CHAPTER TWELVE- The Weight of a Crown
561 Words
Gianluca Romano stood on the balcony of his villa, sipping dark espresso as he stared out at the quiet hills of Sicily. The wind passed through the olive trees below, but it didn't drown the noise in his mind.
That crown should’ve been mine.
He clenched his jaw, the porcelain cup cracking slightly under his grip.
Leonardo Gold.
The name twisted in his gut like poison. Everything Gianluca ever wanted—power, respect, loyalty, the leadership of the Romano syndicate—was stolen the moment Leonardo stepped into his rightful place. A boy with a royal bloodline and a cold heart, handed the empire like it was a birthright.
Gianluca smirked bitterly. He’s weak where it matters. Emotional. Attached. Now, he’d married some fragile woman from the Bellini line. Peace? Unity? Ridiculous.
Peace was an illusion. Control was what mattered.
And if Leonardo wouldn’t falter on his own, Gianluca would be happy to give him a push.
***
In the darkened underground chamber beneath the old wine cellar in Verona, the air was thick with smoke, secrets, and power.
Leonardo stood at the head of the long table, surrounded by Marco, Luca, Enzo, and Paolo. Across from him sat five mafia leaders—men who ruled territories from Naples to Milan. Men who didn’t trust easily.
The room was dimly lit by a single chandelier, its golden light reflecting off polished wood and steel. No one smiled.
“You called this meeting,” Don Salvatore, the head of the Campania Syndicate, began. “But the whispers haven’t stopped. They say you’re soft now. That the marriage made you weak.”
Leonardo’s face remained still, but his voice cut through the tension.
“Whispers are for cowards. I brought you here to look me in the eye and say what you’ve been saying in the dark.”
A low murmur passed through the room.
Don Matteo of the Venice Circle leaned forward. “We respect you, Leonardo. But things are changing. Fast. Gianluca’s been reaching out.”
Leonardo’s jaw tensed. “He’s a snake with no territory. If he wants war, he knows where to find me.”
Don Salvatore lit a cigar. “Words are not enough. We need proof that this alliance with the Bellinis hasn’t weakened your grip. That your wife is loyal. That she understands this world.”
Leonardo’s eyes narrowed. “She has nothing to prove to you.”
Matteo raised a hand calmly. “Then prove it to us. Let us meet her. Let her stand by you—not as your weakness—but as your queen. If she truly belongs by your side, we’ll see it.”
Silence.
Leonardo's men exchanged glances, the tension thick. Finally, he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
“She’ll be there. One meeting. One time.”
As the men began to leave, Leonardo remained in place, gaze fixed ahead. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. But this was the world he ruled. Where loyalty was earned in blood and doubt was an infection that spread fast.
Behind him, Marco murmured, “You sure about this?”
Leonardo’s voice was cold.
“They want to test her? Fine. Let them. But if they touch her… even with a glance they shouldn’t—”
He paused, breath sharp. “They’ll learn exactly how much of a king I am.”
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