Matteo’s fingers curl around the edge of the desk, the muscle in his jaw ticking.“You goddamn well took Fabrizio Russo’s daughter off a rooftop in Dallas.Without authorization.”
Authorization.As if this family has survived by waiting politely for approval.
“She was compromised.”
I offer no apologies.No explanation.Just the truth, as I see it.
Nico’s voice comes low, cooling an already-icy room.“Compromised how?”
“Drugged.”
The word lands like a dropped blade.
Matteo’s stare sharpens.“By whom?”
I hold his gaze until I feel it press against the back of my skull.“Does it matter?”
“Fucking hell.”His nostrils flare.“It matters if we’re about to go to war with Dallas because you couldn’t keep your damn impulses in check.”
He’s not wrong.He’s also not right.
“She was already a target.”I let my words unwind slowly, deliberately.“The Russos have been encroaching on Houston for months.She was seen here twice in the last week, both times without an escort.They were testing our borders, and we all know it.”
Nico shifts, subtle but absolute, the easy posture dropping away.
His attention sharpens because he understands exactly what that means.
“Her presence was a deliberate, hostile act,” I continue, voice steady.“Russo knew where she was, and he allowed her to waltz into our territory like she owns it.”And that’s bullshit.“She wandered around Montrose and shopped at the Galleria as if the city already belongs to them.”I form my hands into tight fists.“He poked at a sleeping wolf, and no one—including you, big brother—should be shocked when it wakes up.”
Matteo’s jaw flexes.The muscle there jumps like he’s grinding back all the things he wants to say.
“The moment she stepped onto Houston soil,” I add, “she made herself a target.”
Nico’s eyes flicker.
“Their consigliere didn’t reach out to you before she sashayed through the Heights, did he?”
We all know she’s the family’s unofficial consigliere, but there are protocols that could have been followed if they wanted to avoid this kind of situation.
“Nico?”I prompt.
“No,” he confirms.
There’s agreement, unease, and calculation in his expression.
He sees the map the way I do.
Every movement is a message.
Every appearance in enemy territory is a provocation.
“They wanted to see if we’d respond.”I let the truth settle like a weight across the room.“We had no choice.”
“No choice?”Matteo echoes, voice disbelieving.“Kidnapping the Russo family princess while she was safe at home was the only move you saw on the board?”
Matteo and Nico exchange glances.
Casually I shrug.“They deserve this.”
