Tears streamed down her face, but her voice did not falter.
"And when your brother lost his crew and his wife walked out on him? Seraphina begged her father to help. Don Salvatore gave your brother a position. Caporegime of his own territory. Full protection. A seat at the table. We lifted your entire bloodline up."
Her voice broke on the last words.
"We treated you like family… and this… this is how you repay us?"
A heavy silence fell over the hall. Somewhere in the back, a glass was set down with exaggerated care, as though even the clink of crystal would be an obscenity.
Nico let out a short, humorless laugh, his expression turning impatient. He tugged the cuff of his left sleeve down over his wrist.
"Why are you bringing up the past?" he said dismissively. "That has nothing to do with what's happening now."
Then he turned his attention back to me, his gaze sharp.
"Well, Seraphina?" he said. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at the agreement?"
A slow, mocking smirk spread across his face.
"Not like it'll make any difference if you don't sign," he added. "The territory's already been transferred to the kids. There's barely a few hundred left in our joint accounts."
He tilted his head slightly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Tell you what. You can keep that. Consider it a thank-you for all the sacrifices you made for me and the kids. Should be enough for your retirement."
A wave of shocked gasps rippled through the crowd.
"If it weren't for Seraphina," someone whispered, unable to hold back, "his mother wouldn't even be alive."
"He'd still be a nobody," another voice added. "No territory, no standing, nothing. He wouldn't be sitting at the head of any table without the Valentes."
"They dragged him out of poverty, and he turned around and cleaned them out. Played his cards perfectly. Poor Don Salvatore…"
"And look at him now," someone else muttered bitterly. "Grinning like he just hit the jackpot."
Nico's smug smile stretched wider and wider, his satisfaction almost grotesque.
Then—
Smack!
The sharp crack echoed through the banquet hall like a gunshot, cutting through every whisper and every breath. Every soldier along the walls went rigid. Hands drifted toward waistbands on instinct.
"You bastard!"