Page 31 of Sins of the Father
“As you wish.”
She laughed, the sound carried away by the wind. “Yes, my sweet Westley.”
Luc stilled, his gaze narrowing. “What did you just call me?”
“It’s fromThe Princess Bride,” Mia said breathlessly. “You said, ‘As you wish.’ Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?”
“I have not,” he said dryly. “There was no Westley for me to murder, after all.”
Mia clasped her hands, excitement lighting her eyes. “Please—have a movie night with me.”
Luc blinked, as if she’d spoken a foreign language. “No.”
Her delight faltered. “Oh. Why not?”
“It is not something I do.”
“You don’t watch TV? Or go to the cinema?”
“No.”
“That’s…” She shook her head, softening. “I’ve never been to the cinema either. I’d like to go one day. It would be nice if you came with me.”
Something in him lurched—an unfamiliar pull, deep and unsteady. “Why would we go to the cinema?”
“To watch a movie, of course,” she said, laughing.
He noted the hopeful look in her eyes but only said, “It’s colder. Let’s return.”
Mia tilted her head, studying him. “I never thought you’d respect my wish to wait,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
Her words landed deeper than they should have. She rose on her toes and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth—a whisper of intimacy that was hers, not taken. When she stepped back, her warmth left him, and for the first time, she had been the one to close the distance.
It was a small act of defiance. And that, Luc realized with grim satisfaction, only made him hunger for her more.
The chamber smelledof cigars and old leather—a room where power pressed like a hand on the throat. The Commission crowded the long, oak table, faces carved by age and ruthless memory. Matteo Bonino, invited and ill at ease, sat rigid; none but Luc knew why they’d been called.
Luc stepped forward with a folder, every movement deliberate. “I have come to inform you that I am marrying Mia Bonino. The contract is signed.” He laid the paper on the polished wood.
A ripple moved around the table. Matteo stood, chair scraping, voice iron. “Mia Bonino? Ettore’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
The man sucked air. “No.”
Luc smiled. “I wasn’t asking.”
Matteo flared. “You think you can steal blood that belongs to my house? She carries our name—our legacy. I will not have her used as your pawn.”
Luc met him without heat. “You needn’t allow it. The Commission decides.”
Carbone’s jaw tightened. Marchetti’s rosary clicked once and fell still. Lombardi toyed with his glass. Moretti watched, cane at hand, unreadable as stone.
Luc opened the folder and set another item on the table—proof, planning, leverage. “The Bonino family is exposed and fractured. The Feds have probed your ports. Smaller gangs pick at your borders. Left alone, your line will be consumed by raids and indictments. Join a unified command and that vulnerability ends.”
He let that hang, then cut sharper. “Accept this merger and you gain practical protection. Bonino intelligence integrates with Valachi security. Your docks and routes are shielded. Unaffiliated predatory gangs are routed. You remain head in name and in daily command. What changes is who holds ultimate authority. Your heir answers to me. Refuse, and your household will be burned. That is not a threat—it is a certainty I can execute.”
Matteo’s face went ashen. The clock ticked in the hush. Carbone rubbed his temple; Marchetti’s lips tightened; Lombardi paused mid-swirl.
