004

Don Vincenzo Marazona:

Rain slammed violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office while silence thickened the room.

I sat behind my desk with my suit jacket discarded somewhere behind me, cigarette smoke curling lazily through the dim light.

Mother stood near the fireplace, calm as ever.

Elegant.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

Unlike me.

“The sent a living corpse to you, Cenzo,” Mother said smoothly, swirling wine inside her glass. “Doesn’t that explain everything?”

My jaw ticked irritably.

I hated that nickname.

Especially tonight.

“She fainted at the altar,” I muttered flatly.

Mother gave a cold shrug.

“Then perhaps she should have died there. It would have spared us the embarrassment.”

I exhaled smoke slowly.

Honestly?

I did not care about the girl enough to argue.

What irritated me was the inconvenience.

The De Lucas had wasted my time.

Ruined a perfectly straightforward arrangement.

And now the entire city would hear about today’s disaster before sunrise.

Mother’s voice sharpened slightly.

“We should kill them.”

I looked at her.

She continued calmly:

“Publicly.”

Of course she would say that.

Donna Lucrezia Marazona never shouted.

Never raged.

She simply decided who deserved destruction and carried it out elegantly.

I leaned back in my chair with a humorless scoff.

“And then what?” I said. “Another wedding? Another bride? Another month wasted?”

Mother’s eyes narrowed.

“She is not suitable for this family.”

“No woman is suitable for this family.”

Silence.

Thunder rumbled outside.

I rubbed slowly at my temple as irritation pulsed behind my eyes.

God.

Everything annoyed me tonight.

The wedding.

The priest.

The crying.

The vomiting.

The fainting.

That entire damn family.

I reached for the silver bell beneath my desk and rang it once.

A few seconds later, the office door opened.

Adriano Moretti stepped inside dressed in black.

Calm.

Professional.

Dead-eyed.

“Don Vincenzo.”

I flicked ash into the tray carelessly.

“The De Luca accounts.”

Adriano nodded once. “Already frozen.”

“Good.”

Mother watched silently.

I continued coldly:

“Seize every remaining asset attached to their company.”

“Understood.”

“Shut down the ports connected to their shipments too.”

Adriano’s brows barely moved.

“Completely?”

I stared at the rain.

“Did I stutter?”

“No, Don.”

I took another drag from the cigarette.

“And burn the fucking warehouses.”

Mother smiled faintly into her wineglass.

“There’s my son.”

I ignored her.

Adriano gave a single nod.

“It will be done before morning.”

“Get out.”

The assistant disappeared without another word.

Silence returned.

Mother moved gracefully toward my desk.

“You’re being merciful.”

That almost made me laugh.

Merciful?

I had just destroyed an empire.

But to Mother, mercy meant leaving survivors.

I opened the drawer beside me and pulled out the orange prescription bottle.

Mother’s expression hardened slightly.

I shook two pills into my palm.

Swallowed them dry.

The bitterness lingered on my tongue.

Pathetic.

I hated the pills.

Hated the weakness.

Hated the fact that everyone in this house watched me like a countdown clock waiting to stop ticking.

Mother’s voice turned colder.

“I still refuse to accept that parasite as my daughter-in-law.”

I said nothing.

Because frankly?

I did not care what Serafina De Luca became.

Wife.

Parasite.

Mistake.

None of it mattered.

I wasn’t planning to live long enough for any of this to matter.

That was the difference between me and Mother.

Donna Lucrezia cared about legacy.

The family name.

The dynasty.

The future.

Me?

I was just trying not to die angry.

Unfortunately for everyone around me—

that was becoming increasingly difficult.

“Mother, leave.”

Donna Lucrezia looked unimpressed.

“No.”

I slowly lifted my eyes toward her.

The room felt suffocating.

The rain.

The pills.

The wedding disaster.

The constant ache in my bones.

Everything was scraping against my nerves tonight.

“I’m not asking.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

“And I am not one of your men, Vincenzo.”

I leaned forward slowly in my chair.

“Would you prefer I do?” My voice dropped dangerously. “Because right now I’m trying very hard not to look like a madman and lash out, so respectfully—use the door.”

Mother stared at me.

Unmoved.

Of course she was unmoved.

Nothing frightened Donna Lucrezia Marazona.

Not politicians.

Not bloodshed.

Certainly not her own son.

