"Exactly." Giada stepped forward at just the right moment, as if she had been waiting for her cue all along. She carried herself with polished confidence, her smile perfectly measured, like she was performing for an audience. Her fingers drifted briefly to the hollow of her throat before she let her hand fall.
"What's the point of keeping a woman who can't give you an heir?" she said lightly, her voice laced with cruel logic. "And what good is all that territory, all those tribute lines, if there's no blood to pass it down to?"
Her words were sharp, deliberate, designed to cut.
Around the room, heads began to nod. Some of the older capos exchanged knowing glances, others whispered in agreement, their expressions reflecting a quiet acceptance of her heartless reasoning. In this world, a dynasty without heirs was a dynasty already dead.
Unable to endure it any longer, my mother stepped forward, her grief transforming into fury. Her hand released the crucifix at her neck, and her eyes blazed. Her trembling finger shot out as she pointed directly at Nico.
"You," she spat, her voice filled with venom. "Have you forgotten where you came from?"