She crosses her arms, her sassy defiance returning just enough to prove she is not broken. "You think you can just drop a massive emotional bomb on me and then walk out to have a mob meeting? I am not a fragile little doll, Matteo. You don't have to lock me away every time the wind blows."
My jaw tightens. God, I love her mouth. I love the fire in her. "You are locking the door because I said so, Clara. Ten minutes."
I do not wait for her argument. I turn and stride out of the office, listening sharply until the heavy click of the deadbolt echoes down the hall. Only then do I move toward the master suite. I pull a clean black henley over my head, smoothing it over my damp chest and the dark tattoos on my left shoulder.
I walk to the wall safe hidden behind a framed mirror. I key in the biometric code. The heavy steel door pops open.
Inside sits the Arthur Reeves file.
I pull the thick manila folder out. It holds the original promissory note. One million dollars. Signed in ink by a coward. Attached to it are the Bellanti shipping logs. The exact coordinates, dates, and manifests for illegal military-grade munitions pouring into the south side of Chicago. This is the match that will light the twenty-year Costa-Bellanti war into an absolute inferno.
I take the folder. I walk to the private elevator at the end of the hall. I swipe my thumb on the scanner, and the steel doors slide open.
The descent to the restaurant level is quiet. The Il Corvo kitchen and main dining floor are locked down. The elevator doors part, revealing the aftermath of my violence.
The air smells of bleach, iron, and stale espresso. The Costa cleaners are already working with brutal efficiency. Black body bags are being hauled out through the reinforced alley doors. Mops push pink-stained water across the custom hardwood floors.
Dominic stands by the massive mahogany bar. My older cousin. The boss. He wears a tailored charcoal suit, perfectly composed despite the massacre that just occurred on his property.
Turi stands a few feet away, pouring two measures of scotch. The older man's silver hair catches the dim emergency lighting. His weathered face is tight with tension, his kind eyes scanning the blood on the floor. He raised us after the hits twenty years ago. He stepped into the void Carlo and Igor left behind.
Turi holds out a glass as I approach. "You took a massive risk tonight, figlio."
I ignore the glass. I stare directly at Dominic. I toss the manila folder onto the mahogany bar. The heavy thud cuts through the sound of the cleaners dragging weight across the floor.
"The shipping logs," I state. "Verified."
Dominic sets his drink down. He opens the folder. His dark eyes scan the manifests. The temperature in the room seems to drop as the boss of the Costa family calculates the exact damage we can inflict on our enemies.
"Munitions," Dominic murmurs. "Heavy artillery coming through the river ports. The Bellantis are gearing up for a siege. They want to finish what they started twenty years ago."
"They will die trying," I reply.
Dominic closes the folder. He taps his fingers on the cardboard. "These logs are worth millions in strategic leverage. We own the ports now. We sink these shipments, we cripple their infantry. Good work, Matteo. But there is a loose end."
"Name it."
"Arthur Reeves," Dominic says coldly. "He stole this data. He owes the family one million dollars in gambling debts. You took his daughter as collateral. She is sitting in my penthouse upstairs right now. The girl is a liability. The Bellantis tracked her here. They blew my doors off to get to her."
My chest turns to granite. "No one touches her."
Dominic arches an eyebrow. "She is a ledger entry, Matteo. Collateral. We extract the value and we dispose of the problem. Or we trade her back to her father for his head."
Feral rage spikes hot and sharp in my blood. I step into my cousin's space. The size difference between us is negligible, but my build is heavier, built for brute force. The gold chain around my neck clinks against my collar.
"She is not a ledger entry," I snarl, my voice vibrating with absolute lethal intent. "She is mine. Do not speak of her as a transaction again. Do not ever suggest trading her."
Dominic does not flinch. He studies me. He sees the absolute madness in my eyes. He sees the obsession. "You arecompromised. You are the underboss of this syndicate. You do not lose your head over a debtor's daughter."
"I am buying the debt," I say.
Silence stretches across the bar. Turi stops polishing a glass, his eyes widening slightly.
"What?" Dominic asks quietly.
I pull out my encrypted burner phone. I open my personal offshore accounts. "The family treasury is owed one million dollars by Arthur Reeves. I am transferring one point two million in liquid cash into the main syndicate account right now. The debt is paid. It is nullified."
Dominic watches my hands move across the screen. "You are paying a million dollars of your own money for a school teacher you met twenty-four hours ago."
