“What’s wrong with black coffee?”
I grin. “It’s fucking gross.”
He smiles fully then. Not the smirk. Not the controlled tilt.
A real one.
And for the first time since I walked into his house wrapped in a red silk bow, I don’t feel like a pawn.
I feel chosen.
And choosing him right back.
17
Lucian
The room smells like cigar smoke and old money. Mahogany walls, crystal decanters, and gold-framed portraits of dead men who thought they were immortal.
I stand at the head of the table. Every major family in the city is present. Eyes sharp. Postures stiff. Waiting for me to slip.
Killing Hartford is not something that can go undiscussed. He had been my right hand, with a history in this city. A visible extension of my authority.
And I covered this conference room with his blood. That kind of decision demands explanation.
I don’t sit because sitting would imply I’m here to negotiate from below.
I let the silence stretch until it strains.
“You all know why we’re here,” I say evenly.
Across from me, Salvatore DeLuca exhales smoke and watches me through narrowed eyes. To his left sits Victor Moretti. Elias’s father.
His expression is carved from stone.
“You killed your own man,” DeLuca says. “That creates instability.”
“He created instability,” I correct calmly.
I slide a folder across the table. Copies wait in front of each boss already. Bank transfers. Recorded calls. Messages intercepted and decoded.
“Hartford fed information to outside buyers,” I say. “He attempted to frame a protected member of my household for that leak.”
Victor’s gaze flicks up at that.
“He positioned Elias Moretti as the source,” I continue. “If I had believed him, the truce between our families would have dissolved overnight.”
A murmur ripples through the room. Victor’s jaw tightens slightly, but he says nothing.
“I investigated quietly,” I go on. “I gathered proof. And when the evidence became irrefutable, I removed him.”
“You executed your underboss,” DeLuca says.
“I executed a traitor.” The difference matters.
I let my eyes move across the table slowly.
“If any of you believe I would tolerate betrayal within my ranks,” I say softly, “you misunderstand me.”
