Page 96 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

My mind races. Orlando De Luca is a seasoned Capo, known for his cold, calculated demeanor. He rarely shows emotion, let alone loses control like this. There’s something odd about his reaction, something that doesn’t quite add up.

As the implications sink in, I realize Orlando has just signed his own death warrant. In a twisted way, I’m almost relieved. His singular action of openly dishonoring his Don means there will be even fewer sympathetic to his cause. We might be able to avoid a civil war after all.

Without being told, the top enforcers, Giorgio and Enzo, rise from their seats. Their hands simultaneously reach for their Glocks as they start to follow Orlando.

Suddenly, my father’s voice cracks like a whip, stopping them mid-stride. “Sit down, Enzo. You too, Giorgio.”

We all turn to my father, stunned. His stern expression and the authority radiating from him transport us back to when he was the Don. It’s wildly inappropriate, given that his Don is sitting beside him.

I can almost hear the gears turning in everyone’s heads, trying to make sense of this unprecedented situation.

Nico nods curtly, his jaw clenched, giving Giorgio and Enzo leave to follow Father’s command, despite the clear undermining of his own authority. Then he stands to his full height and faces off with Father, his voice tight with rage.

“You forget your place, Vito.”

“No, I don’t,” Father replies calmly, his eyes meeting Nico’s gaze unflinchingly. “As Consigliere, it’s my duty to advise you. And in this case, I would let Orlando go.”

“Let him go?” Nico nudges the signet ring on the table. “So, I broke my word about giving him a Vitelli heir, yes, but De Luca has just earned himself an execution with that display.”

I glance around, noting the anticipation on the faces of my fellow mafiosi. Giorgio’s brow is furrowed, his eyes darting between Nico and my father. Enzo’s hand still hovers near his holster, awaiting final orders.

Father looks at every man in the room, then announces, “Do you all think that was the rage of a disappointed Capo?”

He pauses, letting his words settle. “That was the anguish of a grieving father. A man who has lost something far more precious than a marriage deal. He’s lost a daughter he was never allowed to love.”

My pulse pounds in my ears as I watch comprehension dawn on each face around the table. Nico’s jaw goes slack, and Sal’s eyes widen, his gaze snapping to mine.

Orlando De Luca is Addy’s real father. And he must have known for some time now that she survived.

Nico sinks back into his chair, the weight of this revelation clear in the slump of his shoulders. Another heavy silence descends upon the room as we all process this bombshell.

“Well, fuck me,” a humorless chuckle escapes my lips as the irony hits me.

Looks like Orlando De Luca is still going to be my father-in-law one way or another.

Enzo clears his throat, his brow furrowed in concern. “So, what do we do now? Both Benjamin O’Shea and Orlando De Luca believe their daughter has been killed on our turf. And both are now our enemies.”

After a long moment, Nico leans forward, his deep blue eyes scanning the room. “Do the Irish know it’s De Luca?”

Father shakes his head. “Why do you think the war went on for that long? They wanted us to give up the man Naomi was sleeping with, but Orlando has always been smart. He kept his affair very well hidden till this day.”

Nico digests this information, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he thinks. Finally, he speaks. “We let De Luca grieve for now.”

Nico turns to me. “And when the time is right, Dante, you will pay him a visit. Let him know we’re in on his secret. He’ll crawl back into the fold if he values the rest of his family. Then we can decide his consequences.”

“Sì, Don,” I murmur in acknowledgment.

But Nico’s not done. “Also, I want Owen Novak tied up, trussed, and ready to talk in three days.” He shoots me a weighted look. “Again, you’re doing the honors, Dante.”

“Certo,” I nod, a grim smile on my lips. I made the mess. I’m more than happy to clean it up.

Turning to Sal, I feel a spark of excitement despite the gravity of the situation. “Fancy a New York bounty hunt, Sal?”

Sal’s eyes light up. “Always.”

“Great,” Nico says, standing. He squares his shoulders, once again the Don. “That will be all, gentlemen.”

With that, he leaves the room, effectively dismissing us. As the other Capos file out, I remain seated, my thoughts churning.

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