I close the laptop with a soft click and lean back in my chair, allowing myself a moment to savor the completion of phase one.
The mahogany desk before me is covered with legal documents—a marriage contract spread across the polished surface, each clause meticulously crafted to bind the Conti bloodline to me through legal ties that death alone can sever.
The irony is exquisite.
Giuliana has spent years trying to save her pathetic father from the consequences of his choices, sending him money she couldn’t afford while he pissed it away on cards and horses.
Now she’ll pay the ultimate price for his betrayal, becoming the instrument of his psychological torture until I decide they’ve both suffered enough to balance the scales.
The office door opens without a knock—Danny’s privilege as my most trusted lieutenant.
He strides in wearing a charcoal suit that conceals the Glock holstered beneath his left arm.
“The priest is confirmed, boss,” he says, settling his considerable frame into the leather chair across from my desk. “Father McKenzie owes us enough favors to perform the ceremony without asking uncomfortable questions about the bride’s…enthusiasm.”
Danny sets down a manila folder thick enough to contain someone’s entire life story. “Viktor Torrino is anxious to meet. And the complete background check on the daughter came back.”
I open the folder with the anticipation of a collector examining a rare acquisition.
More photographs spill across the desk’s surface—surveillance shots of Giuliana at her veterinary clinic, professional headshots from her website, candid images of her with friends at coffee shops and parks.
Her personnel file makes for fascinating reading.
Summa cum laude from Northwestern’s veterinary program, residency at one of Chicago’s most prestigious animal hospitals,glowing recommendations from colleagues who describe her as “brilliant under pressure” and “naturally gifted with both animals and their owners.” Financial records show a woman who’s supported herself entirely since college while regularly sending money to her worthless father.
Money that went straight into poker games and horse races.
The psychological evaluation is particularly illuminating.
Dr. Jennifer Clark, one of Chicago’s most respected forensic psychiatrists, has provided a comprehensive assessment based on interviews with Giuliana’s colleagues, academic records, and behavioral observation.
Her conclusions paint a picture of someone with exceptional emotional resilience, high intelligence, and what Dr. Clark terms “protective instincts that border on the pathological when it comes to family.”
“She’ll fight,” I murmur, studying a still from security footage where Giuliana is treating what appears to be an injured dog.
She looks compassionate as she appears to talk soothingly to the animal.
That wasn’t what I had been expecting.
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Danny ventures carefully. “A little challenge might make the victory more satisfying.”
I look up at him, noting the way his jaw tightens when he thinks I’m about to cross a line he can’t follow me across.
Danny served two tours in Afghanistan before finding his way into my organization, and his military background gives him amoral compass that occasionally conflicts with the requirements of our business.
It’s why I trust him.
A man without principles is useful, but a man who chooses to compromise his principles for you is invaluable.
“Something on your mind, Danny?” I ask softly, danger lurking in every word.
He shifts in his chair, his massive hands folding together as he chooses his words, clearly understanding the warning. “The girl’s never hurt anyone, boss. Clean record, clean life, clean conscience. This feels different from our usual business.”
“Different how?”
“Usually when we destroy someone, they’ve earned it. They’ve betrayed us, stolen from us, threatened what’s ours. But Giuliana Conti…” He gestures toward the photographs. “She’s collateral damage. An innocent paying for her father’s sins.”
The date on the security footage of Giuliana tending to the dog catches my eye: three years, two months, and eighteen days since Marco died.
