I should have walked away. Should have gone to the kitchen, given him privacy.
Instead, my feet carried me closer.
"I want eyes on him. Every person he talks to, every deal he tries to make. If any of our people switch sides, I want to know immediately."
Our people. Not employees. Not workers. People.
My hand found the wall for support as I stopped just outside the bathroom door. Through the gap, I could see Cassian's shadow on the wall, pacing.
"No," Cassian continued, his voice dropping lower. "No blood unless he draws first. I don't want to give him ammunition. But if he crosses that line, if he touches what's mine—then you put him down. Permanently."
The floor tilted beneath my feet.Put him down. Permanently.
"The shipment from Tuesday needs to be moved. Matteo knows about the Brooklyn location." A pause. "Use the secondary warehouse. And Marco? Make sure the dock workers understand—loyalty to the Barone family means loyalty to me. Anyone who forgets that learns what happens when you betray your don."
Don.
The word echoed in my head.
Don. As in… mafia don?
The word hit me like ice water. I'd heard it before, in movies, in true crime documentaries. Mafia bosses. Crime families. Violence wrapped in Italian suits and blood loyalty.
"Keep me updated. And double the security here at the Morrison. No one gets near this building without full clearance." His voice shifted, became almost gentle. "I have more to protect now than just myself."
He meant Leo. He meant us.
The door handle started to turn.
I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Cassian stood there, phone still pressed to his ear. His eyeswidened fractionally when he saw me, surprise flickering across his features before his expression hardened into something unreadable.
"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact with me. He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. "Isla."
"Don." The word came out as an accusation. "You said don."
His jaw tightened. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." My voice shook despite my attempt at control. "Blood. Shipments. Putting people down permanently. What kind of oil executive talks like that?"
For a long moment, he just looked at me. Then something shifted in his expression—resignation, maybe. Or the calculation of a man deciding how much truth to reveal.
"Come with me," he said, gesturing toward the living room. "Not here. Not outside Leo's door."
I followed on numb legs, my heart hammering against my ribs. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to whatever revelation was about to shatter my carefully rebuilt world.
Cassian moved to the bar and poured himself a scotch. His movements were controlled and precise, but I could see the tension in his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw.
He didn't offer me a drink. Just drained half the glass in one swallow before turning to face me.
"You want to know what kind of executive talks about blood and shipments?" His voice was quiet, dangerous. "The kind who isn't just an executive."
The admission hung between us, heavy with implication.
"Then what are you?" I demanded, though part of me already knew. Had known, maybe, since the moment I'd heard that cold authority in his voice.
He set the glass down with careful precision. "I run Barone Industries. The oil business is legitimate—surprisingly profitable, even. But I also run something else. The Barone family."
"I don't understand—"
