Page 84 of His to Destroy

Just the heavy presence of judgment settling over every man and woman gathered here.

Enzo steps forward first, standing beside me without hesitation.

Then Sancia.

One by one, the captains come forward too, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps, until they form a ring around Stark’s crumpled body.

No one defends him.

No one even dares.

His fate was sealed the moment the truth left my lips.

An older captain—Salvatore Mancini, a grizzled veteran who fought under my father—clears his throat.

"You've done what was right," he says, his voice carrying the authority of decades of blood and loyalty. "You defended the honor of this house. Protected your own."

He nods once, deeply.

"You've proven yourself worthy, Gaspare."

Another captain echoes it.

And another.

Until the hall vibrates with a low rumble of assent.

I stand taller, feeling the final weight of this life settle onto my shoulders.

It isn’t relief.

It’s responsibility.

A heavy crown forged in violence and blood.

But I accept it.

For Almeria.

For Luca.

For the family we’re building together.

Later that night, I sit alone in my private study, staring into a glass of whiskey that I haven't touched.

I’ve showered, eaten and changed into clean clothes.

Stark is rotting in one of the syndicate’s deepest, darkest cells now—alive, but broken beyond recognition.

Justice served.

But it doesn’t taste like victory.

It tastes like ash.

Because no matter how many titles they give me, no matter how many men bow their heads when I walk past…

I lost something today.

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