Gabriele’s voice cuts through the noise from his tablet. “It’s done. Their next shipment schedule is being encrypted and emailed to you now.”
I nod, cold and sharp. “Good.”
“Take Mel and Isabella back to the house,” I order. “We’ve got some cleaning to do here.”
Stefano’s beside me, his tone cautious. “What about Charlie?”
I glare at him. “What about her?”
“She should go home too,” Stefano insists, his jaw stiff.
“No,” I snap. “She’s the future Donna. She needs to be involved in everything from now on.”
Stefano doesn’t back down. “She’s too drunk.”
I growl. “Get her some damn coffee then. She’s not leaving.”
Mel stirs, sleepy and confused. “What’s going on?”
“Gabriele’s taking you and Isabella back to the estate. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” I say, already turning my attention back to Charlie.
She catches my stare and smirks, that little defiant smile she thinks hides everything. I stand and approach her. “Let’s go.” I grab her hand and pull her away before Isabella can throw in her two cents.
“Where are we headed?” she asks, brow furrowed.
Walking towards the office, I tell her, “To clean up the mess upstairs.”
“Oh, right. That,” she says, a hint of sarcasm dancing in her voice. “So, we’re chopping him into pieces?”
I bark, “No. You don’t touch the body.”
Inside the office, my eyes lock on the desk, memories crashing in of Charlie and me hours ago. I shake it off. Focus. I need to be sharp.
“Carlo, Mattia,” I call. “Get him out of here. Send him back to the Andretti family as a warning.”
“Si,” they say, pulling gloves and tarps from the hidden cupboard.
Charlie’s voice cuts in. “Are you guys always prepared for this? Does this happen a lot?”
“Not the time for jokes, Principessa,” I snap, pulling the laptop from the safe.
Stefano sits across from me, Charlie awkwardly standing to the side. “Sit,” I order. She drops into the chair beside Stefano, her eyes on me.
I open the email Gabriele sent earlier and read out loud: “Next shipment for Andretti lands in seventy-two hours.”
Stefano rubs his chin. “What are you thinking?”
“Takeover,” I say, leaning back to let it sink in.
“Takeover? Like kill them, take their turf?” Charlie asks, voice hesitant.
“Exactly.”
Stefano nods. “I’ll get blueprints of their shipping yard and plan where to position our men. How many?”
“As many as we can spare.”
“And Charlie?” Stefano looks at me, waiting.
