Page 61 of Sins of the Father
Luc pinned him with his stare. “What you did was a declaration of war against my home. You attacked my woman in her own home. You thought her vulnerability was your invitation. You were mistaken.”
“The laws of the Commission say that—”
Luc’s low, mocking laugh cut him off. “I do not need to put a bullet in your brain to end you. I control threads that reach into courts, into federal offices, into places men like you pretend are untouchable. I could pull one string and watch pillars fall. I could make you vanish from every comfortable lie you live behind.”
He set a slim folder on the table and, with steady hands, opened it. Pages detailed bank transfers, offshore accounts, and recorded meetings. Names ran across the top of the files—senators, a senior DEA official, a prosecutor with links to a private investigator. “These are only the tip of Ettore’s files. They let me reach the levers of state. They came after my wife for this. The burden no longer lies with her; it rests with me. Should anyone seek those files, they must answer to me.”
The room stilled. Marchetti leaned forward. “Will you share these connections with the Commission?” he asked.
“No.” Luc’s answer was a cold, absolute thing. “I will not trade them as charity. I have the means to back my words, and I intend to use them where it matters.” He let that hang between them until the murmurs died.
By the Commission’s charter, the preservation of order mattered above blood feuds.
“Mia Valachi is alive and unharmed,” the spokesman said eventually. “In light of that, the Commission recommends we let the Boninos go on a warning. We do not sanction personal vendettas.”
Luc inclined his head, the motion almost courteous. “That is the Commission’s purpose,” he agreed softly. He watched theirfaces for the flicker of relief. “Today, I will let the law of this room stand. Consider this your only warning, Matteo. Consider this the mercy the Commission exists to grant. But understand me plainly: if any hand, any whisper, any hired bullet ever reaches for her again, I will not bring it to men who vote on mercy. I will deliver my justice with my own hands and ensure your line remembers the cost for generations. Your wife, your daughters, aunts, and cousins will all die, my wife’s life for a hundred of theirs. Teach your sons what the word ‘safety’ truly means, because from this day forward, their very lives will be measured against the debt you owe my wife.”
His two sons whimpered into their gags, but Luc did not spare them a glance. They read the promise in his voice and found themselves shivering at its steadiness. Then Luc moved. He crossed to Matteo as if finishing a handshake. Luc slid his hand beneath his jacket and drew the machete from the leather sheath at his lower back. The blade flashed coldly in the room’s light.
He said, “This is for daring to reach out to my family.”
The room snapped tight. Matteo’s face went from bravado to a raw, animal pleading some seconds before the blade fell and chopped off Matteo’s left hand. Blood sprayed, and he screamed, his agony reverberating in the chamber. There was no glory in the motion—only the businesslike necessity of punishment rendered by a man who wanted to make a lesson permanent. Men in the Commission flinched. No one dared to stop him.
Luc turned without a backward glance to the younger son, the one said to be a promising athlete. “I heard this one loved the pitch,” Luc said, voice flat. “He should learn what it is to pay for his family’s choices.”
The younger man’s gagged cry filled the chamber.
“No…No,” Matteo shouted. “I will bear all consequences. Please. I will bear all consequences.”
Luc glanced at him, walked over and sliced down, cleaving through bones as he took a foot from below the knee. Matteo did not scream, but tumbled over in a dead faint. Silence resettled like dust.
Punishment here would teach restraint. It would mark the cost of crossing the line that led to his wife. If power could be demonstrated in paper and leverage—he had both—but sometimes only a ruthless consequence made the warning real.
Luc wiped the blood from the blade, using the shoulder of one of the sons. “Heed the lesson well,” he said, his voice even, eyes sweeping the room. “You’ll carry this warning with you. You’ll realign your loyalties, your alliances, your business. And you will never touch my family again.”
He sheathed the machete and turned away. Antonio followed him out into the night, the air cool and metallic against his skin. Luc inhaled deeply, trying to shake the scent of blood. “Let’s head home and—”
He stopped. Carlos stood by the car, his jaw tight. He shouldn’t have been there. Not tonight. “What is it?” Luc demanded.
Carlos stepped forward. “Gabriella gave me this. She said to put it directly in your hands.” He held out a sealed envelope. “I didn’t read it. But from her face… I knew something was wrong. I tightened security and then decided to meet you here.”
A sharp pulse of unease shot through Luc’s chest. He took the envelope, broke the seal, and slid into the car. Antonio started the engine. The hum of the tires filled the silence as Luc unfolded the letter and began to read.
Luc,
I asked Gabriella to deliver this letter hours after I am gone.
Gone. What the fuck did she mean by gone? He forced himself to keep reading.
Please don’t blame her or Bianca. When I invited them to go shopping, neither knew what I had planned. My letters would have been given to Gabriella and Bianca by a saleswoman, long after I disappeared.
Please don’t chase me. I know you’ll try, because that’s who you are. But if you find me, it will destroy us both. I cannot live as your wife, not in this world. I will fight you to the bitter end, and if I must, I will run again and again.
Since the night at the club, I’ve dreamed of Donata’s death again and again. Then I see yours. Bianca’s. And sometimes… children who don’t yet exist. When I have a child, it should be born from love and the hope of building something greater than myself—not to be shaped for a life of violence. Some say dreams only reflect our worries. Others believe they reveal what’s to come. I don’t know which is true. I only know that every time you walk out thedoor, I wonder if I’ll lose you or if you’ll bring death home with you.
I am falling in love with you, Luc. God help me, I am. But love isn’t enough to survive this life. You live in a world where power and security are earned in blood. And though I’ve only glimpsed a small part of it, I can’t breathe inside it anymore. I’m tired of pretending not to see the violence that feeds you. Tired of feeling grateful just to still be alive. Tired of living from one moment of calm to the next, waiting for the next storm. But what frightens me most is realizing that I’ve begun to change—that I’ve started to think I could kill to protect what’s mine. That I could become like you.
I gave you the chip my father left behind. Let that be enough. Let that be the end of what ties us together. It will give you the leverage you need to lead the cCommission. You don’t need me—or a child with me—for that.
