Chapter 5

INHERITANCE IN BLOOD

Pov: Carmela Carlo

Red Hook always smelled like salt and smoke. Even when the skies were clear, the streets carried the weight of the past-ghosts of old deals, the echo of gunshots long buried under silence. This was our neighborhood. This was our kingdom.

And sometimes, it felt like a kingdom built on rotting wood.

I sat in the study of the Carlo estate, an aging brownstone overlooking the harbor. The windows stretched tall and narrow like church windows, but there was nothing holy about this place. The scent of old leather and cigars lingered-Tony's scent. My brother had loved this room. He used to pace the floor every night before a deal, muttering names like a priest with a prayer book. Now it was mine.

But the room hadn't warmed to me yet.

"Leo's reappearance complicates things," Gino muttered from across the room. He was our consigliere-a wiry man with a sharp jaw and sharper instincts. "The Rossi Syndicate's been sniffing around ever since Tony died. And now Leo strolls back into the picture like a ghost come to collect."

I didn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the photograph above the fireplace-me, Tony, and our father, Vincenzo. Tony grinning like the devil. I was fourteen in that picture, clinging to my brother like a shadow. Back when I still believed blood was enough to protect us.

"Don't look at me like that, boss," Gino added. "You know I'd bleed for you. But there are others... Vincenzo's stirring the old guard. They don't like you sitting in that chair."

"Let them not like it," I said coolly. "They'll follow orders or they'll fall in line."

He smirked faintly. "Spoken like your brother.

Spoken like Tony.

Those words opened a door I'd been trying to keep closed.

Six Months Ago

The Day After Tony's Death

The Carlo family chapel had always felt like a tomb-heavy stone walls, polished wooden pews, and stained glass that turned sunlight into fractured color. On the altar sat Tony's casket, closed, draped in blood-red silk. No open viewing. There wasn't much left of his face after what the Rossis did.

I stood at the front. Gino, Salvatore, Marco Lupo-all the old names lined the pews. Our father sat in the front row, unmoving, a statue with a pulse.

Tony had gone to Manhattan to talk. Just a sit-down over a stolen shipment. Words. That's all it was supposed to be.

They shot him three times in the chest and dumped his body behind a butcher shop in Queens.

After the priest mumbled through the last rite, I walked to the pulpit. The air grew thick. Everyone stared.

"I know what you're thinking," I began. "That I'm just Tony's little sister. That I'm grieving, and I should leave the business to the men who understand it."

Lupo stood. "With respect, Carmela, this isn't the time-"

I raised my hand. "Respectfully? Shut up, Marco."

A ripple of tension moved through the pews.

"I was there beside Tony. For years. You just didn't see it. But I listened. I learned. He wanted me to have a seat at the table, even when you all turned your backs."

They stayed quiet.

"I'm not asking for your permission," I said. "I'm taking my place."

Vincenzo didn't speak. He just stood, gave me one look, and walked out the chapel doors. That was the last time he acknowledged me as anything more than a daughter.

That night, Gino came to me.

"If you want them to follow you," he said, pouring bourbon into a crystal glass, "you'll need to make them bleed for you."

So, I did.

Present Day

A knock rattled the study doors.

Milo, one of our newer guards, stepped in. "Leo Ventresca's downstairs. Says you asked to see him."

I hadn't. But of course, Leo never waited for an invitation.

"Send him up."

Leo walked in like he owned the place. Dark wool coat, black leather gloves, that sly grin I hated. His gaze skimmed the room-pausing on the liquor cabinet, the maps, then me.

"You've redecorated," he said.

"I've modernized."

He dropped into a chair across from me like this was a game of poker. Gino's jaw flexed but he said nothing.

Leo turned to me, all charm and menace. "Word is the Rossis and Morettis are circling you like vultures. You look steady-but even steady things crack."

"You're wasting your breath."

He smirked. "I'm trying to help. Your new chef? Word is someone's watching him. Closely."

My heart stuttered. "Xavier?"

He nodded. "You pulled a civilian into your business, Carmela. You know how dangerous that is. He's a weakness."

"No," I said, voice sharp. "He's not."

"You care about him."

I didn't answer.

Leo leaned in. "You want to keep him breathing? Then you need stronger allies."

"And let me guess," I said coldly. "That's you."

He stood. "Think about it."

And then he left, just like that.

Later that night, I found Xavier in the kitchen. He was prepping sauces, arms dusted with flour, moving with the kind of discipline that made him look like he belonged here. But he didn't. Not really.

"You've been quiet," he said without looking at me. "That usually means something's wrong."

I walked to the counter beside him. "You're being watched.

He stopped mid-stir. "Watched?"

"Someone's keeping tabs on you. Maybe Rossi, maybe Moretti. Maybe Leo. I don't know yet."

He gave a small, bitter laugh. "So, I'm officially part of the circus now?"

I didn't answer.

He looked at me then-really looked at me. "I left everything behind to come here. Ocho fired me, my mom needed surgery, and you gave me a deal I couldn't refuse. But you didn't tell me the price."

His words hit harder than I expected

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was desperate. I needed someone who could handle pressure. I didn't know they'd use you against me."

He turned back to his sauce. "Yeah, well, welcome to the real world."

We stood in silence for a while.

Then he said, quietly, "Do I need to start carrying a gun?

I stared at the back of his head.

"No," I whispered. "You just need to stay alive."