Page 181 of Merciless Daddy

“Morning, Lena. You ready to start? I’m hoping we can get going with organizing the fund this morning. We need trustees outside the Caruso and Scordato structure,” Angela said. “Otherwise Halberd can characterize it as a disguised transfer.”

“Three trustees,” I said. “One employment attorney. One accountant. One community representative.”

“Who do you think we choose?”

“A restaurant worker. Not a manager.” I swallowed another bite of egg because Sal was now standing in the doorway with his arms folded. He did not look pleased or displeased. He only watched. “They need somebody who understands what missing one paycheck actually does.”

Angela’s eyes softened. “Good. Yes. That makes perfect sense.”

The work came easily after that.

Mezza Notte’s employees received continuity grants. The guard’s medical account received funds through an independent insurer. Suppliers got paid through clean accounts before Gianni’s freeze could turn one burned restaurant into five smaller disasters.

I wrote the authorization language myself.

Then I opened the fleet’s access controls.

Gianni had used my legitimate companies the way men like him used everything else: as a polished face over rot. He had assumed I would remain useful and silent. He had assumed that being put in my name meant it belonged to him.

I revoked his routing privileges one by one.

His offices lost access to the clean fleet accounts. His approved vendors went into review. His shipping authorizations required a live confirmation from me.

The final prompt appeared on-screen.

CONFIRM SUSPENSION OF EXTERNAL ADMINISTRATOR ACCESS?

My finger hovered.

Sal placed a strawberry on the edge of my plate. I looked at him.

“Now?” I said. “A strawberry . . . now?”

“Eat it,” he said.

“I am about to sever Gianni’s hand from several million dollars.”

“And you can do it after one strawberry.”

I should have hated how much that steadied me. Instead, I ate it. Then I pressed confirm.

Angela let out a quiet breath.

“Done,” she said.

“No,” I replied. “Not done. But it’s begun. I worry about retaliation. This will cripple him.”

Pietro’s phone vibrated.

He looked down once. His face changed.

Sal noticed before I did. “What?”

“The sedan on the county road,” Pietro said. “We traced it.”

My stomach tightened.

“To whom?”