silvano went on, “your father once gave me a bad shot. Nearly cost me a lung.”
Alex’s eyes widened in horror, his breath caught.
Silvano tilted his head slightly, watching the boy stiffen, then added after a pause, low and deliberate, “Guess it’s time someone paid for that mistake.”
Alex froze.
The words hung heavy in the air—until both Emilio and Carlo turned toward Silvano, eyes narrowing in quiet disapproval.
Silvano blinked, then exhaled through a chuckle. “What? I’m joking! I’m in the mood for some jokes, can’t I?” He laughed, but no one joined him.
Emilio frowned. “That wasn’t funny. You scared the boy.”
Carlo turned fully to Alex, his expression softening, his tone warm and measured. “How’s the city treating you so far, son?”
Alex inhaled slowly, realizing he hadn’t spoken a word since the Dons entered. “I’ve been here for about three months... I’m slowly getting used to things.”
Carlo nodded. “And Dominick? How’s he with you?”
Alex swallowed. “He’s not around much. Me and Dante—we take care of ourselves at the apartment.”
Carlo smiled faintly. “I thought of sending someone to help, maybe a maid or a better place to stay. But Dominick’s stubborn about certain things. He insists on keeping you two isolated and your ties to us quiet. Even that suit—you look like a young prince in it. Hardly anyone would recognize you or Dante outside of here. Unless they looked really close.”
Alex nodded. “Yes... he’s very careful. And I understand.”
Emilio folded his hands. “And the missions? I believe you’ve done three or four by now? Any trouble?”
Alex hesitated. “Y-Yes. Three. On the first one... I was near the shooting.” He remembered Giovanni and Robert collapsing in that bar, blood everywhere.
Emilio sighed. “That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. But Dominick explained that one. He planned it well, but couldn't predict everything. Thank God you’re all right.”
Silvano leaned forward, studying Alex. “Anything else worth mentioning, Alex?”
Alex’s throat tightened. He thought of the Algraves mission—how he disobeyed orders and Dominick forgave him and let it slide. “No.”
The three Dons exchanged a brief look, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. They could read the hesitation, but chose not to press. The boy was nervous and anxious.
Silvano leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Look here, boy. We’re three grown men sitting with you, and from what I’ve heard, you’re a smart child. So we all know what’s running through your head.”
Alex kept his eyes on the table.
“I don’t even need to ask,” Silvano continued. “You hate us, or even want to kill us for taking you away from your parents.”
Alex shook his head slightly. “I don’t.”
He drew a slow breath, then exhaled, eyes fixed on the floor. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I just... wish I had stayed home... or could return someday.”
Carlo laid a hand on his shoulder. Vince had been too human, Dominick too heavy—but Carlo… Carlo’s touch was steady, warm in a way that admitted he was as ruthless as the rest, yet still human enough to reach out.
Emilio spoke next, his tone steady and careful. “All four of us here owe Dominick for the deal he proposed. We’re glad it allowed us to spare your father with certain assurances. And we never intended to harm your mother.”
He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Our proposal, originally, was that you come here, but not for missions or any danger.”
Alex looked up.
Silvano nodded. “We hoped you’d live normally. Private school, maybe university later. Grow up like one of our own. Dante was offered the same path.”
Emilio added, “But Dominick objected. He pushed for you to work under him instead.”
Carlo sighed softly. “He said it’d be hypocrisy that we take you from your family, then pretend to care for your comfort. He guessed you’d never accept that... being raised by the same men who ruined your life and living off our money.”
Silvano gave a slow nod. “And we agree. He was right.”
A pause settled. Then Silvano’s voice softened. “An apology won't change much. If anything, I won't blame you if you feel... disgusted.”
"Still..."
He looked Alex straight in the eyes.
“We’re sorry, Alex. That you have to go through this.”
"If only your father was smarter..."
Silence settled over the table — heavy, thoughtful, and just long enough to make Alex’s chest tighten.
Then Silvano rose from his seat, smoothing a hand over his slicked-back hair. “I believe that’s enough for now,” he said with a faint smile. “Let’s let the boy breathe a little — enjoy the hotel, go back to Dante. I’ll take Olivia for a tour; I’ve missed her already.”
Emilio nodded, his tone easing. “Go on. Make yourself at home.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Alex pushed back his chair, his legs a touch unsteady from the tension that still clung to him. “Thank you, sirs,” he murmured.
