Page 93 of Savage Vows

Deliberately I stride toward the head of the table, where I belong.

I take my seat, my spine straight, my gaze unyielding.

My brothers follow suit, while Nico remains standing next to me.

“Gentlemen.” He clears his throat. “We are here to confirm what has always been certain. Matteo has been prepared for this moment his entire life. He’s proven his strength, his loyalty, and his vision. He is the right man to lead this family.”

There’s a murmur of agreement from some, but not all. I can see it in the shifting eyes, the slight tilt of a head—uncertainty still lingers.

“Is he?” a voice cuts through the air, brash and challenging. It’s one of the older capos, his silver hair catching the dim light. “He speaks of loyalty, but what of the supposed wedding? An alliance was forged, and there’s no proof? Convenient timing, don’t you think?”

The accusation hangs heavy, and all eyes turn to me.

I meet the capo’s gaze, my expression a mask of calm. Inside, the tension coils tighter, pulling at every nerve. Alessia’s face flashes in my mind—her quiet strength, the way she stood by me through every unbearable moment after my father’s death. I will hear nothing against her.

Before I can deliver a stinging rebuke, Nico takes control, his voice hard as steel. “The wedding happened. There is no convenience here, only necessity.” He picks up a sleek black folder and flips it open to reveal a photograph of me and Alessia at the altar in front of Father Thomas. Since most of the gathered men know and respect the man, the murmurs fall silent.

He passes the snapshot to the person next to him.

“Matteo has upheld all our traditions. And with his wedding to the DeLuca daughter, the alliance is secure.”

When the photo reaches the capo, he stares at it for a long moment before leaning back in his chair, conceding with a slight nod.

The room remains heavy with tension until Dante rises from his chair. His gaze sweeps the table, landing on each man in turn. “I’ve served alongside Matteo, and I’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of. He’s fought for this family, protected it, and earned the right to lead. I stand with him completely.”

The murmurs fade again. Dante sits, and Dario rises.

“I, too, have served alongside Matteo. There is no man more loyal to the Moretti ideals than my brother. I stand with him.” Expression resolute, he takes his seat.

Nico picks up where he left off, his gaze sweeping the room. “Are there any further questions or concerns?” His tone is calm but unyielding, a subtle challenge to anyone bold enough to speak.

For a moment, silence lingers, thick and heavy. The same man who challenged the legitimacy of my marriage shifts in his seat. His mouth opens, but under Nico’s quelling gaze, he closes it again and leans back, giving a small shake of his head.

“Very well,” Nico continues, his voice steady. “Let’s make it official. All those in favor of Matteo Moretti ascending as Don, raise your hand.”

One by one, hands lift around the table. Some rise with quiet conviction, others slower, hesitant, but no less final. By the time the last hand is raised, there’s a subtle shift in the air—a collective acknowledgment of what has been decided.

“It’s unanimous,” Nico declares. His tone carries the weight of finality. He turns to me, his expression respectful and serious. “The family stands behind you, Don Matteo.”

The weight of their loyalty, their expectations, and their doubts settles over me.

Dante rises from his chair, holding a small black box. He opens it, revealing the ring my father wore every day of his reign. It glints in the low light, heavy and unadorned, a symbol of power and sacrifice. My hands feel steady as I slide it onto my finger, its weight settling over my knuckles like it belongs there.

Knowing I’m expected to speak, I rise and look each man in the eye. “This family has stood strong for generations because of men like you—men who understand loyalty and honor. Together, we’ll ensure the Moretti legacy remains unshakable.”

As I continue, my voice hardens with the weight of my words. “My father built this empire with his blood, sweat, and sacrifice. His death is a wound we all carry, but it is also a call to action. Iwill not rest until we find those responsible and make them pay. This is my vow.”

The room remains silent, every man focused on me, and for the first time, the doubt I sensed earlier seems to fade. These men needed to hear that justice would be done. They needed to know I would not falter.

One by one, the men approach to shake my hand.

“For the family,” one of my capos declares.

“You have big shoes to fill, young Matteo.”

I do indeed.

By the time I have spoken to everyone, wine has been poured and people have broken into groups for discussion.

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