Chapter 46 Fiorella
I stood before my father's office, the heavy wooden desk between me and the man who now felt he could take his position.
My uncle, Vittorio D'Angelo.
He sat back in the chair that had previously belonged to my father, fingers clasped, looking at me like a man that had already made up his mind. Like this was already decided.
By his side was his son, Vincent, smiling as per usual, arms crossed over his chest as if already celebrating a victory he hadn't won yet.
"This isn't up for discussion, Fiorella," Vittorio told me, his voice firm, too firm. "It's in the best interest of the family."
A harsh laugh escaped me. "Best for the family? Or best for you?"
Vittorio sighed, massaging his temple as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. "Your father would have wanted..."
"Don't," I cut in, my voice cutting like a knife. "Don't speak for my father. You didn't even show up until the funeral."
His face darkened, but I didn't stop.
"You think because he's gone, you can just walk in and take it all?" I continued. "That I'll just step aside and let you and Vincent ruin this family?"
Vincent smiled. "Ruin? You think you're fit to lead?"
My fingers curled into fists. I stood in front of him, my voice cold. "I was trained for this, Vincent. I trained under my father when you were wasting your father’s money at clubs and casinos."
Vincent's smirk dropped, but Vittorio interrupted before he could.
"Fiorella, you don't have the experience."
"I have more experience than your son," I snapped. "And I have the loyalty of our men."
Vittorio relaxed, tipping forward his head. "Loyalty is a limited asset, Fiorella. You need power. Strength. Connections. Do you think the other families will respect a woman pulling the strings? Do you think the Marchesi will hesitate until they find a moment to strike once weakness is detected?"
A flicker of doubt threatened to creep in, but I forced it down. I would not let them see hesitation.
"Then let them try," I said to him, my voice steady. "No one crosses my family and gets to live to tell the tale."
Vittorio's head shook. "You're being irresponsible."
"No, I'm being smart and responsible," I retorted. "And I'm not stepping down."
Heavy, oppressive silence stretched out between us.
Vincent huddled close to his father. "We should just take everything from her," he growled, voice low but not low enough.
Vittorio held up a hand, but I saw the way his jaw tightened.
He had considered it.
I let a slow smile spread across my lips. "Try it," I told him, cocking my head. "See how well that works out for you."
Vincent tensed, his hands spiking at his sides, but Vittorio stood up from the chair, shoving his jacket down.
"This isn't over," he threatened.
I lifted my chin. "No, it's not."
He walked out, Vincent behind him, but when the door slammed shut, I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.
I stood in front of the desk, my father's desk, and set my hands on the wood, bracing myself.
I had won this battle.
But the war was only beginning.
The phone calls started ringing the next morning.
One after another.
I thought at first they were condolences, meaningless words from men who never truly respected my father, or me. But as I heard, my hand around the phone tightening.
It was not condolences.
It was betrayal.
"Fiorella," Alberto Roma’s voice, one of my father's oldest friends, came over the line. "You know how much I loved your father. He was a great man. But things have changed. You see, don't you?"
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. "Things have changed?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady.
He sighed as if this pained him, as if he wasn't going to leave all of it behind. "Business is business, and I have to do what's best for my family."
"By cutting ties with mine?"
Silence.
"Roma," I said, my voice cold now, slicing. "My father trusted you."
"He trusted me to do what was in his best interests," he replied. "And with you in control. people are nervous, Fiorella."
People.
The other families. The men who had sat across from my father, shaking his hand and swearing allegiance to him.
"I see," I whispered.
"I hope there aren't any hard feelings," he went on. "This is just the way things are."
Just the way things are.
Because I was a woman.
Because they saw me as weak.
I hung up on the final call without saying anything, but before I could even understand it, another call arrived.
And another.
All the conversations were the same.
Remorseful voices. Apologies veiled in fake concern.
And the message was clear, some of the alliances my father had worked decades to build were being torn apart overnight.
I stood at the window of my office, gazing out over the grounds of the estate as the pressure of it all weighed heavy on my ribs.
They were testing me.
Testing to see if I would shatter.
Vincent and Vittorio had probably been waiting for this, hoping that I would come crawling back, acknowledging that I wasn't yet ready to rule.
But they didn't know me.
I had expected the resistance. I had expected men who had no problem handling my father to hesitate at doing the same with me.
But hesitation could be turned into fear.
And fear… that could be controlled.
I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I reached for my phone.
If they wanted to see what kind of leader I was going to be, I'd show them.
The meeting had been in the great hall of the estate, where my father had stood once, commanding respect with a glare. Now all eyes were on me.
Some with skepticism. Some with wonder. Others with defiance.
I had demanded nothing less.
The men, my men, were lined up, waiting to hear my voice. Some were older , having spent years with the family, trained under my father. There were others younger, eager yet uncertain. My eyes swept around the room, my face impenetrable.
“If anyone doubts obeying my commands, then now is the moment to leave," I said to them, my voice low and commanding, echoing down the hall. "If you doubt a woman's ability to command, then leave. If you doubt my ability to protect this family, leave."
There was a heavy silence.
And then, movement.
I saw a group of men, a smaller number than I expected but still more than I thought, shift with unease.
One of them, a battle-scarred fellow named Elliot, who had served my father for over ten years, stepped forward.
"I mean no disrespect, Fiorella," he said hesitantly. "Your father was a fine man. But I took an oath to him, not to—"
"To his blood," I interrupted. "You took an oath to the D'Angelo family. Or was it a lie?"
He trailed off, but his decision was already made.
"I won't take orders from a girl," another man growled under his breath before he turned to leave.
A couple of others followed suit.
I allowed them to depart without a word. Without stopping them.
Because the men who stayed? They mattered more.
When they had departed, I turned my attention to those that remained. The ones that had stood strong, who hadn't let their prejudice overshadow their duty.
I moved forward, allowing my eyes to pass over them.
"This is my family now," I told them. "And I will defend it just as my father defended it. Those men who left? They were never really ours. They were weak. And in this world, weakness kills you."
I allowed the gravity of my words to sink in.
"Anyone else?" I asked.
Silence.
Then, a voice.
“I follow you, Dona,” one of my father’s trusted men, Salvatore, said, stepping forward. “We all do.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
I nodded once. “Then let’s get to work.”