Page 72 of Crimson Fate
The clink of fine china and the murmur of voices fill the room, a symphony of normalcy that grates against my nerves. As they sip their wine, I feel Gia’s eyes on me—soft but suffocating.
“Vincent,” Anthony says, “you must have a reason you called us all here tonight. What is it?” He gestures to the woman at my side with a proud tilt of his head. I see the hunger in his eyes, the need for recognition that always simmers beneath his polished veneer.
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and let out a slow breath. The time is ripe for the first strike, a prelude to the war I’m about to wage. “Actually,” I say, my voice calm and steady, “I’ve asked you all here tonight for several reasons.”
“Please, do tell,” Anthony presses, a grin spreading across his face in anticipation. Knowing I will not give him the satisfaction he desperately craves is exhilarating.
Every eye around the table fixates on me, a captive audience to the performance about to unfold. “I’ve made a decision regarding the position of consigliere.” I pause for effect, watching the anticipation build in their gazes before turning to Marco. “Marco has proven his loyalty and wisdom time and again. There’s not a man in this organization I trust more. I think it’s only fair that he takes his rightful place as my adviser.”
The room bursts into applause as the men congratulate Marco, who nods with a humble smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Anthony’s applause is slow and deliberate, his smile fixed as if painted on. But I can see the gears turning behind those dark eyes, recalculating his next move in this high-stakes chess game we’re playing. When the clapping dies down, he leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the polished wood. “And what of the underboss position?” His question hangs in the air, an arrow aimed at my chest.
I meet his gaze, unflinching, despite the rage boiling within me. I can tell by the directness of his stare and the smugness of his expression he believes this position will be his. Perhaps this arrogance is due to the marriage he believes will be occurring between me and his daughter. How dare he assume the position is his? And how dare he plot and scheme and still expect to be rewarded?
Outwardly, I remain composed, the picture of a don in control, just as my father would have been. “That,” I say slowly, “is a discussion for another time. I intend to speak with each of the captains on the matter”—I sweep my gaze across the men seated around us—“individually. It’s something that will require careful consideration.”
Anthony’s face tightens, and the expectation in his eyes dims to a dangerous glint. I hold his stare until he averts his eyes to sip his wine.
“Of course, Vincent,” he says, voice smooth as ever but now laced with an edge that wasn’t there before. “We all trust your judgment.”
“Good,” I reply, my glass untouched before me. “Let’s continue to enjoy our meal, then. The night is still young.”
None of the men who sit in this room besides Marco understands how the family changes forever tonight.
I allow the minutes to tick by and the conversations to start before I clear my throat again. “Gentlemen, if I may have your attention.” Eyeballs snap to me, and the clink of silverware falls silent. I can see the anticipation again on Anthony’s face, and my heart flutters as everything falls into place, just as I had hoped. The more agitated Anthony becomes, the more likely I will be able to catch him off guard. My gaze lands on Smitty—a loyal soldier whose surprise is written all over his grizzled face.
“Smitty,” I say. “You’ve been with this family through thick and thin. Showed your loyalty without faltering.” I give him a nod of respect he’s earned tenfold. “And I think it’s high time we recognize that officially. I want to propose we vote to make Smitty a capo.”
The table stirs, a wave of approving nods and murmurs rolling around. Smitty’s eyes widen. “Vincent, I—” Smitty says, voice gravelly with emotion.
“Save it for later,” I say, cutting him off with a softness I rarely afford anyone. “You’ve waited long enough.”
A hand goes up, another follows, and like dominoes, the captains signal their unanimous decision. As the last hand raises, I glimpse Anthony from the corner of my eye. His jaw sets, impatience etching lines across his forehead. He came here tonight expecting me to announce my marriage to Gia and, apparently, for his position in the family to be elevated. I am not going to grant one single desire that piece of shit has.
“Congratulations, Smitty. You’re a captain now. Nobody will dare cross you again,” I announce, locking eyes with each man at the table. It’s a promise and a warning—all wrapped in one.
“Thank you, Vincent. Thank you, everyone,” Smitty manages, his voice steady despite the lingering shock.
As the accolades fade, servers glide between us, setting down plates of steaming lasagna. The rich aroma fills the room, mingling with the undercurrents of tension. Anthony shifts in his seat, his discomfort almost palpable.
“Excuse me, Vincent,” Anthony cuts in, eyes darting toward the exit. “I need to make an important call.”
My gaze narrows on him. “No,” I say, my voice low and even.
“Excuse me?” He gasps in utter disbelief.
“Better manners are expected from my captains. Whatever it is, it can wait until after we’ve eaten,” I reply.
His face reddens, anger flaring in his eyes. “Of course, Don Vincent,” he bites out, the title heavy with sarcasm as he settles back into his chair.
I watch him, the predator in me assessing every twitch, every clench of his jaw. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for—the tipping point. Eva’s absence digs at my mind, a persistent thorn, but I’m all about the hunt right now.
“Vincent,” Gia whispers. “Is everything okay?” I look over at her, and the first pang of guilt in the evening hits. She doesn’t deserve what is going to happen here tonight.
I force a smile, my eyes meeting Gia’s worry-filled gaze. “Everything is fine,” I assure her, my voice gentle and barely above a whisper as I lean close to her.
She looks at me with a puzzled stare. “Are you mad at my father?”