"Boss." Yuri's voice carries that particular tone—the one that means he's trying not to laugh. "You're going to love this."
I shift the velvet box in my pocket. "What."
"Rogers. The American idiot." A pause. "He sent flowers to the Sartori compound."
"Flowers."
"Not just flowers, boss.Flowers." Yuri chuckles. "Megan says they cover the entire living room. Roses, lilies, orchids—the man bought out half of Chicago's florists. There's a card the size of a dinner plate apologizing for missing their date."
The laugh starts somewhere deep in my chest. I let it out—a low, rough sound that makes Igor glance at me in the rearview mirror.
Flowers.
James Rogers thinks he can win Vittoria Sartori withflowers.
"How much?" I ask, still amused.
"Megan estimates fifteen, maybe twenty thousand dollars worth. The delivery trucks blocked the compound entrance for an hour. Pietro wasn't happy."
I can picture it. Vittoria standing in a sea of petals, her dark eyes flat with annoyance.
She hates it. I know she does.
Not because flowers are inherently offensive. But because Rogers chose quantity over thought. He threw money at a problem without understanding what the problem actually was.
Vittoria doesn't want to be buried in roses. She wants to bewanted.
She wants someone who notices when she's tired. Someone who asks about her security algorithms and actually listens to the answer.
Rogers looked at her and saw a mafia princess. A prize.
I looked at her and saw a woman who could bring empires to their knees with a laptop and still yawn like a sleepy kitten at midnight.
"Should I be concerned about this?" Yuri asks. "He's clearly trying to get back in the game."
I consider the question.
James Rogers. Twenty-eight years old. Trust fund baby playing at being a businessman. His family sells luxury cars to people with more money than taste. He's handsome enough, I suppose. Polished. The kind of man mothers like Aria Sartori dream about for their daughters.
Safe.
That's what he represents. A safe, legitimate connection. No blood on his hands. No enemies lurking in shadows. No warehouse interrogations or bodies disappearing into Lake Michigan.
A month ago, he might have been a threat.
Now he's scrambling. Daddy probably called, furious about the leaked photos of his secret fiancée. Demanded James fix this mess before it cost them the Sartori alliance.
Following orders.
I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
"No," I tell Yuri. "He's not a concern. Just a boy doing what his father tells him."
"And if he becomes a concern?"
"Then I'll handle it."
