The Don’s Crown Was Built on My Father’s Grave

I laid Salvatore down on the bed without bothering to take off his shoes and socks like I usually did. Without saying a word, I left the room and walked the long marble corridor to the guest bedroom, past the soldier standing his silent watch at the head of the stairs.

As I closed my eyes, my mind was flooded with memories of how he had spoiled me over the years.

Morning light streamed through the tall estate windows, warming my face. When I opened my eyes, I found Salvatore's gaze fixed on me, intense and focused.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Were you upset because of last night? I'm sorry. I had too much to drink at the sit-down. It won't happen again, I promise."

Soft and gentle, as always. I murmured a response and slipped into the bathroom, scrubbing his scent from my skin.

The breakfast table was loaded with a spread of beautifully prepared Sicilian dishes. There was a time when I would've been touched by such a gesture. But after seeing his phone, I couldn't even force a smile. Every single dish on that table was Carmela's favorite.

The heavy front doors opened without a knock, and Carmela walked in, wearing a high-end designer dress fresh from the latest collection. She sat down at the table like she owned the estate, smiling at me.

"Sorry to barge in, Adri," she said sweetly. "The Don and I are meeting a shipping man this morning, and he told me to come here for breakfast."

My gaze dropped to the keycard in her hand. The highest-level access to the estate grounds, identical to mine.

Salvatore noticed the tension settle over the room and leaned in to explain, his voice low and soothing. "Carmela is part of the famiglia. It's normal for her to move freely through the estate."

Before he could finish, he suddenly stood, alarm flashing in his eyes. He took the hot cup from Carmela's hand.

"You have low blood pressure. You can't drink espresso," he scolded. "After all these years, you're still so careless." He shook his head.

Carmela smiled coyly. "Yeah. Good thing you always remember."

They locked eyes, and it was as if the whole room had frozen. Even the associate refilling the water by the sideboard went still, his hand hovering over the pitcher.

I stood to leave, but Carmela's voice stopped me.

"Adri, the body restoration today needs professional documentation. Can you handle the photography? I don't trust the new forensic man."

After my father's brutal death, I hadn't picked up a camera since. Every time I looked through a lens, I remembered how he had taught me to capture evidence in an instant. I remembered the agony in his eyes as they tortured him for the truth he died protecting.

Salvatore knew this.

That's why he had locked away all my photography equipment, telling me to wait until I was ready. But now, without even asking, he pushed me into the back seat of the bulletproof SUV.

"Adri, can you sit in the back? You know Carmela gets carsick."

He'd forgotten. After years of running for my life, my motion sickness was far worse than hers.

The bumpy ride down from the hills left my stomach churning.

When we arrived at the morgue near the old monastery grounds, Salvatore personally checked Carmela's protective gear, adjusting it with meticulous care before leading her into the restoration room. I leaned against the car door, struggling to catch my breath and calm the dizziness.

"Hurry up, Adri. The restoration is about to start. Stop being difficult," Salvatore said, taking my arm. "This documentation is important for both Carmela and the famiglia."

My balance wavered as he pushed me inside, and my equipment nearly slipped from my hands.

Five years. Five years since I last held a camera. Fear wrapped around me like a steel vice. My hands trembled so badly I could barely press the shutter. But I forced myself to breathe, to focus. I steadied myself the way my father used to, and began methodically documenting the restoration. When we reached the halfway point, Salvatore left, leaving only Carmela and me in the room. She glanced at my photos, a cold smirk curling her lips.

"Isn't it pathetic how useless you are, just like your father, Adriana?" Her voice dripped with contempt. "The audacity to bury himself inside the Families for twenty years, only to fail at keeping his cover."

"The daughter of a traitor like you," Carmela's smile sharpened, "doesn't deserve to stand beside the Don of Sicily."

Then came the sharp crack of skin against skin. My head snapped to the side as a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Carmela had slapped me.

My breath hitched. My hands tightened around the camera until my knuckles turned white, fury burning beneath my skin.

Carmela's eyes glittered with malice, and her fingers drifted to the pendant at her throat. "I didn't think you'd be so pathetic. The second Matteo tossed you aside, you latched onto Salvatore like some desperate stray."

My face burned, but I held my ground.