The rest of the family follows us into the meeting room, quickly taking their places at the table while keeping their curious stares on the boys. It hasn’t been that long since the last meeting, and I feel as though I barely recognize a single face. Though, I suppose that happens when the boys tend to slaughter anyone who dares stand against them. Hazard of the job, I suppose.
“Thank you for coming,” Roman starts, taking the lead as usual.
“What is this about?” the boys’ grandfather questions, his empty tumbler resting in the palm of his hand. “You have kept us waiting for an hour. Do you assume that you can click your fingers and we will fall to our knees?”
Levi shoots a sharp glare at his grandfather. “That’s exactly what we expect,” he states. “The moment this family pledged their loyalty to us, your time became ours. Do you need me to remind you of your place, old man? After the hell I’ve been through just to make it here today, I wouldn’t mind making an example of you.”
Roman watches the exchange before slowly turning his attention back to the table, making it known that his grandfather’s questions are not worth his time. “We did not intend to keep you waiting,” Roman says. “However, there are a few things that require our immediate attention.”
Soft murmurs rumble through the room and it takes only one venomous glare from Marcus to shut them all up. Roman continues. “Those of you who were in attendance at my father’s wedding three weeks ago, please stand.”
As one, every last man at the table stands and their eyes go wide, already knowing where this is going. Roman goes to say something when the young look-alike and two others walk into the room and meet Roman’s heavy stare. “It’s clean,” one of the other dudes says with a sharp nod before falling into their place around the table.
Roman waits until they’re comfortable and quiet before going on. “Those of you who attempted to put a stop to the wedding, take your seat.”
Terror rips across the table, the tension in the room thickening until it’s nearly impossible to breathe. “Roman,” a guy to his left says, a few seats down. “You must understand, we thought you were dead. We were left with no choice, and Giovanni insisted that your girl was a Moretti.”
All three of the boys watch the man, but it’s Marcus who speaks up. “So, what you’re telling me, Frances, is that if I came into your home in the middle of the night and slit your throat, you’d be okay with me taking your wife as my own?”
Frances doesn’t respond, but the fear in his eyes makes his thoughts on the question well known. Marcus winks. “Nothing to say?” he questions. “You’re either a loyal servant, willing to give up your most beloved treasure for the head of this family, or you’re just fucking stupid. Which is it?”
Frances averts his eyes, his stare heavy on the big table. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I apologize. I’m fucking stupid.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Roman grows tired of Marcus’ line of questioning and continues with his inquisition. “Those of you who even questioned my father of his intentions, take your seat.”
Three men take their seats, one of them being Roman’s younger look-alike, making me wonder if I should like the guy. After all, if he had the balls to question Giovanni on his intentions at such a young age, then he’s already proving that he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with. Given the years and experience, I’m sure he’ll dominate in this world.
Roman nods, not liking what he’s seeing. “Final question,” he states. “Those of you who stood by your vow of loyalty to me and my brothers and even considered saving the woman we love, take your seats.”
One more man takes his seat, and Roman lets out a heavy breath, disappointed in the lack of fight shown by his family. “I’m sure that you are all aware of the repercussions that will follow. Whether you thought my brothers and I had perished at our father’s hand or not, no bodies had been found, no confirmation of death was made. At that point, your loyalty still belonged to us, and we consider your failure to save Shayne from the clutches of Giovanni DeAngelis a direct betrayal.”
I can practically hear every heart beginning to race through the room, see the sweat coating their foreheads while hands flinch at their sides, ready to lunge for their guns if that’s what it comes down to. “Take your seats,” Roman says.
They all slowly do as they’ve been asked like a bunch of delinquent kids in the principal’s office. Nervous glances fill the room, terrified stares searching out others who feel that same sense of impending doom. They fucked up and they know it. But just to add that extra punch to the unspoken threat, Marcus and Levi begin making their way around the table, walking slowly behind their backs. Men flinch as they pass, knowing they could end them with their bare hands in a matter of seconds.
I hide my smirk and try to appear as the badass I want to be. It’s not exactly going to help my case if I’m caught grinning like a fox in the hen house.
“Why would your father claim that she is a Moretti then? Why should we believe anything different?”
Roman scoffs and discreetly takes my hand, out of sight from the prying eyes in the room. “When did I give you reason to believe otherwise?” he questions. “Shayne is a Moretti. My father was right. But she is not just any Moretti, she is the Moretti.”
Confused murmurs flow through the room as sharp eyes come to me, each of them filled with ugly promises and silent vows to end my life. “Four nights ago, Gia Moretti attacked our home. She got away with Levi and spent the next three days torturing him.”
Their grandfather slams his hand down on the table, the glass tumbler cracking with the force. “Why are we only just hearing of this now?”
“Because it was not necessary for you to know until now,” Roman throws back at him, irritated by his interruption. “Last night, we infiltrated Gia Moretti’s private residence and got Levi out of there. It wasn’t easy. She anticipated our arrival and had guards lying in wait. She drew us out just as she intended to do, but she was not prepared as well as she should have been. In the early hours of the morning, Shayne Moretti, this woman standing right beside me, the woman whom not one of you deemed worthy enough to save from my father’s clutches, slaughtered our greatest enemy with nothing but a flick of her wrist.”
“What?” the boys’ grandfather says, standing and gaping at me. “Gia Moretti is dead?”
I step forward, releasing Roman’s hand. “Yes. I ended her life, just as simply as I will end yours if you continue to doubt me and your grandsons.”
He swallows hard. “The Moretti empire has fallen,” he comments, almost in awe. “Who will rise in her place? She has no known heirs.”
“Think about it, grandfather,” Marcus says from across the room. “Why else would my father have such an interest in forcing a marriage to Shayne?”
All heads whip toward me again, and I raise my chin, knowing this can either go one of two ways. “My name is Shayne Moretti, and I am the only living heir of Gia Moretti. I am the new ruler of the Moretti empire.”