Snapping Point

14.

It felt like entering a den of hungry, hissing vipers, relentless in their pursuit until they were satisfied, regardless of the toll it took on their prey. That was the Triad in a nutshell whenever they convened for a meeting with anyone.

I was all too familiar with this. As a result, my hands turned as cold as ice, and my legs threatened to give out as I approached the corridor leading to Morelli's office.

What had they learned about Xenia that was so crucial they couldn't wait until tomorrow? If they had heard anything about her at all, I was finished.

Merciful heavens. Morelli would reduce me to ashes. I had never defied him before, but that fact wouldn't make up for this one time that I had. Disobedience was met with fatal consequences, no exceptions.

The idea of lingering outside the door both impressed and troubled me in equal measure. Finally, with resolve, I rapped sharply on the door and let myself in without hesitation. This was one of those days I detested being a Rossi; the moment all three men fixed me with a lethal glare, as if I were a traitor.

Would Morelli swing open the door overlooking one of the finest views in Bologna and toss me off the balcony? No doubt my father would land a few punches on my face. And Amato, he'd likely chuckle, that mocking "I-told-you-so" laughter that always grated on everyone's nerves.

"Don Morelli," I addressed, turning to face him and offering a slight bow. "Father, Consigliere," I acknowledged each of them in turn.

They were all dressed similarly in three-piece suits, but their demeanors set them apart. My father stood taller than the others, while Morelli exuded a sense of bulkiness. Amato, on the other hand, often seemed to carry a darker aura, whether it was due to his own misdeeds trailing behind him. Differently, they possessed formidable presence and commanding personalities. Now, imagine the amalgamation of it all.

Morelli remained seated in his chair, unable or unwilling to rise, while my father sat with authority. Leaning over the table from the side, my father oozed so much power, for the umpteenth time, I wished he didn't have that much of it. Meanwhile, Amato lounged at the edge of the spacious office, puffing on a joint.

I adjusted my jacket, attempting to appear composed, though inside, I knew I was already losing my composure. "Ottavio—"

"I'll get straight to the point, you damn fool," my father spat, his nostrils flaring. "Ottavio's hands are clean in the mess you've stirred up."

I struggled to find my voice, stammering for a moment before managing to speak. "I never intended for things to go this way."

"But they did," Morelli interjected, his voice dropping to a menacing tone. My entire body trembled, though I couldn't comprehend how they failed to notice. "I'll make you pay dearly for this, Romano. For defying my orders!" His words had me teetering on the edge of retreat. "Do you know why your father's here today?" Without waiting for a response, he continued, "To witness how I deal with you."

Glancing quickly at my father, I sought reassurance or perhaps a hint of defense. But his deliberate avoidance of eye contact confirmed my worst fears – no one here was going to vouch for me, not even him.

I hadn't expected anything different. I had been entrenched in this family since birth, with the illusion of leaving utterly nonexistent. I understood all too well the dynamics at play among us. Love? Certainly not. Tolerance? Perhaps only from Morelli's end. If I were to meet my demise at the hands of someone in this room, I wagered it would be my own father who would pull the trigger, while Morelli's voice would urge him to reconsider, and Amato would simply laugh.

Morelli, his polished brogues clicking against the floor, paced around the table, positioning himself squarely in front of me. He leaned back, scrutinizing me with the intensity of a stern judge, and I felt like a condemned criminal awaiting sentencing.