After a few more discussions, the consensus was that the present men were willing to follow our judgment. It was the first step in the right direction. One step of many.
“I’ll ask Remo and Nevio to join us now,” I said. I could tell that the men were still a bit confused because I was leading the meeting but Dad had decided we needed to split power between us more. I was eager to take over more responsibilities but knew tonight was a difficult time to start. Not everyone would be happy about.
I went to another smaller room where Remo and Nevio had been waiting. The moment they joined us, the tension in the room skyrocketed. It certainly didn’t help that Matteo gave Nevio a look that suggested he was on the verge of slicing him open. To my surprise Nevio ignored it completely. Only his eyes revealed his willingness to kill us all.
Remo even managed to keep a civil face despite Growl’s presence. Maybe tonight would go more smoothly than expected.
Dad, Valerio and I stepped on the platform. The hall was filled to the maximum with Made Men. The air was ripe with nervous energy. Matteo, Maximus and Romero dragged the seven men who were involved in the attack on Greta onto the stage, and for a moment my own need for bloodshed was so strong, I had to look away from Antonaci or risk losing control. If I fucked up our plan, I’d kick myself. Dad was risking so much with this, I had to stay in control.
Dad must have sensed my conflict because he took the lead again and faced our soldiers. He explained the situation to them and soon the noise level grew to unpleasant heights.
“Silence!” I roared, losing my patience.
The last few whispers died when I stepped to the very edge of the platform. “As my father has said. We have negotiated a new peace with the Camorra for all of your safety and prosperity. Many of you have been longing for peace. But it comes with a price.”
“You want peace because you want the Falcone girl!” one of the men shouted.
“What about your wife? Where’s she? There are rumors that a Falcone killed her.”
“I was about to divorce Cressida, and ask Greta Falcone for her hand.” New whispers arose. “Cressida tried to have Greta killed.”
“She was the enemy, so what?”
“She is the woman I chose to be mine,” I growled, fixing the man who had spoken with a glower. “And nobody touches what’s mine. I allowed Nevio to avenge his sister as I did with the men who hurt my sister many years ago. And tonight the Capo of the Camorra and his son are here to finish their revenge with our help as a sign of our new truce and show of our unity as a soon to be family.”
Remo and Nevio stepped up on the stage in that moment on Dad’s sign.
I motioned Remo and Nevio to join my father and me at the front. “We’ll be stronger than before. We’ll create new, stronger bonds and we’ll beat down our enemies with utmost cruelty.”
Remo gave me a twisted grin. I imagined he appreciated my words.
“What about you, Matteo,” an older soldier stepped forward. “That Falcone boy kidnapped your wife and daughter with his friends and you tell me you’re going to become family?”
Matteo’s answering smile had my pulse spike again. Nevio still managed to appear completely unperturbed. I wondered if Remo had given him a sedative. That crazy fucker had never controlled his rage before.
“I don’t like to dwell in the past and neither should you,” Matteo said. “Neither Isabella nor Gianna were harmed physically that day. The matter is settled. We spilled enough blood in the months that followed. Now we’ll settle our differences and join forces as a very messed up family.”
A few men snickered. Matteo always managed to find humor in the most twisted situations.
“I think it’s time to deal with these men now.” Dad motioned at the men responsible for Greta’s injuries.
Nevio braced himself beside me as if he were ready to pounce on them and tear their throats out with his bare teeth.
“Let us hear what Antonaci has to say! He must get the chance to defend himself,” one of the Traditionalists shouted.
I scanned the room to count the men who nodded their agreement. Maybe a third of our men.
“This isn’t a fucking democracy,” Matteo said.
But I stepped forward and bent over Antonaci, my gaze locking on his. He didn’t look away. It took all my willpower to simply remove the tape over his mouth and step back.
“The Camorra killed my daughter! He killed my daughter!” He tossed his chin at Nevio, who bared his teeth in a scary grin. “It was an absolute pleasure.”
“Your daughter tried to kill Greta Falcone,” Dad said, trying to defuse the situation, which was a lost cause. “Nobody attacks without my permission. And we don’t ever attack women, not even at war.”
“Why don’t you tell everyone what really happened? That your son cheated on his daughter with that little Falcone whore?” another Traditionalist screamed.
Rage blinded my vision as I jumped off the platform before anyone could stop me, shoved into the crowd and slammed the man to the ground. My hand wrapped around his throat. It was all too familiar. I’d often wondered why Dad had used his bare hands to kill a man who insulted Mom. But feeling the frantic throbbing of panic against my fingertips as I choked the asshole was fucking beautiful and so much more satisfactory than the detached use of a knife or gun.