Chapter 11 - THE BLOODLINE
I stared at the yellowed contract, the words blurring as my hands shook violently.
It was a pact, signed in blood and ink, dated thirty-seven years ago.
I, Don Roselli, acknowledge the child borne by Maria Ricci as my own flesh and blood. In exchange for my protection over the Chicago territory, Vincenzo Ricci shall raise the boy as his heir, ensuring my bloodline commands the Midwest. Should Vincenzo fail, the Roselli family will reclaim the boy.
I couldn’t breathe.
Matteo’s mother hadn’t just had a brief affair with Marcus Sterling before her marriage.
She had been involved with Don Roselli, the most terrifying mafia boss in America. The man who currently ran the Commission.
Matteo wasn’t Vincenzo’s son. He was a Roselli.
And the Commission didn’t just want Matteo to take over Chicago because he was capable. They wanted him because he was their true blood heir.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, clutching the paper to my chest.
If Matteo stayed in Chicago to fight the Roselli family, he would be fighting his own biological father. And Don Roselli wouldn’t just kill Matteo—he would force him to take the throne, twisting Matteo into the exact monster his mother died trying to protect him from.
“Miss Miller?” the flight attendant asked gently, stepping into the cabin. “We’ve reached cruising altitude. Can I get you anything?”
I looked at Leo, who was fast asleep in his wide leather seat, exhausted from the most traumatic night of his life. He was safe. He was flying toward a miracle.
But Matteo was walking into a slaughterhouse, completely blind to the truth.
“Turn the plane around,” I said.
The flight attendant blinked. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Tell the pilot to turn this plane around right now!” I shouted, unbuckling my seatbelt. “We have to go back to Chicago!”
“Ma’am, Mr. Ricci gave strict orders—”
“Mr. Ricci is going to die if we don’t go back!”
Forty-five minutes later, the private jet touched back down on the Chicago tarmac. I left Leo asleep on the plane with the heavily armed guards Matteo had assigned to us, making them swear not to let him wake up alone.
I took one of the black SUVs and sped toward the warehouse district, where Matteo had told me the Commission meeting was being held.
The rain had started to fall, slicking the streets in black glass.
When I pulled up to the abandoned dockyard, my heart sank.
A dozen black town cars were parked in a circle, their headlights illuminating the pouring rain. Armed men in trench coats stood like statues in the downpour.
In the center of the lights stood Matteo.
Opposite him was an elderly man holding a black umbrella. He had sharp, hawkish features and silver hair. Don Roselli.
I killed the engine, grabbed the journal, and bolted out of the car.
“Matteo!” I screamed, sprinting through the rain.
Guns instantly raised, dozens of lasers painting my chest in red dots.
“Hold fire!” Matteo roared, his voice cutting through the storm.
He ran toward me, his face pale with fury and panic. He grabbed my arms, shielding my body with his own.
“What are you doing here?!” he yelled over the rain. “I told you to leave!”
“You can’t fight him!” I cried, shoving the yellowed contract into his chest. “Matteo, read it! Look at it!”
Matteo frowned, taking the wet paper. He read it under the glare of the headlights.
I watched the man I loved shatter for the second time in twenty-four hours.
His eyes darted from the paper to the old man standing under the umbrella.
Don Roselli smiled, a cold, reptilian expression.
“I see the little maid found your mother’s insurance policy,” Roselli said, his voice carrying easily over the rain. “Vincenzo was a weak man, Matteo. But your mother knew where true power lay. She gave me a son.”
Matteo stepped away from me, his hands dropping to his sides. The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead.
“You’re my father,” Matteo said, his voice hollow.
“I am,” Roselli said, stepping forward. “And it is time for you to take your rightful place. Marcus was a pest, but his death cleared the board. Take Chicago, my son. Rule it under the Roselli name. Or refuse… and watch me slaughter everyone you love. Starting with the girl.”
Roselli nodded toward me. The armed men raised their weapons higher.
Matteo looked at me. His dark eyes were filled with a profound, crushing sorrow. He had spent his whole life trying to avenge his family, only to find out his family was the root of all the poison.
He slowly reached into his jacket.
My heart stopped. Was he going to pull his gun? Was he going to die right here on the docks?
Instead, Matteo pulled out his mother’s braided leather bracelet.
He wrapped it tightly around his fist.
Then, Matteo walked toward Don Roselli. He didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t kneel.
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He stood inches from the most powerful mafia boss in America, and he did something no one had ever done before.
He dropped his gun on the wet pavement.
