“The attempts will wear you down. You will either be forced into hiding, or you will be dead. And you wonder why I have reservations about your future? Why I may need to make other arrangements?”
My fist clenches on the arm of the chair. “As you said, it has only been days. Do not scoff at the small amount of time that has passed and in the same breath slate me for not stopping it.Il bacio della morteis not so easy to remove. It has neverbeenremoved once given. Persuading Giovanni will take time. And in the meantime, I will not allow them to wear me down. And I will certainly not make it easy for them.”
“You will use the other sister.”
His words sink like a stone in the space between us.
Rosa Fusco. Her face appears in my mind, grieving and angry andyoung. So fucking young, but no longer as innocent as her sister was.
The rejection rises on my tongue, and my father points at me. “No fucking arguments, Caterina. You will use the Fusco sister to move things along. If you want to consider it a test, then it’s a fucking test. Matteo did what needed to be done to break the father.”
He drops his hand. “You will do what is needed to break the son.”
Because itwould break Gio, if he lost another sister. He’s barely holding himself together as it is, jagged, angry pieces of grief. If he lost Rosa too—
The Fusco line would be finished. Ripe for the vultures to come along and pick at the leftovers.
“Do this, and your place as heir is secure.” My father stands and opens the door for me to leave. “Fail, and Iwillconsider an alternative, daughter.”
I stand, sweeping past him. I don’t respond.
“I will visit you soon,” he says behind me. “I find myself curious to see how the campus has changed since I was last there.”
Not a goodbye, as the door closes behind me.
A threat.
Chapter twenty-seven Caterina
Swearing, I dig my palms into my eyes. All I can see is numbers across the back of my eyelids. Accounts. So many fucking accounts.
But none of them are therightaccounts.
The Corvos specialize in financial crime. We can get rid of any dirty money, turn it into neatly stacked piles of clean, cold cash. We can also create money where it’s needed. With that comes a specific set of subskills. Namely,hacking.
Stretching, I give myself a break from the screens in front of me and pour another coffee, ignoring the jitters in my chest telling me I’ve had far too much damn caffeine for the day. I’ve been holed up in my office at the Corvo building since I returned from my meeting with my father. Searching for a way to escape the ultimatum held over my head.
The order to use a young girl to break the Fusco family in brutal, horrific finality.
In our world, money is everything. Power. Prestige. A statement.
Without it, you have nothing. No voice. Certainly no way of paying your dues.
If I can just find my way into the Fusco accounts, I can manipulate them. Move them. Empty them, if I have to.
It all depends on how willing Giovanni is to negotiate, once his money is in my hands.
But the Fuscos aren’t stupid. None of the families of the Cosa Nostra are. Everyone has their accounts locked up, layer upon layer of the best security the money and influence of the American mafia can buy. Watertight, for all but the most experienced specialists. An important protective measure when your competitors are the best there fucking is.
My hacking skills are decent. More than decent, really. But the more I try to work my way around the edges, to softly peel back layer after layer after damned layer, the more frustrated I get. You can’t do this kind of work without patience. And today, I’m all fucking out of it.
The tentative knock on the door only annoys me more. I ducked out of training, opting to skip my schedule for the day in favor of locking myself in here and trying to fix what feels like a fucking unfixable issue. And I gave Tony strict instructions not to let any fucker through.
“What?” I snap, pulling open the door. And then I pause.
Stefano Asante fills the doorway. He’s so damn tall that his head nearly brushes against the doorframe as he blocks out the light. Dressed in a smart black sweater and dark jeans, he keeps his hands in his pockets as he flicks his eyes towards me and then away. “If this isn’t a good time, I can leave.”
Silently, I stand back, and he ducks into the room. He doesn’t speak as he looks around, taking in the empty desk, the screens.I settle back into my chair and reach out to power them off. “Why are you here?”
