Chapter 5: The Vultures Circle
Valentina's POV
The conference room felt like a tomb.
Twenty-three people sat around the massive table, all of them men except for me. The air was thick with cigar smoke and expensive cologne and barely concealed ambition. My father had been dead for six hours, and they'd already called an emergency meeting.
I sat at the far end, as far from the head of the table as possible. Marco slumped beside me, still wearing his rumpled clothes from the bar. He smelled like whiskey and grief.
Uncle Roberto sat in my father's chair.
That alone told me everything I needed to know.
"We're here to discuss succession." Roberto's voice carried the weight of assumed authority. He was my father's younger brother by three years, stockier and louder and nowhere near as smart. But he had allies, and in this room, allies mattered more than bloodlines.
"Vincent's will hasn't been read yet." Paulo sat two seats down from Roberto, his new glasses reflecting the overhead lights. "Legally, we should wait."
"Legally." Roberto laughed, and several men joined him. "Since when do we care about legal? Vincent is dead. Someone needs to take control before this family falls apart."
"Marco is his son." The voice came from the middle of the table. Salvatore, one of my father's oldest associates. "Direct line. The family should go to him."
All eyes turned to Marco.
My brother looked like he wanted to disappear. His hands shook as he reached for his water glass. He'd been drinking since we found the body. I'd watched him drain half a bottle of scotch while the police took their statements and asked their useless questions.
"Marco is nineteen." Roberto said it gently, like he was being kind. "Too young. Too inexperienced. He needs time to grow into leadership."
"With you as regent, I suppose?" Salvatore's tone was sharp.
"If the family agrees, yes."
"The family doesn't agree." Another voice, this one belonging to Antonio Ferrara, head of our smuggling operations. "I don't trust you, Roberto. Never have. You were always jealous of Vincent."
Roberto's face flushed. "How dare you—"
"He's right." Someone else spoke up. Then another. The room erupted into arguments, accusations flying like bullets. Old grudges surfaced. Ancient slights were remembered. The Romano family was fracturing in real time.
I watched it happen and said nothing.
Paulo stood, raising his hands for silence. Surprisingly, he got it. "Gentlemen, please. We're all grieving. We're all angry. But we need to think about what Vincent would want."
"Vincent would want his son to lead." Salvatore again.
"Vincent's son can barely stand up straight." Roberto gestured at Marco, who flinched. "Look at him. Does he look like a boss to you?"
Marco's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.
"Maybe if you hadn't spent years undermining him, he'd be stronger." The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.
The room went silent.
Roberto turned his cold eyes on me. "I'm sorry, did someone ask for the woman's opinion?"
Heat flooded my face, but I held his gaze. "This woman is Vincent Romano's daughter. I have as much right to speak here as anyone."
"You have no rights here." Roberto's voice dropped to something dangerous. "This is family business. Real family business. Not charity galas and pretty dresses."
"I'm his blood."
"You're a bargaining chip." Roberto leaned back in my father's chair, making himself comfortable. "A very valuable one. Alessandro Greco wants to marry you, and that alliance would strengthen this family considerably. That's your contribution, Valentina. Smile pretty and marry who we tell you to."
Shame burned through me. Not because he was wrong, but because everyone in this room knew he was right.
"The engagement should proceed." Paulo adjusted his glasses. "Alessandro is loyal. Smart. With him as Valentina's husband, we'd have strong leadership for the next generation."
"Alessandro isn't Romano." Salvatore sounded disgusted. "He's an outsider."
"He's been with this family for eight years."
"Still not blood."
The arguments started again, louder this time. Accusations about who'd really killed my father. Speculation about inside jobs and outside hits. Everyone had theories. No one had answers.
I looked at Marco. He stared at the table, his face blank, somewhere far away. I recognized that look. He was shutting down, retreating into himself the way he always did when things got too hard.
He couldn't lead like this. Roberto was right about that much.
But Roberto couldn't lead either. He was ambitious without being intelligent, ruthless without being strategic. Under his leadership, the Romano family would tear itself apart within a year.