He followed Silvano toward the exit, his steps slow and careful, the echo of their conversation still circling in his mind. A few paces behind, he caught sight of the familiar table: Katie, her hand pressed against her face in a tired facepalm, and Olivia and Dante still at it.
Dante snapped, “I said I don’t care what color your dress is, it’s still ridiculous!”
Olivia played with her hair without even bothering looking at him. “Oh please, at least I don’t wear pants inside out.”
“That was one time!” he shot back.
“I wonder about that,” Olivia said dryly.
“Go find a corner to wonder in!” Dante barked.
Olivia was about to answer, but her eyes brightened with excitement as she saw Silvano approach.
“Let's go, Nonno Silvano!” Olivia shouted. Silvano carefully lifted her into her wheelchair and began guiding her on the tour outside the restaurant.
As he rolled forward, Olivia subtly turned to Dante and, with a mischievous grin, held her fingers together except for the thumb and moved them like a tiny mouth talking—a silent signal. "Keep blabbering."
Dante’s eyes narrowed, and he muttered under his breath, “Little witch.”
Then, he jumped from his seat and rushed to Alex, letting out a sigh of relief.
“How was it?” he asked.
“They’re nicer and warmer than I expected,” Alex admitted.
Dante froze for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “You mean… like Vince?”
Alex shook his head. “With Vince, I always feel danger behind his kindness. I can’t tell if he’s putting on an act or not. But the Dons… they were different.”
Alex turned to the empty table, eyes lingering on the three chairs still there. A strange sensation tugged at him, as if the Dons had left something behind—something invisible yet undeniable.
“They were honest. They acknowledged the evil they did to me, that they hurt me.”
He looked back at Dante. “I felt truth… and responsibility.”
Dante’s lips parted, caught between hallucination and fear.
But Alex’s calm expression pulled him back from spiraling thoughts. “But that doesn’t change anything, Dante.”
“Really?” Dante asked, wary.
Alex nodded. “They’re the men who wanted my father dead. That’s all I know.”
Dante exhaled, letting his usual grin return. “Good. You’re still Alex, I guess.”
Alex chuckled. “What did you expect? That I’d turn into some ‘Antonio’ ?”
Dante studied him theatrically. “You’re too pretty and soft for an ‘Antonio.’”
Alex laughed, then turned to Katie, wary and hesitant. "My apologies if you… heard that, Madam Katie. I meant no disrespect to your father-in-law."
Katie smiled, completely unbothered by what she heard. "Don't worry about it."
Alex hesitated, then asked. "May I know... um.. more about your husband? And how he passed away?"
The two boys caught the pain hidden behind her expression and quietly slid back into their seats beside her, careful to give her space.
"Claude… he tried to carve his own path, away from all of it. He made his own choices, studied, worked hard, despised not only nepotism and using others’ suffering for gain… and became a lawyer to escape the family business. He wanted to succeed on his own, without any push or favors. That’s the kind of man Claude was."
"So…" Alex muttered, "He was born into the family and sought a way out. When my father... and Dominick weren't, and sought to be part of it."
She nodded, before her voice returned. "But even someone like him couldn’t fully walk away. The Dons needed a lawyer they could fully trust… and there was only one: him. He didn’t want to get involved, but he cared about his father and the family. He couldn’t just abandon them. In the end… it cost him his life."
She let out a slow breath, eyes drifting upward. She looked at the roof, at the chandelier, imagining her husband there, speaking to her one last time, seeing Olivia, helping guide her through life—just for a single day, to watch his girl turn fourteen.
“Every time I come here, to Portenzo City… I remember him, and how much I despise this… so-called family.”
"Not just me," she continued. "Even the other daughters and daughters-in-law ran away. Only the sons remained in the city, and all died... except Dominick."
Dante leaned forward. “Then, Lady Katie, if you dislike the family so much, why celebrate Olivia's birthday here?”
Katie’s gaze softened, lingering on Olivia. “She loves her grandpa and wants to come here so bad to see him. So I thought I'd at least grant her this wish on her birthday,” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed. “As I… I couldn’t even give her normal legs to walk with.”
Alex reached out slightly. “No, madam Katie. You were strong enough to keep her alive that night. Olivia is lucky… lucky to have you as her mother.” He offered a small, reassuring smile.
Katie nodded, “Thank you. Both of you.”
Her gaze shifting to Dante, studying him carefully. “You used to be so carefree about all of this… I was afraid to speak to you, but… I see you’ve changed.”
Her eyes returned to Alex, lingering with quiet admiration.
Dante’s chin rose proudly, though a small smirk betrayed him. "Now I’m a changed man."
