Now they were grown. No longer the tiny, fragile babies Nico had brought home, but young adults standing on the edge of their futures. One had been accepted into Princeton. The other was heading to Yale. Ivy League schools. Prestigious. Competitive. The kind of achievements that would open every door the legitimate world had to offer, the kind that would give the Valente name weight in places where guns and territory meant nothing.
I was so proud I felt like my chest might burst. Every late night, every sacrifice, every moment I had given them, it all felt worth it.
At their college send-off, the grand hall of the Valente estate was filled with the quiet clink of crystal glasses, the murmur of capos and their wives offering congratulations, the scent of gardenias and old money that clung to every surface of the room my grandfather had built. Nico approached me with a document in his hand. His expression was calm, almost rehearsed.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice smooth, "it's time to transfer everything to the kids. Let's make sure they have a solid start."