"There's another option." Paulo's voice cut through the chaos. "A council. Roberto as head, with Marco learning under him. Valentina's marriage to Alessandro brings him into the family structure. Shared power until Marco is ready."
Roberto considered this. I could see him calculating, weighing odds. A council gave him control while technically honoring the bloodline. Smart compromise.
Smart for him.
"I can live with that." Roberto looked around the table. "Who agrees?"
Hands went up slowly. Not everyone. Salvatore kept his arms crossed. But enough hands rose to make it official.
Just like that, my future was decided.
Marco would be a figurehead. Roberto would have real power. And I would marry Alessandro, becoming a wife instead of a daughter, a trophy instead of a person.
"Good." Roberto stood. "Then it's settled. Meeting adjourned. Marco, Valentina, stay behind."
The room emptied slowly. Salvatore caught my eye as he left, something like pity in his expression. Paulo lingered by the door until Roberto waved him away.
Then it was just the three of us.
Roberto walked to the windows, hands clasped behind his back. Just like my father used to stand. The imitation was deliberate, calculated.
"I know you don't like me." He didn't turn around. "Neither of you. That's fine. You don't have to like me. You just have to obey."
"We understand." My voice was steady despite the rage building in my chest.
"Do you?" Now he turned. "Because I need to be very clear about something. There's a new order now. New rules. Marco, you'll do exactly as I say. No more drinking. No more embarrassing this family. You're going to grow up, fast, or you're going to disappear. Understood?"
Marco's throat worked. "Yes, sir."
"Valentina, your wedding to Alessandro will happen within three months. We need that alliance solidified before our enemies see weakness."
Three months. Not six. My cage was getting smaller by the hour.
"And if I refuse?"
Roberto smiled. It was my father's smile, twisted into something ugly. "Then you'll learn why little girls don't say no to their uncles. Your father was soft with you. I won't be."
The threat hung in the air between us.
"One more thing." Roberto pulled an envelope from his jacket. "This arrived for you, Valentina. Found it on your father's desk."
He tossed it onto the table. My name was written on the front in handwriting I didn't recognize.
"Read it later. Probably just condolences from some business associate." Roberto headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and kids? Don't do anything stupid. People who cross me tend to have unfortunate accidents."
Then he was gone.
Marco and I sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice raw. "I'm sorry, Val. I should have fought harder. Should have said something."
"It wouldn't have mattered." I reached for the envelope, turning it over in my hands. "They'd already decided."
"What are we going to do?"
I looked at my brother, this boy who should have inherited an empire but was too broken to claim it. I loved him. But I couldn't rely on him.
Trust no one. Not even blood.
"We survive," I said quietly. "Whatever it takes."
I opened the envelope. Inside was a single card with an address written in the same unfamiliar hand. No name. No explanation.
Just an address in the warehouse district.
And below it, three words: "The enemy's enemy."
My hands started shaking.
I knew that district. Knew which family controlled it. Knew exactly whose territory that address would be in.
The Morettis.
Someone was telling me to go to the Morettis.
"What is it?" Marco leaned over to look.
I closed the envelope quickly. "Nothing. Just condolences, like Roberto said."
Another lie. They were coming easier now.
Marco nodded, too exhausted to question it. "I'm going to bed. I can't... I can't do this anymore today."
He left, shoulders hunched, a ghost of the brother I'd once known.
I sat alone in the conference room, holding the card, thinking about enemies and allies and the price of survival.
My father was dead. My uncle had stolen his throne. My brother was broken. My marriage was decided.
I had no power. No protection. No future.
Unless I did something desperate.
Unless I went to the one person who had every reason to hate me and begged for his help.
The card felt like fire in my hands.
I had thirty-eight hours before Alessandro would come to the house, before the engagement would be announced publicly, before the cage door locked forever.
Thirty-eight hours to decide if I was brave enough to step into enemy territory.
Brave enough or stupid enough.