Married To The Mafia Devil

Chapter 3: The Five Families' Verdict

DON MORETTI

I arrived at the Grandview penthouse exactly three minutes early—not so early that I appeared anxious, but punctual enough to demonstrate respect for the gravity of this situation. The emergency council meeting had been called within hours of confirmation that the De Luca girl was alive, and every family head knew what that meant: instability. Chaos. A threat to the carefully maintained balance we'd built over the last eight years.

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse suite, neutral territory we'd used for decades precisely because none of us owned it. The room was already heavy with cigar smoke and tension. Castellano stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, his bulk silhouetted against the night. Greco sat in the corner, fingers steepled, watching everything with those calculating eyes that made even me uncomfortable. Ricci paced near the bar, ice clinking in his glass with each agitated step. Valentino hadn't arrived yet—typical of him to make an entrance.

"Gentlemen," I said, crossing to the table where five chairs waited in a perfect circle. No head, no hierarchy. At least, that's what we pretended. "Shall we begin, or are we waiting for—"

"I'm here," Valentino announced, sweeping in with that theatrical flair that had always grated on my nerves. He was younger than the rest of us by a decade, having inherited his father's empire five years ago, and he still carried himself like a man playing dress-up in his father's clothes. "Though I question why we're meeting at all. One girl survives, and we panic like old women?"

Castellano turned from the window, his jowls quivering with barely contained rage. "One girl? That *one girl* is Serafina De Luca, heir to a fortune we've been dividing among ourselves for nearly a decade. Her very existence invalidates every claim we've made to De Luca assets."

"Legally, perhaps," Greco interjected softly, his voice like silk over steel. "But the law has never been our primary concern, has it? The question isn't whether she has a right to her family's legacy. The question is whether we allow her to exercise that right."

I took my seat, watching each man carefully. This was a dance I'd performed a thousand times—reading the room, calculating alliances, determining who would be swayed by logic and who required more... creative persuasion.

CASTELLANO

The Moretti patriarch was watching me like a hawk watches a mouse, probably thinking he was the smartest man in the room. He usually was, damn him, but this time I had the advantage. I'd already positioned my pieces. The De Luca girl's return threatened my operations more than anyone else's—her family had controlled the casinos before we carved up their territory, and I'd built my empire on that foundation. No way in hell was I giving it back.

"The solution is simple," I said, moving to the table and dropping my considerable weight into a chair that groaned in protest. "We eliminate the problem. Permanently. It's what we should have done eight years ago, but we were too squeamish about killing a teenage girl." I looked pointedly at Valentino, who'd been the most vocal opponent of hunting down survivors back then.

"Squeamish," Valentino repeated, his voice dripping with disdain as he took his seat. "Is that what we're calling basic humanity now? She was sixteen, Castellano. A child."

"She's not a child anymore," I shot back. "She walked into Santoro's fight club like she owned the place, dropped a hundred grand like it was pocket change, and showed that De Luca ring without fear. That's not a traumatized survivor. That's someone who's been planning. Training. Preparing for this moment."

Ricci stopped pacing and finally sat down, his political mind already working through scenarios. "Public execution is out of the question. Too many people saw her last night. The streets are already talking. Some of the old families—the ones we've absorbed—they're remembering the De Luca name. Remembering how things were before."

"Nostalgia," Greco murmured, "is a dangerous thing. It makes people forget why we took power in the first place."

"Because we were stronger," I said flatly. "And we're still stronger. Five families against one girl? Please."

Moretti leaned back in his chair, his expression maddeningly neutral. "You're all missing the obvious solution. We don't kill her. We control her."

GRECO

I'd been waiting for Moretti to make his move. He was always three steps ahead, which made him either the most valuable ally or the most dangerous enemy. I dealt in information, and I'd learned long ago that the deadliest weapon wasn't a gun or a knife—it was knowing what someone wanted and how badly they wanted it.

"Control her how?" I asked, though I already knew where this was going. Moretti didn't call emergency meetings unless he had a plan fully formed.

"Marriage," he said simply, and the word hung in the air like a blade. "We marry her to someone we trust. Someone who can manage her, access her resources, and ensure she doesn't become a rallying point for dissent."

Valentino laughed—actually laughed. "Manage her? Did you see what she did last night? She walked into one of the most dangerous places in the city without security, without fear, and announced her return like a queen reclaiming her throne. What makes you think she'll be *managed* by anyone?"

