Antonio frowns, clearly surprised by this suggestion. "Delay? For what reason?"
"Because the Lisboa route has been flagged by authorities." I pull up another news article on my tablet and hold it out for them to see. "Portuguese authorities seized two major shipments just last week. Different families entirely, but they were using the exact same route we've been relying on. They're clearly watching that corridor very carefully now."
"The Lisboa contact isn't going to be happy about any kind of delay," he points out, concern evident in his voice.
"The Lisboa contact will be significantly less happy if we proceed as planned and his entire shipment gets seized by Portuguese customs," I counter firmly. "We delay for two weeks minimum. Let the increased scrutiny die down. Then we reroute everything through Barcelona instead of Lisboa."
"Barcelona is going to be considerably more expensive," Dario says, already calculating the additional costs.
"Barcelona is significantly safer, which makes it worth the extra expense." I look at Papa, meeting his eyes directly. "We lose two weeks of time and pay an additional three percent on transport costs. But we don't risk losing the entire shipment, which would cost us infinitely more."
Papa considers this carefully for a long moment. "Antonio? I'd like to hear your thoughts on this."
Antonio looks at me first, then at Papa, weighing his response. "She makes an excellent point that we should take seriously. The Lisboa route is extremely hot right now with all this increased attention from authorities. It would be much better to wait and reroute."
"Then we wait and reroute as Liana suggested." Papa nods his approval. "Liana, I want you to coordinate directly with the Barcelona contact and set everything up for two weeks from now."
"It's already done. I called him yesterday afternoon as soon as I saw the news about the seizures."
Of course I did. Because I saw this situation developing days ago, when I first read about the Portuguese authorities cracking down, and I've been planning our response ever since.
Papa's expression softens just slightly, pride mixing with something else that looks almost like regret. Maybe he's finally realizing what he's giving up by handing me over to Santino.
We continue the meeting for another hour, and I walk them through all the detailed financials—which specific operations are profitable and by how much, which ones need adjustment or restructuring, and where exactly we're exposed to risk. I've been managing these books personally for two years now, ever since Papa decided to train me properly. I know every single euro that comes in and every euro that goes out,and I understand the business better than anyone except Papa himself.
And in three weeks, I'm expected to hand all of this over to Santino Marcello.
After the meeting finally concludes, Papa and I walk along the docks together in the strengthening morning light. The port is fully awake now, bustling with activity. Ships are unloading their cargo. Workers are shouting instructions to each other in Italian and Portuguese and Greek. The smell of salt water mixes with diesel fuel and fish, a combination that's become as familiar to me as my own perfume.
"You were very good in there this morning," Papa says quietly.
"I'm always good in there. You know that."
"Yes. You are." He stops walking and looks out at the water, watching a container ship being guided into port. "You're better than I ever expected when I first started training you all those years ago."
"Then why are you taking it all away from me?" The question hangs between us in the salt air, heavy with everything I haven't been allowed to say.
"Liana—"
"You've been training me since I was ten years old, Papa. Teaching me every aspect of the business. Bringing me to important meetings. Showing me exactly how everything works and why." I turn to face him directly, refusing to look away. "Why would you invest all that time and effort if you never actually intended to let me run any of it?"
"I did intend to let you run it." His voice is quieter than I've ever heard it. "Once. When you were younger and I was more idealistic, I genuinely thought that maybe the world wouldchange fast enough. That by the time I was ready to step down and retire, our world would finally accept a woman in a position of real power."
"And it won't?" I already know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.
"No." He meets my eyes with an honesty that hurts more than any lie could. "It won't. I've spent the last year quietly reaching out to the other families, testing the waters, trying to gauge their reactions. And every single one of them said exactly the same thing: they will not respect a female Don. They will not do business with a woman in charge of a family."
"Then they're idiots who deserve to fail."
"They're traditionalists who control half of Italy. And they're extremely dangerous when they feel threatened." He steps closer to me. "Liana, if I put you in charge of this family, they would immediately see it as weakness on my part. As an opportunity to move against us. They would come after you directly. After us. After everyone in our family."
"I can handle—"
"You can't." His voice is firm with absolute certainty. "Not against all of them united together. Not when they unite against what they perceive as a common threat to their entire way of life. And you would absolutely be a threat to them, Liana. To their traditions. To their beliefs. To everything they think they understand about how our world is supposed to work."
I want to argue with him. Want to tell him he's wrong, that I could prove myself, that I could make them accept me through sheer competence and force of will.
But I've been to enough of these meetings over the years. I've seen enough of how these men think and what they value.I've watched them dismiss women far more powerful than me without a second thought.
