They shake hands, coolly assessing one another. “You won’t be permitted to enter with Donna Conti,” Leo confirms, casually thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pants. “All meetings are closed.”
“I am aware,” Renzo replies. “I will wait for her in the hallway.”
Leo nods, staring vacantly at my underboss before seeming to shake himself. His brow smooths out, and I release the breath I was holding when he returns his attention to me. “It was an honor to meet you. I hope your meeting goes well.”
“You too and thank you.”
We part company, and Renzo walks quietly by my side until we hear the ping of the elevator doors closing. I slam to a halt, casting a glance over my shoulder to ensure the hallway is empty. Spying cameras mounted to the wall, I walk to the bathroom and enter with Renzo trailing behind me. He checks the stalls are empty before locking the door.
“What don’t I know?” I ask, working hard to rein my anger in.
“I met Leonardo and Bennett one time in Vegas, but it was like eleven or twelve years ago. It was during that time when Saverio had pulled me away from you. I didn’t think Leo would remember me as our contact was fleeting.”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think about it until we ran into him.” He runs a hand along the back of his neck. “Now that I recall the circumstances, I’m pretty sure it was the night Bennett met his wife, Sierra.” He at least has the decency to look ashamed.
“You being here could have jeopardized everything.” I am beyond livid.
“He didn’t recognize you. That’s more important.”
I shove his shoulders, slamming him back into the wall. “Don’t bullshit me. If he connects you to Vegas, he could connect me too.”
“I’m sorry, Catarina. It was negligent of me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t mess up. What’s really going on?”
“I’ve been distracted since you dropped the bomb last week.” He grabs my hands in his, holding them tight. “Don’t do it. Please, I’m begging you.”
I forcibly remove his hands and step back. “I am not discussing this with you again. The decision is made, and this conversation is over.”
A muscle clenches in my jaw as I stalk to the sink to check my reflection in the mirror. I touch up my nude lipstick, inspecting my chignon for any stray strands. Renzo hovers behind me, the weight of unspoken words thickening the space between us.
The front of my suit jacket dips low, showcasing the upper swells of my breasts. I purposely didn’t wear a camisole, aiming for sophisticated seduction. Strings of gold-colored pearls adorn my neck, matching the gold borders edging the lapels and cuffs of my jacket and the hem of my skirt. Skyscraper pale-gold stilettos elongate my smooth legs.
I know I look the part; now I just need to execute it.
I turn around, staring wordlessly at my underboss, silently questioning if he is losing his nerve. I hope not because I need him. He has always been my rock, and he’s important to me.
Renzo follows me to the door, flipping the latch and unlocking the door. “I haven’t forgotten what you were like when you first came to Vegas,” he says in a low voice, staring at the door as he talks to me. “You may have banished it from your mind, but I willneverforget it.” He thumps his fist against his chest before turning around. Pain is etched upon his face, fear shining from his eyes. “I cannot bear the thought of seeing you like that again. If you do this and they hurt you, I will raze New York to the ground.”
ChapterThree
Catarina
The door to the conference room opens, and Bennett Mazzone greets me with a warm smile. “Donna Conti, welcome.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Don Mazzone,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Likewise, and please call me Ben.”
“Only if you call me Catarina,” I reply with a genuine smile. I like that he doesn’t stand on ceremony. It seems to affirm everything I have heard about the man. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Please join us.” He steps aside to let me enter, and I feel Renzo’s burning gaze at my back.
The room is long and wide with a glossy rectangular walnut table, housing sixteen chairs, occupying prime real estate in the center. A couple of flip charts are stowed in the top corner of the room to the left of a long cabinet mounted against the wall. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, tickling my nostrils. An impressive coffee machine with accompanying supplies rests beside a tray holding bottles of water and pastries. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer clear views of the building across the road. No blinds cover the windows, but it doesn’t surprise me. Ben owns this building, and I know the windows are constructed of special glass that looks clear from the inside and tinted from the exterior. I also have it on good authority that it’s bulletproof glass—a sturdy structure that is patented by one of Don Mazzone’s own companies.
“Allow me to introduce you,” Ben says, closing the door and steering me toward the table where the other dons wait to meet me. He announces them one at a time, and I pass the usual pleasantries, working hard to keep my façade firmly in place as I greet Gabriele Greco. Discreetly wiping my sweaty palms down the side of my skirt, I force a fake smile as I formally meet one of the men I despise.
