Page 138 of Brutal Crown
I set a black leather folder on the table between us and flip it open.
Three separate stacks. Three names.
Ermanno, Alfonso, Giulio.
I watch their faces closely as I begin.
“To Elder Ermanno Vescovi. The rigged election in Sicily. The overdose of your rival was staged in a luxury hotel. The Society money used to fund outside allegiances, breaking our rules of purity and secrecy.”
I slide the documents forward. It contains bank statements, fake identities, flight logs, and photos.
Ermanno’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move to take the document. He says nothing.
“To Elder Alfonso Altieri. The women you impregnated across the country, then silenced and destroyed afterward. The sixteen-year-old girl who had your child, whom you forced into marriage with another man. Your children who were never registered. The doctor you paid to erase birth records. This is a bloodline violation that places your entire family at risk of extinction.”
Alfonso’s face blanches. “You’re bluffing?—”
“I have the names and the DNA results. I have testimonies from witnesses. Secrets like this cannot remain buried forever.”
His throat bobs up and down as he snatches the document off the table and goes through it.
“That brings me to you.” I turn to face Giulio Salvatore.
“You forged an execution letter and used the Society seal to carry out a personal vendetta. You murdered the doctor who treated your underage victims. You eliminated anyone who knew about the young girls trafficked through your underground network.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Giulio hisses. “You’re accusing us of treason, murder, bloodline desecration?—”
“I’m not accusing,” I interrupt coldly. “I’m merely confirming what I already know.”
The folder remains open on the table between us like a wound.
“You’re smart,” I continue. “You covered your tracks well. You bought silence for years. But that’s the problem with secrets. You can keep paying to keep them hidden, but the truth always gets revealed eventually.”
They all begin to shift in their seats. Not one of them looks at the others. No eye contact or communication. Only fear and guilt buried under their pride.
“Why are you doing all this?” Ermanno finally asks.
“Justice.”
Alfonso snorts, unconvinced. He leans forward, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Come on… What is it you really want?” he asks, voice smooth like oil over rot. “A district of your own to rule? A council seat in the shadows? We can give you things even your father never dared to touch. Money five generations after you will never be able to finish.”
Giulio’s voice cuts in. “You want your own house of girls to do any of your darkest desires? Or maybe access to the Vatican files we stole before the Concordat?” He smirks, flicking ash from his cigarette. “We know how to reward loyalty.”
Ermanno taps his cane once on the ground. “Men like you don’t come bearing threats unless they’re after more than money,” he says, voice like steel.
“So say it, Romano. Say what it is you truly want.”
I bark out a harsh laugh at the insult.
“I’m not here for your power. I’m not here for favors, girls, or kingdoms. Nor am I here for your dirty money. I have more than enough of that.”
“Then what?” Giulio snaps. “You want a seat at the table? That’s not how it works.”
“I don’t want your fucking seat,” I say. “I want to set the table on fire.”
A long silence follows. My words hang in the air like smoke as they all stare at me, trying to decipher my intentions.
