Page 143 of The One
The pendant is a broken, worn piece of clay threaded onto a simple gold chain. I trace my finger lightly over it, surprised by its rough texture.
“Why is it broken?” I ask, looking up at Mateo.
His lips curve into a small smile, and he takes the pendant between his fingers. “It wasn’t always,” he says, his voice soft.
His tone piques my curiosity. “What happened to it?”
“It’s a long story,” he begins, his smile deepening. “You really want to know?”
I nod, settling closer. “Of course. I want to know everything about you. And something tells me this isn’t just an old necklace.”
He chuckles at that, his thumb brushing over the faint markings.
“You’re right. It’s not.” His tone grows warmer, the pride creeping in as he begins. “This pendant has been in my family for generations. My great-great-great-grandfather, Leandro De Marco, made it himself.”
“Made it?” I echo, intrigued. “Out of clay?”
Mateo nods, his expression softening with admiration.
“He didn’t have much back then. Gold and silver, those were for men with power and wealth. Leandro had none. But he had vision. He shaped this with his own hands, burned it to harden it. And he carved the De Marco crest into it to remind himself of what he believed our family could become.”
I run my finger along the faint lines of the crest, trying to imagine the man Mateo is describing. Someone carving a future out of nothing but clay and determination.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur. “But why is it broken? Where are the other pieces?”
Mateo’s eyes darken. “Toward the end of his life, Leandro’s vision had taken shape. He was proud of what he’d built but knew power could corrupt, or worse, divide the family. He believed power should stay with the rightful heir, and he wanted to ensure no one could seize it by force.”
I tilt my head, waiting for him to elaborate. His fingers tighten around the pendant as he continues.
“He broke it into three pieces. The first, the piece with the lion head, belongs to the Don. It’s passed from one Don to the next, ensuring continuity. The second piece goes to the second-in-command, someone who has earned their place through unwavering loyalty and service tola famiglia.”
“And the third piece?” I ask.
He pauses, his gaze distant. “It’s hidden. Only the current Don knows where it is, and he makes provisions for the rightful heir to find it when the time comes.”
I frown, trying to piece the reasons all together. “Why hide the third piece?”
Mateo’s gaze sharpens, and his voice lowers. “Because no one can claim power without it. Even if someone were to take the first two pieces, they couldn’t rulela famigliaunless they also had the third. It’s a safeguard, to ensure the leadership goes to the rightful heir and no one else.”
It makes sense. I glance down at the jagged edges of the pendant again. “So this piece…”
“Tiero gave it to me after our father was murdered. Emilio Barroni wore it before me, but he returned it to Tiero atpapà’s funeral as is custom. Then Tiero made Emilio consigliere, a role he’s excelled at.”
A role my father now covets.
“So the Don has always been a direct blood relative of Leandro?” I ask and Mateo nods proudly.
“Yes, we De Marcos have always fathered sons first.”
His smile is blinding and suggestive, and I squeeze my legs together to curb the sudden desire blooming inside me.
Is he picturing us making that son?
I sure am.
But what if I’m like my mother and only bear him girls?
Oh God. No pressure!
