The Mafia's Undoing Chapter 35: Family Ties

The whiskey in my father’s office tasted like regret.

I set the crystal tumbler down on his mahogany desk without drinking. At ten in the morning, the amber liquid catches the light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. From this height, the city looks clean. Nothing like the blood-soaked reality we’ve built our fortune on.

"You’re not drinking." Thomas doesn’t look up from the docunts spread before him. His silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour, but I notice new lines around his eyes. Deeper ones. "That’s new."

"A lot of things are new." I sink into the leather chair across from him, the sa chair I sat in as a boy while he explained why I couldn’t have a normal childhood. Why I needed to learn to shoot before I learned algebra. "Starting with the fact that I’m leaving."

His pen stops mid-signature. For three heartbeats, the only sound is the antique clock ticking on the shelf.

"You’ll never truly leave." Thomas’s voice is soft, almost gentle. It’s more unsettling than his anger. "This life doesn’t let go, Anthony. You know that."

"Watch ."

He finally looks up, and I see sothing unexpected in those gray eyes. Fear.

"Do you have any idea what you’re asking?" He pushes a manila folder toward . "This is one holding company. One. We have forty-seven shell corporations, seventeen offshore accounts, and business interests spanning six countries. So legitimate. Most..." He trails off, jaw tightening. "Most not."

I open the folder. Pages of corporate structures, financial flow charts, and business entities with nas like Riverside Capital Managent and tropolitan Holdings Group.

"How long?" I ask.

"To untangle you completely?" Thomas stands and moves to the window. His shoulders are still broad, but there’s a heaviness to them now. "Two years minimum. Maybe longer. The legitimate businesses are straightforward - we transfer ownership and complete the necessary paperwork. But the other operations..."

"Are connected to everything." I finish his sentence as I scan the docunts. Katherine’s face flashes through my mind - her laugh this morning over burnt pancakes, the way she fit perfectly under my arm. "Jesus Christ. How deep does this go?"

"To the bottom." He turns to face , and in the morning light, he looks every one of his fifty-five years. "Your grandmother tried to convince to go legitimate. After your mother died, she begged to leave the life. For you."

The ntion of my grandmother hits like a fist to the chest. I can almost sll her perfu - lilacs and vanilla - and nearly hear her voice. Antonio, my sweet boy, there’s more to life than this. Your mother would want better for you.

"Why didn’t you?" The question cos out rougher than intended.

Thomas crosses to the bookshelf, pulls down a leather-bound photo album I’ve never seen before. He opens it with trembling hands, actually trembling, and removes a photograph.

"Because I was afraid."

He hands the photo. I recognize him imdiately, decades younger, his arm around a woman with dark hair and a smile that could light up a room. My mother. She’s laughing at sothing off-cara, her hand resting on her very pregnant belly. .

"I loved her." His voice cracks on the word ’loved.’ "God help , Anthony, I loved her more than I thought possible. She made want to be better. To leave all this behind and just... be a man. A husband. A father."

I stare at the picture, trying to reconcile the smiling couple with the story I’ve always known. "She died giving birth to ."

"She died because I was arrogant." Thomas moves to his desk, opens the bottom drawer, and pulls out a crystal vase with fresh white roses. Her favorite flowers. He’s kept them fresh all these years. "I thought I could have both - the family and the empire. I thought I was untouchable. Invincible."

He sets the vase on the desk between us, fingers lingering on the glass.

"The Castellano family disagreed. They wanted territory I’d taken. When threats didn’t work, they went after her." His hands curl into fists. "I had the best security. The best doctors. It wasn’t enough. She went into early labor from the stress. Complications. She held you once before-"

He stops and swallows hard.

"I made choices to protect you after that," he continues, voice steadier now. "Brutal choices. I eliminated the entire Castellano line. Every man, woman, and child who carried that na. Not because it would bring her back, but because I couldn’t-" His voice breaks again. "I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, too."

Sothing shifts in my chest. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition of a pattern I’m terrified of repeating.

"You held too tight," I say quietly.

"Your grandmother told that. Every Sunday over breakfast, she’d say, ’Thomas, you’re smothering the boy. He’ll run the mont he can breathe.’ A bitter smile crosses his face. "She was right. She usually was."

He sits back down heavily, suddenly looking exhausted.

"Don’t make my mistakes, son. I see the way you look at Katherine. It’s how I looked at your mother." He ets my eyes. "The instinct to lock her away, to control every variable, to eliminate every threat - it feels like love. But it’s fear wearing love’s mask."

The words hit too close. Last night, I almost installed additional security on the brownstone without telling Katherine. Nearly had Vincent put a tracker in her phone. Almost beca exactly what drove her away before.

"I’m trying to be different. But every instinct I have screams to put her sowhere no one can touch her."

"I know." Thomas’s expression softens with sothing like sympathy. "Your mother used to say I looked at her like she was made of glass. She hated it. Said she was stronger than I gave her credit for." He touches the roses gently. "Maybe if I’d listened, she’d have told about the threats. Maybe we could have handled it together."

"Speaking of threats." Thomas straightens, back to business, though his eyes remain haunted. "Luca Torrino. He’s been quiet."

