Page 85 of Broken Honor

I smile. “With all due respect, Don Gattuso, you don’t need to decide tonight. Give it time. I’m not here to ask for blind loyalty. I’m here to show you I’ve earned it.”

They murmur. Some tilt their heads, sipping wine with newfound interest.

Another man, broader than the rest, raises his voice. “You’ve been out for what—a few weeks? What exactly have you earned, Tavano?”

My fingers curl around my glass.

“A few weeks,” I echo, lifting my glass again. “But legacies aren’t built in weeks. They’re proven through action.” I turn to face them all now. “I won’t waste your time with promises. Watch me. Watch what I do. Then decide if I’ve earned my father’s place—or made a name of my own.”

There’s a long silence. Then a clink. Another. Slowly, almost begrudgingly, the men lift their glasses. A quiet toast. Not unanimous, not warm—but enough.

“That’s my nephew,” Bellandi says from somewhere behind me.

I don’t look at him. I keep smiling, nodding, lifting my glass with the same charm father taught me when I was a boy and didn’t yet know his hands were made for backstabbing.

We make small talk for a while, then the last of the dons shake my hand with forced smiles and guarded nods, their eyes sharp with suspicion, some warmer than others—but none warm enough to trust. I return the gestures. When the last one releases my hand, I turn to my brothers.

“We’ve done enough for the evening,” I murmur. “Let’s go.”

As soon as we step away from the crowd and into the cover of the shadows, the weight I’ve been holding slams back down.

I rip my collar open, the top button popping, and turn to Enzo. “Anything?”

He’s already shaking his head. “Nothing.”

“She jumped a fucking wall and vanished?” I snap, voice low but razor-edged.

Enzo nods. “Our men swept the perimeter twice. It’s like she evaporated.”

“Fan out,” I order.

Enzo nods and takes off with Alfio. Omero heads in the opposite direction.

Riccardo stays beside me, mouth twisting. “She’s a slimy little wench. I knew it from the start.”

If she had time to run, she had time to scream. Why didn’t she? Why the quiet?

My hands ball at my sides as we stalk along the gravel path, searching between hedges, behind statues, under every stretch of shadow. She can’t have made it far.

When we regroup by the far garden path, the looks on my brothers’ faces confirm what I already know.

Nothing.

I glance toward the vehicles parked in neat rows under the ambient lights near the outer gates. I nod toward them. “We’ll drive. Fan the area out farther.”

The four of us move toward the cars. Riccardo is already muttering under his breath.

“She better hope I don’t find her. I’ll—”

“No! Don’t!”

The scream rips through the night.

We spin around.

And there she is.

Stumbling into the light like a ghost pulled out of hell.

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