“Use your goddamned words,” she said coldly.

I shut my eyes briefly.

The headache behind them worsened.

“Please, Mother.”

Silence.

Then finally—

“Better.”

She moved toward me gracefully, heels clicking softly against marble floors.

Before I could pull away, she placed a kiss against my forehead.

Brief.

Controlled.

Maternal in the strangest way possible.

“Dormi bene, figlio mio.”

Sleep well, my son.

Then she left.

The office door shut quietly behind her.

And the second it did—

I lost whatever little patience I had left.

The whiskey glass flew across the room.

It exploded against the wall.

Glass shattered everywhere.

“Fuck!”

My chest heaved once.

Twice.

I dragged both hands down my face aggressively.

God.

I was so tired of this.

Tired of doctors.

Tired of pills.

Tired of everyone staring at me like I was already halfway buried.

And now some trembling substitute bride was living inside my estate because an idiot family decided fraud sounded entertaining.

I grabbed the edge of the desk hard enough my knuckles whitened.

The Marazonas did not tolerate disrespect.

Never had.

That name was built long before me.

Long before modern Italy.

Long before politicians started pretending organized crime was something shameful hidden in shadows.

The Marazonas were shadows.

Centuries ago, while noble families played royalty in silk robes, the first Marazona men built power through blood, weapons, and fear along the Sicilian coast.

Protection rackets.

Smuggling.

Executions.

Judges bought with gold.

Enemies buried beneath vineyards.

The Italian mafia was not simply crime.

It was structure.

Legacy.

Survival.

And the Marazonas had helped shape it into something untouchable.

Men feared my grandfather.

They worshipped my great-grandfather.

My father?

Weak.

Too soft for the throne he inherited.

That was why Mother truly ruled this family.

And me?

I became useful the moment I learned how to make men obey without repeating myself twice.

Fear.

Simple.

Efficient.

Necessary.

I exhaled sharply and shoved away from the desk.

The office suddenly felt too small.

I walked out without another thought, black dress shoes echoing through the silent hallways of the estate.

Servants lowered their heads immediately when they saw me coming.

At least someone in this damn house understood survival instincts.

By the time I reached my bedroom suite, irritation was vibrating beneath my skin like electricity.

I stripped off my shirt.

My cufflinks.

My belt.

Everything.

Then stepped into the shower.

Scalding water hammered against my back, steam filling the massive black marble bathroom.

For several minutes I simply stood there letting the heat burn against my skin.

Trying to calm down.

It didn’t work.

Nothing worked anymore.

Not the medication.

Not the alcohol.

Not the endless parade of specialists Mother dragged into the estate.

Every day felt worse.

Every day felt shorter.

I shut off the water aggressively and stepped out.

Minutes later, dressed in dark sweatpants with damp hair pushed back from my face, I walked toward the balcony doors.

My cigarette pack rested on the table beside the chair.

I grabbed it instantly.

Pulled one free.

The lighter clicked once.

Twice.

Then—

The doctor’s voice replayed in my head.

> Your lungs are already compromised.

I stared at the cigarette.

Something inside me snapped.

“Fuck!”

The lighter slammed violently across the room.

It shattered against the wall.

I crushed the cigarette pack in my fist hard enough tobacco spilled across the floor.

My breathing turned uneven.

Angrier.

Hotter.

Everything irritated me lately.

The coughing.

The medication.

The weakness.

The fact that people had started speaking carefully around me.

Like I was already dying.

Like I couldn’t hear the pity beneath their voices.

Rage clawed violently through my chest.

I grabbed the nearest object—

a crystal vase—

and hurled it straight into the fireplace.

It exploded on impact.

“FUCK!”

The word ripped out of me harshly.

Violently.

The sound echoed through the bedroom.

A knock immediately sounded at the door.

Cautious.

Nervous.

“Master are you alright?”

A servant.

Terrified already.

Good instinct.

I closed my eyes.

Took one slow breath.

Then another.

When I spoke again, my voice came out cold enough to freeze blood.

“Get the fuck away from my door.”

Footsteps disappeared instantly.

Silence returned.

But my anger didn’t.

Because the truth was—

I wasn’t angry about the De Lucas.

Or the wedding.

Or even the substitute bride.

I was angry because no matter how powerful the Marazona name became…

I still couldn’t control the one thing killing me.