The Mafia's Arranged Bride
“For Aunt Vittoria’s death. We can’t ignore that. So…”
“So prepare for it,” I said, my voice hollow. “You know the protocol.”
Caelian didn’t answer right away. He just nodded once, a bitter kind of acceptance settling in the lines of his face.
The courtyard was silent. Every man stood in line, eyes lowered or staring straight ahead, like they were afraid to meet mine. I walked past them, toward the center where Guilio was tied to the pole, bloodied, half-conscious, swaying on his feet. His shirt was torn, face barely recognizable, one eye swollen shut, lips split open, chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths.
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