The high tables

Blood is everything

I tightened my jaw, pushing the thought away. It didn’t matter. Gabriel was trying to get inside my head, and I wasn’t about to let him. I had to focus on what was important: protecting our family, protecting our business, and keeping everything we’d built from crumbling.

Another day of Mafian politics

The streets became a blur as I sped through the city, the bright lights of Naples casting long shadows in the rearview mirror. When I finally pulled up to the villa, the heavy iron gates swung open automatically, and I drove up the long, winding driveway. The familiar stone façade of the De Luca mansion loomed ahead, bathed in the soft glow of the placed lights. It looked more like a fortress than a home, and in many ways, it was.

I parked the car and stepped out, feeling the weight of the night settle over me like a dark and heavy cloak. As I made my way inside, I could already feel my father’s presence in the house. Even when he wasn’t around, his aura dominated every room and every corner of our lives.

His beloved aura

I found him in his study, seated behind his large mahogany desk, a cigar in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of smoke and aged leather. His sharp eyes looked up as I entered, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. He could always tell when something was on my mind.

"Isabella," he said, his deep voice filling the room. "You’re back earlier than I expected. How was your... meeting?"

There was a bit of curiosity in his tone, but I knew my father well enough to know that he was more interested in what I had learned than in the meeting itself. I walked over to one of the leather armchairs across from his desk and sat down, crossing my legs. I leaned back, studying him for a moment, trying to figure out how best to frame what had happened at the pier.

"Gabriel Rossi wanted to talk," I said, keeping my voice calm. "He thinks there’s some bigger threat coming, something that’s going to force our families into a war if we don’t do something about it."

For a moment, my father didn’t react. He took a slow drag of his cigar, his expression unreadable as if he was processing my words. Then, to my surprise, he let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the sound filling the room like thunder.

"A war, huh?" He shook his head, a smirk appeared at the corners of his lips. "That boy thinks he knows everything, doesn’t he?"

"A war, that's a new one Rossi"

I frowned, feeling the tension in my chest tighten. "He seemed serious, Papa. He was talking about new players in the game, about people making moves behind the scenes. He thinks we’re being pushed into a conflict that neither of us will survive."

My father waved a hand dismissively as if Gabriel’s warnings were nothing more than the idiotic chatter of a child. "Of course he does. The Rossis always think they’re two steps ahead of us, but they’re not. Gabriel’s father, Marco, used to try the same tricks talk of alliances, of threats on the horizon. It’s all smoke and mirrors, Isabella. They want us to panic, to make a mistake. But we’re smarter than that."

I watched him carefully, searching for any sign that he was taking this seriously, but his confidence never wavered. He leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down with a soft clink.

"You didn’t fall for it, did you?" he asked, his gaze sharp as it locked onto mine.

"No," I said, my voice firm. "I told him peace wasn’t an option."

My father’s smirk widened, and he nodded approvingly. "Good. That’s exactly what I would have done. The moment you show weakness, the moment you give them an inch, they’ll take everything. The Rossis want us to hesitate, to second-guess ourselves. But we don’t hesitate. We don’t flinch." not even for the motherfucking gods.

He stood up, walking around the desk until he was standing in front of me, his eyes locked into mine with that same unyielding intensity that I had grown up with. He placed a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture of affection from a man who was more used to dealing with enemies than with family.

"I’m proud of you, Isabella," he said, his voice low but steady. "You handled that exactly the way you were supposed to. Gabriel Rossi is just like his father he’ll say anything to get what he wants. But you didn’t fall for his trap. You kept your head."

I nodded, though there was a part of me that still felt uneasy. I didn’t trust Gabriel, but there had been something in his eyes, something in the way he spoke that made me wonder if he was playing the same game as his father. But I pushed the thought away. My father was right trust was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Not with the Rossis. Not with anyone.

"I didn’t trust him for a second," I said, meeting my father’s gaze. "But what if he’s right? What if there’s something bigger going on that we don’t know about?"

My father’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of something concern, maybe, or calculation. But it disappeared just as quickly as it had come, replaced by that same unwavering confidence.

"Then we’ll be ready," he said, his voice firm. "We’re always ready."

He turned away, walking back to his desk and picking up his cigar again. He took a long drag, letting the smoke move up around him as he leaned against the edge of the desk, his eyes distant for a moment. Then, he looked back at me, his expression becoming hard once more.