"Every queen needs a king," Castellano said slowly, his beady eyes lighting up with greed. "And if that king happens to be loyal to us... yes. Yes, I like this. Marry her off to one of our sons. My Carlo, perhaps—"

"Your Carlo is an i***t who can't manage his own appetites, let alone a woman like Serafina De Luca," Ricci cut in. "If we're doing this, it needs to be someone with intelligence. Strategy. Someone she can't manipulate."

Moretti's lips curved into what might have been a smile. "I have a son."

RICCI

Of course he did. Of course Moretti would position his own bloodline to absorb the De Luca fortune. I should have seen this coming, but I'd been too focused on the political ramifications—how Serafina's return might affect my carefully cultivated relationships with judges, prosecutors, and city officials. The De Lucas had always been cleaner than the rest of us, more legitimate on paper. If she started exposing our operations...

"Lorenzo," I said neutrally. "Your eldest. The one they call the Devil."

"My son," Moretti confirmed, "has the intelligence, ruthlessness, and self-control necessary for this task. He's built his own reputation independent of my name. He's respected. Feared. And unlike some of your heirs—" he glanced at Castellano, "—he thinks with his brain, not his cock."

Castellano's face purpled with rage, but he said nothing. We all knew his son Carlo was a liability, pretty but stupid, violent without strategy.

"What makes you think she'll agree?" Valentino asked. "Or that Lorenzo will, for that matter?"

"Lorenzo will do what's necessary for the family," Moretti said with absolute certainty. "As for the girl... we give her a choice. Marriage and a seat at the table, or exile and execution. She's survived this long because she's smart. She'll choose survival."

"And if she chooses to fight?" I pressed.

"Then we eliminate her together, and no one can claim innocence. We're all complicit. All protected."

VALENTINO

I watched these old wolves circle their prey and felt sick to my stomach. This was how it always worked—consolidation of power disguised as diplomacy, cruelty packaged as practicality. The girl had barely been back twenty-four hours, and we were already planning to either chain her or kill her.

"I disagree," I said clearly. "Serafina De Luca hasn't made a single hostile move. She showed up, she announced her presence. For all we know, she wants peace. Reconciliation. A chance to reclaim what's hers legally."

"Legally," Greco repeated with amusement. "Since when do we care about legality, Valentino?"

"Since we started acting like the very monsters that gave us our power," I snapped. "My father built this family on honor. On codes. We killed the De Lucas because they were investigating the Rossi situation—"

"Enough." Moretti's voice cracked like a whip. "We don't speak of that. Ever."

The silence was absolute. Even I knew I'd crossed a line. The Rossi family's elimination was the one topic we never discussed, the one secret that bound us all in mutual guilt.

"Vote," Castellano demanded, eager to move past the uncomfortable moment. "Marriage or death. Show hands."

I looked around the table. Castellano's hand was already raised—marriage. He wanted her wealth and influence absorbed, neutralized. Ricci raised his hand next—marriage. Political strategy over morality, as always. Greco raised his hand slowly—marriage. Information was power, and what better source than inside Moretti's own family?

Moretti didn't raise his hand. He didn't need to. His proposal, his son, his victory.

Four to one.

"Motion carries," Moretti said. "We send word to Serafina De Luca. She's invited to appear before this council within seventy-two hours. At that meeting, we'll present her with our terms: marriage to Lorenzo Moretti, or designation as an enemy of the Five Families."

"And if she refuses?" I asked, though I already knew.

Moretti's eyes were cold as winter. "Then we hunt her like we should have eight years ago. And this time, we don't leave survivors."

The meeting adjourned. As we filed toward the elevator, Castellano clapped Moretti on the shoulder. "Smart play. Your son gets the girl, you get the De Luca empire."

"We all benefit," Moretti corrected smoothly. "Isn't that what these councils are about? Mutual prosperity?"

I stayed behind, watching the city lights blur through the windows. Somewhere out there, Serafina De Luca was living her last hours of freedom, and she didn't even know it yet. We'd just decided her fate over cigars and expensive whiskey, the way we decided everything—with cold calculation and no regard for the human cost.

My father would have been ashamed.

But my father was dead, and I was here, and I'd just voted to trap a young woman in a cage made of marriage vows and mafia politics.

God forgive us all.