Alex chuckled. "Okay, changed man. As soon as Olivia gets back, we’re making you two get along."
Dante rolled his eyes, his grin sarcastic. "Yes… that will definitely happen."
A wagon stood parked three streets away from the hotel, the Marcetti henchmen huddled inside, their eyes fixed on the distant entrance and the doormen standing guard. The city noise barely reached them — only the restless creak of the wagon wheels and the low hum of anticipation filled the air.
“What’s taking Don Enzo so long?” one muttered, his hand resting on the butt of his shotgun. "He said he'd be here with us."
“No idea,” another replied, leaning forward to peer through the narrow slit of the curtain. “It’s still early… but as agreed, with or without him, we move once we hear gunfire. That’ll be our men — the signal.”
“Understood. Let us wait.”
Then—
Thud.
Something landed — maybe on the roof, maybe against the wagon wall — they couldn’t tell. The sound was dull, heavy, neither sharp nor loud, but enough to steal every breath inside
The men inside exchanged quick glances. One of the recruits nodded at the door. A seasoned man pushed it open and stepped out first, revolver hidden beneath his coat. Another followed.
The street was quiet, unnervingly normal— carriages passing, footsteps echoing, people strolling down the marble sidewalks.
“Could be a pigeon,” one muttered.
“Could be anything,” the other said, eyes narrowing upward.
As they turned back, watching their steps, they saw it—
An envelope, lying near one of the wagon’s wheels.
Both men froze again. One glanced at the rooftops, then the balconies, the narrow slits of windows up high — feeling, somehow, that each one was watching... and that now, there were more than before, his chest tightening with every imagined gaze.
The other crouched down, picked it up. The paper was clean, white, and unmarked.
He tore it open...
Two words.
Go home.
The words stared back — short, deliberate, ink still fresh.
They exchanged a look, their confidence draining.
“The hell does that mean?” one whispered.
"They are on to us... and maybe on to the men inside the hotel too."
For a long moment, they just listened—to the street, to the air, to the stillness above the wagon roof.
And in that silence, they felt it—
Something unseen watched back.
The lobby and restaurant of the hotel were alive with movement. Women in silks and sparkling jewelry drifted past tables, children tugged at their mothers’ hands, laughing or whispering secrets as they went. Servants scuttled about, balancing trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, keeping the polished floors spotless.
The men, however, were different. They lingered at the edges of the room, forming silent lines and small clusters. Their eyes flicked constantly, scanning the crowd and searching for the one who mattered tonight — Don Silvano. Whispers passed quickly, a mix of calculation and impatience. Who would get his attention first? Who would speak, who would wait?
Don Carlo was already seated with a guest who had brought his young son. On the surface, polite conversation flowed, but the man’s eyes were fixed on Carlo as he spoke.
“And so, Don Carlo… they … beat my daughter like an animal… all because she wanted to protect her honor.”
Carlo listened, expression unreadable, letting the words hit without interruption.
“Her nose was broken… her beautiful face ruined…” the man’s voice cracked, though he contained himself.
“And the bastards who did it? They walked free the very day they were caught.”
“Walked free?” he repeated, incredulous. “Ain’t that the law, though? No conviction without a male witness. Her word alone wasn’t worth a thing.”
“Don Carlo Marviano,” he carried on, resolute, “I came to you today seeking justice. Justice for my daughter.”
Don Carlo sighed—not boredom, but fatigue from countless similar tales over the years. “Your daughter is alive,” he said carefully. “There is no justice to deliver.” He let the words settle. “And usually, I wouldn’t discuss such things on a friend’s special occasion.”
The man’s gaze remained steady, firm. “I know you are a noble man, Don Carlo. And you wouldn’t reject my request—being the father of four women.”
“They didn’t come today, my friend,” Carlo said, leaning in slightly. “And you should have come to us first—before the police.”
The man’s hands clenched, his voice sharp with anger. “I believed in this country, in its laws, in its police. I trusted the law to do its duty… and it failed. I am a proud citizen. I pay my taxes, I help my community, I treat people fairly—I believed that would mean something. But the men who wrote those laws… they don’t know us, they don’t know my daughter, and they couldn’t care less about the harm they’ve allowed. They sit in their offices, writing rules for people they’ll never see, for problems they’ll never understand, and they call it justice.”
Carlo studied him, measuring regret, grief, and honesty.
“I will talk to Silvano for you to ensure this is taken care of. The right men will be assigned to this.”
