Chapter 10 - The Prince’s Fury
That evening, the Caruso family council gathered in the manor’s formal dining room. Under the grand crystal chandelier sat the family’s top capos, lieutenants, and financial advisers.
At the head of the table sat Vincent. Beside him, dressed in an elegant emerald-green silk gown provided by the estate’s personal tailor, sat Grace.
Tension hummed through the room like a live wire.
Dominic Caruso tapped his wine glass with an ivory-handled knife, his expression twisted into a false grin. “Brother, while we all rejoice in the... miraculous discovery of your long-lost blood, we must be practical. The Commission requires stability. The Moretti family is sniffing around our northern docks. You cannot simply hand over succession rights to an outsider who was scrubbing toilets a week ago.”
Several older capos exchanged uneasy glances.
Grace’s breath caught, but before Vincent could speak, she placed her fork down with calm deliberate poise.
“I may have scrubbed toilets, Mr. Caruso,” Grace said clearly, her voice echoing through the silent chamber. “And when you work on your knees, you learn very quickly how to spot dirt that hides in the corners. I survived twenty-eight years on my own without taking a dime from anyone. If you think my mother’s blood made me weak, you are gravely mistaken.”
A low murmur of impressed approval rippled among the older lieutenants. Vincent looked at his daughter with glowing pride.
Dominic’s jaw twitched. “A spirited tongue doesn't replace thirty years of syndicate knowledge, girl.”
“Enough, Dominic,” Vincent’s voice cut through the room like a razor. “Grace is my legal and biological heir. Any disrespect shown to her is treason against me. And treason has only one penalty in this house.”
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Dominic clamped his mouth shut, but the hatred burning in his eyes promised that this fight was far from over.
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