Chapter 2 - THE SILVER CROSS IN THE SILENCE
The heavy silver serving tray lay on the marble floor, its polished surface reflecting the crystal chandeliers.
But nobody looked at the tray.
Every eye in the dining room was fixed on Thomas Russo.
For twenty-six years, Thomas had been the quiet, steady force behind the Vitelli family. He was the man who taught Damian how to tie a Windsor knot, how to fire a weapon, and how to carry the weight of an empire.
Damian had always called him his closest friend.
Now, Damian stared at the tiny, tarnished silver cross hanging from Thomas’s neck.
“Michael?” Evelyn whispered.
Her voice was so fragile it seemed to shatter the air.
Thomas took a step forward, his hands trembling. He looked at the fifty-eight-year-old seamstress in the simple navy dress.
He didn't see her graying hair or the wrinkles around her eyes.
He saw the fifteen-year-old girl he had loved behind the Albany high school bleachers.
“They told me you died,” Thomas choked out. “Evie… they told me you died giving birth to our son.”
Evelyn let out a terrible, gut-wrenching sob.
She collapsed, her knees hitting the hard marble.
Damian moved instantly. He dropped to the floor, catching her in his arms. The feared mafia boss held his mother against his chest, his own tears falling into her hair.
“Who told you that?” Damian demanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating growl.
Thomas didn't answer.
He slowly turned his head.
He looked down the length of the long dining table, directly at Dominick Vitelli.
The eighty-six-year-old patriarch sat perfectly still, both hands resting on his gold-headed cane.
“You,” Thomas whispered.
The word carried decades of stolen life.
“You told me she hemorrhaged. You told me the baby didn't make it. And then you offered me a job to pay for her funeral.”
A collective gasp echoed from the wedding guests.
I stood frozen near the wall, my apron still clutched in my hands. I realized the horrifying depth of Dominick’s cruelty. He hadn't just separated a young couple.
He had hired the grieving father to unknowingly raise his own stolen son.
Damian slowly stood up.
He helped Evelyn to her feet, placing her gently behind him. Then he stepped toward his grandfather.
“You made my father my employee,” Damian said, the venom dripping from his words. “You watched him mourn me, while I sat right across the table from him.”
Dominick didn't flinch.
He lifted his chin, his cold eyes unblinking.
“I did what was necessary to protect the Vitelli name,” Dominick said smoothly. “Frances could not bear children. You were of my blood. I gave you a life of power and wealth. I made you a king.”
“You made me an orphan!” Damian roared.
He grabbed the edge of the massive dining table and hurled it sideways. Crystal glasses, plates, and expensive champagne crashed to the floor in a chaotic explosion of glass.
Guests screamed and scrambled toward the walls.
Thomas stepped up beside Damian. For the first time in twenty-six years, he didn't stand slightly behind the boss. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his son.
“It’s over, Dominick,” Thomas said. “I’m taking my family and we are leaving.”
Dominick let out a dry, rattling laugh.
“Leaving?”
He tapped his cane twice against the floor.
Instantly, the heavy oak doors of the dining room slammed shut.
Ten men in dark suits stepped out from the shadows of the hallway. They weren't holding serving trays. They were holding heavy, suppressed firearms.
And stepping out from behind them was Celeste Montgomery.
She was no longer crying. Her eyes were hard and calculating.
“Nobody is leaving,” Celeste said, pulling a folded legal document from her clutch. “Not until Damian signs the marriage certificate.”
Damian stared at her in disgust. “You really think holding a gun to my head will force me to marry you?”
May you like
Celeste smiled coldly.
“No, darling,” she said. “But holding a gun to your real mother’s head just might.”
