Touch My Son, Touch Your Death

The school boxing match. My son Leo’s gloves were lined with broken glass.

I carried him from the ring. Blood was everywhere, staining the canvas crimson.

And Isabella, the monster behind it all, just stood there smirking. A snake's smile.

She dragged her son over, then slapped me. Hard. Again and again. She tried to force me to my knees.

"Some gutter trash like you… thinks he can challenge the Falcone heir? This is what happens. Believe me, I say the word, and you disappear. Poof."

I just raised an eyebrow.

The Falcone family has one heir this generation. My son, Leo.

So when did a Falcone become gutter trash?

I wiped the blood from my lip. I called the Don—the man my father made.

"I hear the Falcone family has a new heir."

Let's see who has the nerve to touch the old Don's grandson.

A man’s voice answered. Rough. Impatient.

"Who the hell is this? Some bitch calling the boss? Piss off before you’re sleeping with the fishes."

A chill went down my spine.

Marco got a new right-hand man.

A new guy who didn't know my voice. Didn't even know I existed.

Worse. Sixteen years of marriage, and he didn't even save my number?

The voice on the other end was still cursing. I hung up.

It was clear. Calling Marco was useless.

Seeing this, Isabella clicked over in her heels, looming over us. "Alright, you bitch. Stop the act. Apologize to my son. Now."

But I wasn't listening to her anymore. My eyes locked on her hand.

On the antique ruby ring sparkling under the lights.

The symbol of the Falcone matriarch. The one passed down from my grandmother.

My ring.

Then I looked at the boy next to her, Nico.

Around the fifteen-year-old’s neck hung a fine cross necklace, engraved with the Falcone family crest.

The cross I picked for Leo’s tenth birthday.

Now it hung around another boy's neck.

A boy about Leo's age.

The pieces clicked into place.

If I hadn't come back from Sicily early…

I never would have found out. Marco had a mistress. And he let her and their bastard son wear what was ours.

Worse. He had been betraying me since the year we were married.

White-hot rage burned in my chest.

The referee nearby smirked.

"What? Some girl from the slums thinks she can challenge the Don's woman?"

"Hurry up and apologize to the real Falcone heir. All this blood is scaring him."

The guests started whispering.

"Right? Some nobody trying to be a big shot. Everyone knows Nico was supposed to win."

"I don't want my kid standing near him. You might catch... poverty."

Their looks of disgust were like cold knives.

They made my son, Leo, tremble in my arms.

Leo clutched my silk dress, shaking his head desperately.

"Mama, I didn't make trouble. I just heard the winner gets five thousand dollars. I wanted to buy you a new cashmere shawl."

"And… the winner gets into the elite training camp. If I get in, I can get stronger. I can protect you…"

I looked at his pale little face. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a fist.

For three years, I was in Italy, cleaning up the family business. I told Marco to put one million dollars in Leo’s trust fund every month.

The money was supposed to arrive on time. My son was to want for nothing.

And now here he was, the true Falcone heir, fighting for his life over a miserable five thousand dollars.

It was Marco. He had crossed me. He used my own son as a sacrificial pawn.

Before Leo could finish, Nico raised the golden trophy high and slammed it down on Leo's bandaged hand.

"Agh!" A gut-wrenching scream tore from Leo's throat.

Leo curled into a ball, shaking in pain.

The bleeding, which had just stopped, gushed out again. The gauze turned red in an instant.

Nico spat. "You knew my father booked the best steakhouse in Chicago to celebrate my win. He's waiting for this trophy. And you still dared to challenge me?"

My vision went red.

"Stop it!" I lunged forward to protect Leo, but Isabella shoved me back.

Isabella and Nico exchanged a look. Vicious smiles spread across their faces.

"Since your son wants to be so famous, I'll give him a 'gift'."

Isabella clapped her hands. A few reporters swarmed in, camera flashes popping everywhere.

A reporter exclaimed, his voice buzzing with excitement.

“The slum kid tried to maim the Falcone heir with glass in his gloves and ended up mangling his own hand! This is tomorrow’s front page, easy!”

I stared at the blinding flashes. My voice was ice.

"If a single one of these photos sees print, I will burn the newspaper that ran it to the ground."

The quiet authority in my voice froze every reporter in the room.

Tears streamed down Leo’s face. He clutched his wounded hand.

"Mama, it hurts so much…"

I frantically tried to tear open his glove.

The glass shards dug deeper, leaving horrific wounds in his palm.

I couldn't imagine the agony he felt with every punch.

Three years of patience. Three years of compromise. Three years of trust.

All for nothing.

For my son to be treated like trash. For me to be erased. For this whore and her bastard to take my place.

Enough.

My hand trembled as I dialed a number.

"Vito. Leo is hurt. A boxing match at the school. Get the family's best doctor to the estate. Now."

A pause.

"Then freeze Marco’s assets. Strip his authority. And bring him to me. In chains."

The roar of an engine came through the phone, followed by a steady, respectful voice.

"Yes, my Queen. I'm on my way."