"Too quiet," I agree, grateful for the shift. "He helped with Davidson, then vanished."

"Not vanished. Consolidating." Thomas pulls up a tablet and swipes through what appear to be surveillance photos. "Our sources say he’s been calling in debts, securing loyalties. Angelo’s ’death’ left a power vacuum in the Torrino organization. Luca’s filling it."

The photos show Luca eting with various n I recognize - mid-level operators, financial managers, security contractors. All the business that used to flow through Angelo.

"How reliable are these sources?" I study one image of Luca shaking hands with Viktor Petrov, a Russian arms dealer with ties to half the criminal organizations in the Northeast.

"Very. We have three informants in Torrino operations, plus wire taps on key players." Thomas zooms in on another photo. "This is how our intelligence network functions - layers of paid sources, electronic surveillance, strategic observation. It’s not as dramatic as people think. Mostly it’s patience and money."

"And Luca’s consolidating for what purpose?"

"That’s the question." Thomas sets down the tablet. "Either he’s fortifying against external threats, or he’s preparing for sothing bigger."

My phone buzzes. Marco’s na flashes on screen - calling from FBI custody. Third ti this week.

"Don’t." Thomas’s voice is sharp. "Marco’s playing an angle. He always is."

"Or he has information we need." I stare at the phone. "He’s scared, Father. I’ve seen Marco scared exactly twice - once when his daughter was sick, and now."

"Scared n are unpredictable."

"Scared n are also honest." I stand, pocketing the phone. "I’m going."

Thomas’s jaw tightens, but he nods slowly. "Take Vincent... and Anthony?" He touches the photo of my mother one more ti. "That girl of yours - Katherine. She’s stronger than you think. Trust her with the truth. All of it. Don’t make her a mory you keep fresh roses for."

The drive to the FBI field office feels longer than it should. Vincent handles the wheel while I stare at the photo I took of the one with my parents. My mother’s smile. My father’s expression - completely unguarded, full of hope.

I text Katherine: eting with soone about security. Ho by dinner. Love you.

She responds imdiately: Be careful. Making sothing edible for once. Love you too.

The normalcy of it made my chest tight. This is what my father lost. What he spent thirty years trying to protect through violence and control.

I won’t lose Katherine by becoming my father either.

The FBI building is gray and institutional, all harsh angles and tal detectors. Agent Morrison ets us in the lobby, expression grim.

"Mr. Marvin. He’s been asking for you specifically for three days."

"Why tell now?"

Morrison exchanges a glance with his partner. "Because this morning he tried to hang himself with his bedsheet. Guards cut him down, but he’s desperate. Says he’ll only talk to you."

Cold settles in my gut. Marco’s many things - conniving, ambitious, self-serving, but he’s never been suicidal.

They lead us through security, down fluorescent-lit corridors that sll like disinfectant and desperation. Other inmates - witnesses, informants, people who made deals - watch through cell windows as we pass.

The interview room is small and windowless. A table bolted to the floor, two chairs on either side. Morrison gestures for to sit.

"Five minutes. We’ll be right outside."

The door closes, and I wait.

When they bring Marco in, I barely recognize him.

He’s lost maybe thirty pounds. There’s a bruise along his jaw, yellowing at the edges. Older injuries. His hands are shackled in front of him, chains clinking as guards force him into the chair across from .

But it’s his eyes that stop my breath. Wild. Terrified. The eyes of a man who’s seen his own death.

The guards leave. We’re alone except for the cara in the corner, red light blinking.

"Cousin." My voice is flat. "You look like hell."

"Tony." His voice cracks. He leans forward, chains rattling. "Thank God. Thank God you ca. I... I didn’t think you would."

"You tried to kill yourself."

"No." He shakes his head frantically. "No, I... that was staged. I needed them to call you. They wouldn’t let , I had to make them think-"

"Slow down." I keep my voice level, though sothing cold crawls up my spine. "What’s going on?"

Marco’s eyes dart to the cara, then back to . He lowers his voice, urgent and desperate.

"Angelo Torrino is alive."

The room tilts slightly. "What?"

"The shooting at EPL 18. He survived." Marco’s words tumble out faster now. "I have proof. Bank transfers, communications, everything. But Tony-" His voice drops to barely a whisper. "He’s coming for Katherine."

My blood turns to ice.

"And there’s sothing else." Marco’s chains rattle as his hands shake. "Sothing worse. You have soone inside your organization. Soone close. They’re feeding Angelo everything - locations, security protocols, all of it." His eyes et mine, and I see genuine fear there. "He knows where you’re keeping her, Tony. He’s known for days. He’s just waiting for the right mont."

The red light on the cara blinks.

Blinks.

Blinks.

"Who?" The word cos out deadly quiet.

"Get full immunity." Marco’s voice cracks. "Complete protection. New identity, witness protection, everything. Get that, and I’ll tell you who’s selling you out. But Tony-" He grabs my wrist with shackled hands, grip desperate. "You need to move her. Tonight. Right now. Because Angelo’s not in Grand Cayman like everyone thinks."

My phone is already in my hand, pulling up Katherine’s location. The brownstone. She’s safe. She’s-

"He’s in New York," Marco whispers. "And he’s already moving."