The Throne That Blind Fool Denied

That evening, Julian returned in triumph with Camilla.

But when he pushed open the doors to the banquet hall, he froze.

The champagne hadn't been decanted, the seating was a mess, the newly appointed acting Consigliere was in a panic, and they had even forgotten to adjust the lighting above the main table.

Julian stood at the entrance, his brow furrowed in a deep line.

However, the party's atmosphere forced him to maintain his facade as the Don.

I sat in a corner of the hall, squeezed at a table with ordinary Soldatos, and watched the farce unfold with cold detachment.

The lights converged on the main table.

Camilla, in a custom-made white gown, stood beside Julian like a proud peacock. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow, considering I was his rightful fiancée.

Camilla, of course, spotted me. She picked up her champagne glass and glided onto the stage.

"Marina, there you are," she said, her voice amplified by the microphone. "On the way to the negotiations with the Russians yesterday, a rival crew ambushed us. Don Julian was exhausted from protecting me."

"I recall that dealing with these external threats is the Consigliere's responsibility. How could you let your guard down? What if the Don had been hurt because of your incompetence?"

Murmurs rippled through the family members, their gazes turning on me, sharp and accusing.

Julian looked over as well. His gaze was glacial, laced with displeasure.

I set down my champagne glass and rose to my feet without haste.

"Miss Rossi, I must correct you. The necklace around your neck is a symbol of honor, but also of responsibility. Since Don Julian has bestowed this honor upon you, you should understand how to share his burdens."

"But you were only concerned with reveling in the glory. At a critical moment, not only did you fail to assist Don Julian, you made him protect you. That is your dereliction of duty."

"Or perhaps you should ask yourself why, while wearing the family's most sacred symbol, you couldn't even handle a handful of common thugs?"

My words struck a chord. The family members’ gazes shifted, now scrutinizing Camilla.

"No, that's not it. I just—" Camilla panicked, her lips trembling, unable to form a coherent excuse.

She seemed to have never expected that the ever-tolerant me would become so sharp-tongued.

The murmurs grew louder. Some members even began to question whether bestowing the necklace had been a wise decision.

Stammering, her desperation mounting, Camilla burst into tears, wailing about how I had humiliated her.

A celebration held in her honor had turned into a joke.

"That's enough, Marina!" Julian interjected, his face dark as he came to her rescue. "You are my Consigliere. Protecting me is your duty. Now, apologize to Camilla for ruining this party."

A bitter, angry laugh escaped my lips.

Julian had deliberately taken Camilla to the docks for a walk-through, creating the illusion that she had contributed to the family, all to justify her wearing the necklace.

Their encounter with the thugs was a pure accident, and now he was twisting it into my failure?

I lifted my chin and looked Julian straight in the eye. "I did nothing wrong. She started this. If anyone should apologize, it's her!"

It was the first time I had ever publicly defied Julian, and it shattered his authority in front of everyone.

He stared at me, fury churning in his eyes. "I'll say it again. Apologize to her!"

"No!"

As we stood in a standoff, Julian raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.

The entire hall fell into a dead silence. Even Julian himself seemed stunned by his own action.

My face quickly swelled, turning a fiery red. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth but remained defiant.

"I will not apologize!"

"Fine." Julian suppressed his rage, pacing back and forth with a hand on his forehead. "Someone, take her away and lock her up. She can come out when she’s ready to see reason."

The party ended on a sour note.

Julian returned very late, still carrying the cloyingly sweet scent of Camilla's favorite perfume.

Seeing me curled up on the sofa, my face tear-stained, a flicker of guilt crossed his face.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, squatting down and reaching out to touch my cheek. "I was just—"

"Don't touch me!" I slapped his hand away. "You should be with Camilla."

My rejection rekindled his anger.

"What the hell are you throwing a fit about?" He stood up, looking down at me, his tone filled with undisguised annoyance. "Camilla was just concerned about the family. Was it necessary to make such a scene?"

I looked up at the man I had loved for ten years. Even now, he still believed I was the one in the wrong.

"Julian, you call that concern? Slandering me in front of everyone is concern?"

Julian's eyes flickered for a moment before he changed the subject.

"That's still no reason for you to ruin the party."

He walked to the window and lit a cigar, his emotions gradually calming.

"In the end, isn't this all about the necklace? After the official engagement next month, the entire family will be yours. Is it necessary to fuss over such a small thing?"

He always used the position of Donna to hold me hostage, to force me to be the "more generous" one.

I said nothing. There was no point in continuing the conversation.

Thinking I had recognized my mistake, he softened his tone. "Alright, I was wrong tonight, too. I shouldn't have hit you. Consider that slap as my apology for what Camilla did. We're even."

I stared at him, reeling from his twisted logic.

I was framed, the perpetrator shed a few tears, and I was the one who got slapped.

And now he was telling me this made us even?

What kind of twisted, mobster logic was that?

I closed my eyes, calmed my breathing, and fought to suppress the urge to scream.

It was time to throw those documents in his face.