But Don Marco taught me better than that.
"I was distracted," I say. "I rushed the job. Made mistakes."
"Distracted by what?"
He already knows. I can see it in his eyes. But he wants to hear me say it.
"A woman."
"A woman." He leans back in his chair. "The same woman who's had you checking your phone during meetings? The same woman who made you late last week? The same woman who's turned my best enforcer into a sloppy, careless amateur?"
"Yes."
The silence stretches. He's not yelling. That's worse. Don Marco only yells at people who don't matter. The people who matter get this—quiet disappointment laced with threat.
"Tell me about her," he says.
"She's a nurse. Works at Metropolitan Medical. She's... she's not part of this world."
"But you brought her into it anyway."
"Yes."
"Where is she now?"
"My place."
His eyebrow rises. "She's living with you?"
"Yes."
"Voluntarily?"
I don't answer. Don't need to.
"Cristo." He rubs his face. "You kidnapped a civilian."
"I'm protecting her."
"From what? From who?" He leans forward. "You made her a target the moment you started watching her. You made it worse when you were seen with her. And now you've locked her in yourpenthouse like some kind of princess in a tower, and you think that makes her safe?"
"It does."
"No, Luca. It makes her a liability." His voice drops lower. "The Bratva knows you fucked up their lieutenant. They know you left evidence. They're going to come after you, and the first thing they'll do is look for weaknesses. And what do you think they're going to find?"
I don't answer.
"A woman," he continues. "A woman you're obsessed with. A woman you've been careless about. A woman locked in a penthouse in Tribeca with an address that took me twenty minutes to find." He pauses. "How long do you think it'll take them?"
My hands curl into fists under the table.
"So here's what's going to happen," Don Marco says. "You're going to fix this mess. You're going to make the Bratva understand that touching our territory costs blood. You're going to be the enforcer I need, not some lovesick fool who leaves footprints in his victim's blood because he's thinking about getting home to his girl."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you choose." He picks up his espresso again. "The life. Or the girl. You don't get both. Not anymore."
"I choose her."
