Signed To The Mafia King - Chapter 25: Chapter 25

ALINA
I stepped out of the car, smoothing my hands down the front of my blazer.
The mansion in front of me was quiet, its tall gates locked, the windows dark.
From the outside, it looked like just another expensive house built away from the center of the city, but I knew better.
It was a safe house, one of my father’s best-kept secrets, owned under an offshore company in his lawyer’s name.
Only a handful of people knew it existed, and those people were waiting for me inside.
My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to stay calm. I wasn’t here to be the nervous daughter of Emilio Costa.
I was here to be the woman taking his place.
Beside me, Pietro watched me closely.
“How do I look?” I asked, steady even though my heart was knocking against my chest too fast.
He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “Perfect, Al.”
I nodded, ignoring the tightness in my chest as I turned toward the doors.
Inside, the air was fragrant with the smell of expensive cigars and whiskey. The moment I stepped into the room, all conversation stopped.
A hundred eyes turned to me.
I walked inside. At the head of the long table, an empty chair waited for me. The senior bosses of my father’s empire filled the room, each bringing ten of their men.
It was a show of strength, a way to remember that even without my father, the Costa made men were still powerful.
But not united.
My uncles were here. I hadn’t invited them. That meant someone had told them about the meeting. I didn’t know who, but I’d figure it out later.
For now, I had to prove myself.
I took my seat at the head of the table, resting my hands on the polished wood.
“Thank you all for coming,” I said. “You know why we’re here.”
Silence.
Then, Vito leaned forward. He had been one of my father’s most trusted men, a fixture in the family for as long as I could remember. “We’re here because we have questions, Alina.” His words were not biting, but there was doubt in his eyes. “Loyalty is earned, not given.”
“I understand,” I said. “But I’m not a stranger to any of you. You’ve watched me grow up. You know who I am.”
“We knew you as Emilio’s daughter,” Roberto cut in. His presence here irritated me, but I didn’t let it show. “Not as the leader of this family.”
A few of the men murmured to themselves. I wondered if they would murmur the same way if it was Adriano seated on this chair.
“She is the rightful heir,” Rinaldo, my father’s head of finances, said. “This empire belongs to her.”
Alberto laughed under his breath. “You think men who have built their lives in this business will hand everything over to a girl?”
I clenched my jaw.
Mikhail, one of the younger but influential men at the table, leaned back in his chair. “We need to know she can lead,” he said. “We need to know she can protect us.”
Protect them?
They weren’t looking for leadership. They were looking for reassurance that I could keep them safe, that I wouldn’t fall under pressure.
Pietro leaned forward. “She’s the daughter of Emilio Costa. She’s already proven she’s capable.”
“Has she?” Roberto tilted his head. “Or has she only just begun to realize what this world truly demands? And look how she reacted, laying on her back for Luca’s protection.”
I cringed. Since when had my uncle started sounding so crude and disgusting?
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what was happening. I was sure my uncles had been working against me before this meeting even started.
Probably before the wedding. Probably on the day Luca had made me wait a few more days before calling the meeting.
My blood boiled.
I stood, slamming my palm against the table. Some men flinched, others gritted their jaws and acted like nothing had happened.
But all of them shut their mouths and listened. That was all I needed.
“You want proof?” I asked. “I’m here, aren’t I? I am all the proof you need.”
No one spoke.
I lifted my chin. “If I weren’t capable, I wouldn’t be sitting at this table. My uncles would have killed me already. We wouldn't have Luca's loyalty. You'd all be hiding because the other Mafias would be hunting your families. Don't tell me about strength. We all know I am the strongest at this table.”
I looked around, meeting the eyes of the men who doubted me.
The room was deathly silent for a second before Roberto exploded.
He shoved back his chair, the legs scraping against the marble floor, the sound grating on my nerves.
“You dare accuse us?” His voice was shaking with rage, the skin on his face tightening like hide. “Your own family?”
Alberto stood more slowly, his eyes heavy, colder. Not anger. Disgust. “This is what we get for entertaining a child at the table.”
He sniffed, like the mere sight of me offended him. “You sit in that chair and think you’re our equal?”
My pulse pounded.
I could feel every eye in the room on my skin. Some were waiting to see if I’d back down. Some were already siding with my uncles.
Some, I hoped, were still on my side.
I couldn’t afford to look weak.
I clenched my jaw. “I don’t think I’m your equal, Uncle.” I tilted my head, my voice cold. “I think I’m above you.”
Roberto’s face went red.
“You have no proof,” he spat. “None.”
“Not yet,” I admitted. “But when I do, you best believe you’ll both be dead before the day runs out.”
Alberto blinked at me, his mouth tightening, like he was disgusted by my very existence. I was disgusted by his very existence. I didn't care what he thought of me anymore.
But Roberto?
Roberto reached into his jacket pocket.
I barely had time to react before the gun was in his hand, and pointed at my head. He was so angry his fingers were shaking on the trigger. He was likely to shoot me just from how he was trembling.
Everyone was awake and watching. The air was alive and electric. I knew I was scared, but if my father had taught me anything, it was that fear begat courage.
I missed him sorely then. Roberto would never have gotten a chance to hold a gun to my face if he was alive.
Chairs scraped back, men rising, hands finding and pulling out their own weapons.
Pietro moved before anyone else.
His body blocked mine, his gun already drawn, cocked, and aimed at Roberto’s head.
My breathing felt suspiciously shallow, like I would pass out.
I should’ve expected this. I should’ve been ready.
But nothing prepared you for the moment someone aimed a gun at your head.
Especially when that someone was your own uncle.
Was this how my father had felt in his final seconds? Had he known it was coming?
Had he looked into the face of someone he trusted and realized—too late—that they were the reason he was going to die?
No, he hadn't. He hadn't died this way.
I wouldn’t go down like him.
I wouldn’t. I straightened my shoulders, prepared to shout Roberto down when someone interrupted me.
“Enough,” a voice barked.
I looked to the front, shocked at the look on his face.