The man’s eyes flickered with hope… and fear.
“The Undertaker? Dominick?”
Carlo’s expression remained calm, deliberate.
“Who is that?"
A heavy silence settled as the man wished he'd thought twice before speaking.
"No need to hunt rabbits with a canon. I'll leave it at that. The scums who assaulted your daughter will get an appropriate punishment—and Silvano will decide who delivers it.”
The grieving father swallowed, then finally rose, placing a hand over his chest in a bow.
“God bless you, and God bless the Marviano family.”
Carlo nodded, rising himself to shake the man’s hand.
At another table, Emilio greeted key figures with practiced charm. Nobles, businessmen, and minor dignitaries moved through his orbit, offering obsequious smiles and deferential bows.
A judge lingered longer than most, his robes replaced by evening attire, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Emilio caught his gaze and approached with a polite nod.
“Judge Romano,” Emilio said quietly, not looking up from his glass. “I can’t say I expected to see you here. I don’t believe you were invited.”
Romano hesitated, hand hovering over the chair before he finally sat.
“Forgive the intrusion, Don Emilio. I... I only wished to speak.”
Emilio’s eyes lifted to him, calm and sharp.
“Funny how quickly your manners changed within a week.”
Romano swallowed hard.
“I wanted to thank you. For keeping things... quiet.”
Emilio leaned back slightly.
“As promised, the newspapers didn’t print a word. Discretion is a service I still provide, even to men who forget who they owe.”
Romano looked down.
“I—I didn’t forget. I just don’t understand. That night—she was there, and then—” He stopped himself, voice cracking. “My wife still doesn’t know she existed. And now—”
Emilio tilted his head.
“Then I suggest she never finds out. A man like you having an affair with such a young mistress would be disastrous.”
Romano blinked, lost.
“But I woke up beside her. The blood... the knife... I don’t even remember picking it up.”
“Memory is a fragile thing,” Emilio said. “Maybe you drank, maybe you had a panic attack... but I don't care. What matters is that we will keep quiet about it. That girl doesn't have a family. No one is asking questions about her. No one called the police. My men did you the favor of cleaning up the mess and it will stay that way.”
Romano nodded weakly.
“We ask you to be a fair judge.” Emilio set his glass down, precise and final. “Stop playing with cases like you did. Be good to your wife and children. And if we ever need a favor, we will reach out.”
Romano’s voice trembled.
“Don Emilio... was this your doing?—”
Emilio rose smoothly, cutting him off with a small gesture.
“Enough discussing sad tragedies on such a delightful event. If you would excuse me, I have to greet the real guests, judge.”
He straightened his tie and stepped away, leaving Romano alone at the table — pale, motionless, a man realizing that peace had a price, and he’d already paid it.
Romano bit his lower lip, a bitter taste of regret filling him. Not for the mistress, not for the scandal—but for the man he had been, the judge he had wished to be as a child. Slowly, carefully, he rose from the chair, forced a trembling bow, and retreated, each step heavy with shame and fear.
The room thrummed with quiet tension. Children and women roamed freely, unaware of the undercurrents of ambition and fear.
And all around, the men waited their turn, masks of patience hiding the sharp hunger for a word with one of the Dons.
Silvano pushed Olivia’s wheelchair out of the elevator, into the hushed corridor of the hotel’s top floor.
“Those are the upper suites, Olivia,” he said, his voice smooth, almost proud. “Only for the special guests. You’ll be staying in the best one tonight with your Ma.”
Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Nice! Can you show me my room?”
“Oh no,” Silvano chuckled. “Not yet. It’ll be a surprise for later—after you’ve had a blast at the party.”
The corridor stretched ahead, carpet swallowing their steps, chandeliers dimmed to a soft gold.
At the far end, a man in his mid-twenties came up the stairs—a hotel staff uniform on his back, a tray under one arm. He looked the part, but something in his movements was off. Too careful. Too quiet.
He slowed as he spotted Silvano and the girl, keeping his distance but watching them closely.
“Here’s one of them, Don Silvano.” he murmured under his breath. "Alone. No guards. My chance!"
The man moved carefully and slowly. He stopped near one of the doors, pretending to check the room's number—
when it burst open.
Three men stepped out fast, precise. No words. One hand clamped over his mouth, another hooked his arm, a third dragged him inside. The door shut before his tray even hit the floor. Not a sound escaped.
Silvano glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk cutting across his face.
Olivia noticed nothing, humming softly as they rolled on.
Thank you for reading :)
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