Rory, as agreed, was seated when the rest of the three families strolled into our council room.
Sharply dressed in a bright red suit that brought out the strands of red in her hair, she didn’t look like she’d given birth a short while ago.
No amount of arguing had gotten her to sit this one out.
She was our Consigliere.
More than that, she was stubborn and a woman fighting for recognition in a man’s world.
I could appreciate the hustle even if I didn’t appreciate that my sister had to show her face here today because healing after labor, after birthing our literal future, looked like a weakness.
“Congratulations, Aurora,” Bruno greeted as he took a seat.
Caruso beamed at her. “A boy, too. TheCamorrahas an heir. Hunter?—”
Aurora shot him a frosty glance. “Saverina isourheir, Caruso. Don’t speak as if our reign is under threat.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
Luc’s lips twitched as he sank back in his seat. “I’ll enjoy watching you dig your way out of this one, Caruso.”
His nose wrinkled. “Apologies, Consigliere.”
“Saverina is who you owe your apologies to.” She tapped her nails against the table. “Now, to business.”
Amused, I reached for my water glass and took a deep sip. “We need to talk about how we’ll deal with Italian factions in the future. If they’re going to keep on popping up like Whac-A-Mole, we need to be better prepared.”
“Not sure why it’s taken this long for us to have a council meeting, Capo,” Bruno groused. “We should have discussed this sooner.”
“Because we prioritized cleanup duty. Your men included,” I countered easily.
“We should have convened about the aftermath of the Summit.”
“What are we? A knitting circle?” Luc snapped.
“I looped you in with the minutes as soon as they were complete,” Rory said unapologetically, her tone calm in the face of Luc’s temper. “As Stan said, we prioritized action over words as our house always will. Especially in times of war. The Favaros are no more. Prifti is dead. Thanks to Luc and Stan’s interrogations, we uncovered several more of the Albanians' hidey-holes and have eradicated dozens of their foot soldiers. The Nolita whorehouse belongs to us by right of conquest?—”
“I’d like permission to manage the fights,” Caruso interrupted, earning himself a glower from her. He raised his hands and shot her a self-deprecating smile that didn’t affect her one iota. “My background is in boxing and wrestling from college.”
“I wanted to talk about that with you,” she agreed, her expression dour. “We need to discuss funneling Red to the fighters, but that’s a conversation for another day.”
“We’re keeping the fighting pits open?” Bruno inquired with no small amount of surprise.
“They’re very lucrative.”
“Since the downfall of the ring, chatter’s spread. Some Russian and Chinese businessmen were due in for a big fight,” Caruso added. “Something about teams?”
“Yes, onechampion, and I use the word dubiously, has survived ten rounds. That means they bring in the big guns. Two sets of groups, three apiece. Throw in Red and I know who I’m backing to the hilt.”
Bruno grunted. “And we’re continuing the practice?”
“The pot’s big. There’s no coercion. If he wins, he’ll make millions.” Luc shrugged. “It’s his choice to take part.”
“Millions?” Caruso whistled. “Jesus. What’s our cut?”
“Double his,” I said wryly.
“So, it’s six against one and he thinks he can win?” Bruno squawked.
