A butler opens the door, one of the skeleton staff we keep on hand at all times. Although used by the Cosa Nostra, this technically belongs to my father in his role ascapo dei capi.
The man bows. “Miss Corvo.”
“Alvaro.” I survey the candlelit entrance. “The usual place, I assume?”
At his confirmation, I head down the hallway. Sconces of candlelight flicker against the deep red walls, highlighting the expensive artwork on display.
All of it is useful. There is a huge amount of money to be made through the art world. If an anonymous buyer purchases a painting for more than it’s worth, nobody truly bats an eyelid. Especially the authorities.
And if drugs are part of the deal, slipped in alongside the painting as part of the overall cost, well, nobody will know. The value of art is so subjective, after all.
Voices, the clinking of glasses and low laughter filter out from an open door ahead of me. The men that have accompanied the dons to tonight’s meeting are all gathered inside. When I glance through, I spot Leo standing in the corner. He feels my eyes on him and looks up, baring his teeth.
Aldo, my father’s enforcer is there too, buffeted from Leo by a handful of others, and he nods briefly at me before turning away.
Not a good sign.
As I reach the closed door to the meeting room, I don’t stop. Instead, I throw it open and walk through.
The nine men inside turn to face me.
Luciano stands behind his father, Paul Morelli. One of the oldest here, gray-haired with lines of grief and laughter carved into his aging face. He used to slip me sweets when I was little, until I grew old enough to understand that taking any sort of edible from a rival family was a dangerous game.
Dante’s arms are folded as he watches me from behind Frank V’Arezza. His father leans back in his chair, his eyes scanning the rest of the room as he turns away from me.
Stefano stands stiffly behind Salvatore Asante. They look as different as night and day. While Stefano is thickly built, heavily muscled with his shaved head and dark eyes, Salvatore is sleeker. His blonde hair is slicked back from his face, eyes of pale blue landing on me with a delighted smile. He’s not an ugly man, at least on the outside.
He gives me the fucking creeps.
My eyes dance over my own father, taking in the stiffness of his jawline, before they land on Carlo Fusco. Just a glimpse is enough to tell me that Carlo is a broken man. The strong, still-handsome don has all but disappeared. He slumps in his seat,skin pale, barely paying attention to his surroundings. But Gio’s lip curls as he meets my eye, daring me to look.
To see the damage we have caused.
“Caterina.” My father stands. “Welcome.”
My smile is a little sultry, a little cruel. Carefully crafted. “Thank you, papa.”
Salvatore Asante practically licks his lips, his eyes on my body as I move past him to take up my post, and I hold back my visible distaste with a concerted effort. Now is not the time to piss off my father by antagonizing his biggest ally.
And the tension is high enough. Carlo doesn’t seem aware of much at all as he blinks, his gaze hazy. But Giovanni’s fury at standing in the same room as the man who ordered his sister’s death is clear, his anger hovering over us like a storm.
My father simply settles back in his chair, ignoring him altogether, and it only seems to make the storm more turbulent. “Now that everyone is present, we can begin. Salvatore, start us off.”
I steel myself to listen. The Asantes specialize in the movement of cargo.
Drugs, weapons. Black market goods.
Anything that needs moving, they’ll move, for the right price.
Including women.
It’s never been publicly acknowledged, even in these meetings, but having met Salvatore Asante, it’s not hard to believe.
He grumbles for twenty minutes about border controls and insurance, before Frank V’Arezzo takes over. His update is a brief and concise overview, focused on the gambling businesses they oversee from their headquarters in Nevada.
Giving as little information as possible, but not too little to be accused of holding back. Dante notices me watching, but he doesn’t give anything away as his father speaks.
There is no Dante and Caterina here. Only the V’Arezzo and Corvo heirs, here to observe, ready to take up our own seats one day.
