"Just to confirm our meeting this afternoon." A pause, deliberate and weighted. "I'm looking forward to seeing how domestic life has treated you. Rumor has it the Moretti princess has settled into her role quite convincingly."
The implied threat hung in the air between us.
"Four o'clock," I said flatly. "Don't be late."
"Never. Oh, and Luca? Be sure to bring that lovely bride of yours. I'd very much like to meetla principessawho's tamed the infamous Don."
As the line went dead, I recalled Giuseppe Moretti's unexpected visit to Ricci's territory last month. The timing felt too convenient. Two old men, both with grudges against the current power structure. Both with reasons to want the Romano-Moretti alliance destroyed.
My phone buzzed again—Angelo this time.
"Tell me something useful," I said by way of greeting.
I leaned back in my leather desk chair, the office around me a study in controlled luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the empty club floor below, monitors displaying security feeds, my laptop open with personnel files already queued up. From here, I could see everything. Control everything.
Or at least, I used to think so.
"That bartender you fired last week, Tony? He's been badmouthing you all over town. Bragging about knowing things that could 'bring down the mighty Romano.'"
"Tony?" I frowned, pulling up his file on my computer. "Anthony Vassallo?"
I studied Tony's employment history more carefully. The recommendation had come through a third party, but the signature belonged to someone who'd worked closely with Giuseppe Moretti's legitimate businesses.
I pulled up his references. There it was—his previous job had been at a restaurant owned by a shell company with connections to Moretti's money laundering operations.
The blackmail wasn't random opportunism. It was a coordinated probe, designed to test our security while gathering intelligence about our marriage. Giuseppe had been planning this for over a year.
"Put him under surveillance," I said. "I want to know who he's talking to."
"You got it, boss."
I hung up, everything beginning to fall into place. Tony had worked several events where Sienna and I had appeared together. He would have seen us when the public wasn't watching—the careful distance we maintained, the tension that simmered beneath our polite smiles.
But was he working alone? A bartender wouldn't have known the security blind spots. Wouldn't have had the nerve to blackmail me directly.
No, someone was using him. Someone with more knowledge, more resources. Someone close.
Rage, cold and focused, settled in my veins. I pulled out my gun, checked the clip, and holstered it beneath my jacket. Then I picked up my phone and called Sienna.
"Put on something appropriate for meeting a rival family," I said when she answered. "We have a situation."
"Good morning to you too," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Interesting way to greet your wife after disappearing before dawn."
Wife. The word hit differently coming from her lips. It was starting to sound less like a convenience.
"This isn't a social call," I said, more harshly than intended. "Someone knows about our arrangement, and they're making noise. We need to present a united front."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Someone knows it's convenient?"
"Yes." I didn't elaborate.
"Who?"
"That's what I'm going to find out." I checked my watch. "Be ready in an hour. We have a meeting with Salvatore Ricci at four."
"Ricci?" The recognition in her voice was immediate. "He's dangerous, Luca."
"I know exactly what he is." I hesitated, then added, "Wear something expensive. Something that says you're mine."
