“To my youngest, Dominic. I leave you what you have always wanted. I leave the Benedetti family, your family, in your hands, son. Despite everything, out of all my sons, you are the most like me, aren’t you?”

Roman stood. “This is…”

“Please sit down, Mr. Russo.”

One of my father’s personal bodyguards, a man I’d known to be around since I was a kid, walked behind Roman’s chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. Roman sat. Two more soldiers loyal to my father approached the desk and stood behind it, their gazes on no one and on everyone.

“Now, on to those contracts. I have each of the envelopes here. When your name is called, please approach the desk. Mr. Benedetti?”

It took me a moment to realize he was addressing me. Once I met his gaze, he continued.

“Your signature is also required.”

He gestured toward the chair behind the desk. Franco Benedetti’s chair. My father’s chair.

I stood, feeling all eyes on me as I made my way forward. I glanced once at Roman and then sat. Salvatore moved toward the door and took up a place where he could see each family as they were called up, their envelopes opened, and contracts placed before them.

I didn’t know if this was custom. If after the passing of the father, old agreements were reinforced, renewed, reminded. I didn’t know if he did it for me, to safeguard my position should anyone ever learn the truth behind my parentage. Should anyone contest my right to this seat.

The first man, Antonio Santa Maria, signed the contract. Antonio was a cousin, distant but powerful. His allegiance to my father had never been questioned. His sons, Gregorio and Giovanni, both in their late twenties, flanked him.

“Your father was a good friend. My loyalties have not before and will not now waver,” Antonio pledged.

“Thank you, Antonio,” I said. I turned to each of the sons and shook their hands, met their eyes, and nodded once. I wondered if they would remain allies or become enemies one day.

They walked out of the room.

The next man approached. Then the next. Each of them pledged allegiance. Each man signed. I took note of those who glanced in the direction of my uncle. These men knew to refuse to sign meant their death. I had no doubt Roman had supporters among them. No doubt they planned mutiny. But today, I would send a message. Today, my first day as head of the Benedetti family, I would send a very clear message.

Finally, almost an hour later, all the contracts were signed and only the attorney, four soldiers, Salvatore, Roman, and I remained.

The attorney packed up his papers, each of the contracts placed neatly into his briefcase. He then turned to me.