“I hope this isn’t what I think it is,” he says.
“Mind your business, Marco.” I don’t answer his question because it’s none of his damn business what happens between my wife and me. “What do you want?”
He shrugs, apparently deciding not to push. “The shipment from Colombia hit a snag. Police intercepted two containers at the port, and now they’re demanding almost triple the usual bribe.”
“How much?”
“Five million instead of the usual two.”
I lean back in my chair, mind shifting to business mode despite the ache in my body. “Pay it. We can’t afford delays.”
“Already handled. But, Uncle…” He pauses, studying my face. “Maybe we should discuss boundaries while I’m here.”
“Boundaries?”
“With your wife. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”
The fact that he even feels the need to say it makes my blood boil. “There won’t be.”
“Good. Because she’s beautiful, and charming, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually falling for her.”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
The next morning, I walk into the dining room to find them having breakfast together.
Again.
Marco is telling some story that has Kasimira laughing so hard she has to wipe tears from her eyes.
She never looks at me like that. Hell, she never looks at anyone like that. Pure joy, unguarded and genuine. When she laughs, her whole face lights up.
Marco reaches over to brush a crumb from her cheek, and I imagine what it would feel like to break his fingers one by one.
“Good morning,” I say, taking my seat at the head of the table.
“Morning,” Kasimira replies, her smile fading slightly.
“Uncle.” Marco nods. “Sleep well?”
“Fine.”
The rest of breakfast passes in stilted conversation while I watch Marco charm my wife and plot increasingly violent ways to remove him from the premises.
By evening, the estate has been transformed for Antonio Torrino’s seventy-fifth birthday celebration. The old bastard insisted on throwing his party here, claiming our grounds are better suited for entertaining than his cramped penthouse.
The reality is that hosting the party here serves as a display of Moretti power. Guests arrive to see armed guards, expensive cars, and enough security to protect a small country. It reminds everyone exactly who they’re dealing with.
The main ballroom glitters with crystal chandeliers and tables laden with food. Pole dancers move on raised platforms while guests mingle and make deals that will shape the criminal landscape for months to come.
Kasimira enters the room wearing a red dress that should be illegal, and every conversation stops. The fabric hugs her curves like a second skin, and her hair is swept up to show off the elegant line of her neck.
“Stunning,” Marco murmurs beside me.
“Careful.”
“Just making an observation, Uncle.”
She moves through the crowd like she was born to this life, shaking hands and making small talk with criminals and politicians alike. When she reaches our table, she settles beside me with a grace that makes my chest tighten.
