Snapping Point||Book 1

62.

Romano De Rossi

The fragrance of recently acquired furniture and newly painted railings permeated the atmosphere of the hallway. Morelli was renovating the hall. I wondered why, since we barely even had events anymore.

At a time when the Family faced nearly zero challenges and even fewer setbacks, any and all accomplishments were commemorated. Even something as little as Claudio and Bianca's fifth year anniversary. Currently, with the severity of our situation escalated to new heights, the presence of Santo and Angelo was not worthy of the fervor surrounding it.

I was suited up for the occasion, no doubt about it. Not their little celebration—that was two days off. No, this was the sit-down with Morelli and the Rossis. Maybe my old man finally decided to spill the beans. Whatever trick he thought he had, I had a counter ready. That's a fact.

I took a left and ended up in Morelli's corridor. Since his whole family got whacked, I bet he hadn't spent three nights straight in his mansion. This was his spot now, just a few doors down from mine. The memories of his past were still intact in that place. Three sons and a beautiful wife—they didn't deserve what happened to them.

But I bet today, those ambitious men in his circle must be thanking that pilot's soul for crashing a 787 Dreamliner and taking three hundred lives with him. That accident set all this into motion. Rossi wouldn't dream of being Don if Morelli's sons were still around. I wouldn't be the boss if Cristiano were still alive. Rossi and Amato's hunger for power would've been snuffed out. Everyone would've known their place, and no one would dare to overthrow another. It used to be like that.

The sounds coming from Morelli's quarters were muffled, but I could recognize the voices. Vitriol was there, Morelli too, no doubt. My father's cheerful laughter didn't hesitate to make my blood boil. As for Angelo, I wasn't sure.

I pushed the door open slowly, adjusting my overcoat before raising my eyes. I saw faces—more than I'd have liked. Ottavio stood right beside his father's desk, looking submissive. Though he feared his adoptive father, I'd never seen him stand so firmly by his side—not in agreement, anyway.

Verde was close to Rossi, and Amato stayed near his Don.

My replacement stood near his own father. If things weren't so screwed up with me, I should've been there, right by the big window with my own father. But I was ready for this. Ready to be a lone fighter. Ever since Vilma died, I knew counting on my useless father was worse than facing a million battles solo.

Half the room seemed thrilled about whatever this was. The other half looked confused and shocked. Morelli and Ottavio were definitely in the latter group.

Ignoring the eyes on me, I handed my briefcase to Max, who was right behind me. "Thanks." Then I disarmed, giving him my gun too.

"Give us the room," Morelli ordered, and Max was gone.

Time ticked, my ears buzzed, and anger coursed down my spine.

A smile flickered on my father's lips. He got up, buttoning his suit. "I'm sure you've heard about your uncle's arrival, Romano. It's been twenty-four hours, and you've been AWOL."

"Duty calls." To needle him and his cronies even more, I added, "Welcome, Santo. Angelo, I hope you're enjoying your stay. It's a real pleasure to have you here, though the purpose of your visit is still a mystery to me."

Rossi cut in quick, probably to save face from his worthless son's unfiltered mouth. "People... some people are decent. They care about family. But let's not kid ourselves—this isn't about decency. It's about necessity." He stepped closer. "And the duty you so boldly speak of is as clear as your pursuit of impossibilities."