The Patriarch's Feast had reached its final and most anticipated segment: the gift-giving ceremony, where every family member and allied house presented their tributes to the old Don.

But Seraphina still hadn't shown up.

Suppressing the growing sense of unease in his chest, Dominic stepped into a corridor off the main hall, pulled out his phone, and dialed her number. His back was to the room, but Marco stood six feet away, watching without appearing to watch.

"The number you dialed is unavailable..."

He redialed. Again and again. The same mechanical message echoed back each time, and with each repetition, the stillness in his jaw tightened by a fraction.

And then, a courier walked into the banquet hall.

He delivered three packages, each addressed from Seraphina. The courier looked uncomfortable surrounded by so many hard-eyed men in expensive suits, and he left quickly.

Under the curious gaze of everyone present, Salvatore smiled warmly as he opened the first gift.

Inside was an embroidered silk tapestry, a vivid and intricate rendering of the Valente family crest interwoven with a traditional blessing motif. Every stitch precise. Every thread deliberate.

It was clearly something Seraphina had poured months of effort into, hand-stitched with care and reverence. The kind of gift that spoke of loyalty so deep it lived in the hands.

Moved to tears, the old Don gently opened the second gift.

Inside was the heirloom jewelry set his late wife had gifted Seraphina when she married into the Family. Emeralds and diamonds set in old gold, pieces that had passed through three generations of Valente women.

The moment those jewels were revealed, the room fell dead silent. Glasses stopped halfway to lips. A Capo's wife put her hand over her mouth. Even the soldiers by the door seemed to hold their breath.

Everyone in this world knew what it meant when a woman returned her Family's ancestral jewelry. It was not a gesture. It was a severance. A declaration that the blood-bound union was over, delivered not in private but before every ally, every associate, every witness who mattered.

Before Salvatore could react, Dominic, face dark as storm clouds, strode toward the third gift. The silver lighter was nowhere in sight. His hands were empty and rigid at his sides.

Just as expected, he tore it open with frozen hands.