Page 26
The Benedetti famiglia runs on loyalty the same way a syndicate runs on cash flow. Cut it off, and everything dies. We all know this. Our ability to fend off our enemies and operate our businesses boils down to our faith in each other.
These aren’t trusting times. Eight months ago, we seized power by ousting Gabi Jr., and the fear of his retaliation has hung over us ever since.
The formal dining room in the Benedetti compound, built to intimidate visiting guests and rival crews, does its best work on nights like this. Dark wood paneling climbs the walls, a table long enough for fourteen men stretches beneath a chandelier that has probably witnessed more dead bodies than most city morgues, and portraits of dead Benedetti patriarchs stare from their gilded frames, their expectant expressions carved in oil paint.
I’m settled on Enzo’s right. Less than a year ago, he was an out-of-favor enforcer under Gabi Jr.’s reign. Now he rules over the table, and I manage his security.
I’m grateful for the role and his favor, at least for now. Nothing stays stable long in our world, and my luck runs out eventually. So I’ll just enjoy the position while I can.
From here, every hand on the table and every twitch of a jaw is visible. Eight capos are seated, plus Nico at the far end. The glow of his tablet screen illuminates his face, his eyes half lidded with feigned boredom. Tomas Greco, the most untrustworthy man in the room, sits across from me, positioned so we’re directly opposite each other.
That’s not an accident. Tomas does nothing without calculating first, which makes him dangerous but also transparent.
When Enzo nods for me to speak, I keep my hands flat on the table and my posture calm, open, and controlled.
“Dr. Lucia Romano witnessed a Volkov Bratva conversation regarding organ trafficking.” My voice carries without effort. Years of ring announcements and press conferences drilled that into me before the scandal stripped everything else away. “Her name was mentioned specifically. That elevates her from an incidental witness to a potential liability.”
No one reacts. They never do at first.
“If the Volkovs decide that she’s a risk, they’ll remove her. A dead ER doctor attracts unwanted NYPD attention. The fact that she treated me a few days ago also puts us on their radar. We have two options. Bring her under our protection or tip off the cops that the Volkovs have a problem with her.”
I don’t mention the way she looked in that break room, struggling to hold herself together with a mug of tea. I keep to myself that, when I picture her hurt, my chest clenches like a fist.
Nico speaks before Tomas or anyone else can. “Ashford County is just three blocks from a Volkov-owned front.” He scrolls through his tablet without glancing up. “A doctor with access to that facility isn’t simply a civilian. She’s proximity, and proximity is leverage.”
At his declaration, the men exchange looks, their shoulders shifting as their minds begin to analyze.
Then Tomas opens his mouth. “The Romano woman is a civilian complication in a war we can’t afford to escalate.” The smooth rhythm of his words conveys that he’s rehearsed this. “Offering protection invites retaliation. We’d be taking a huge risk for mere sentiment.”
His gaze flicks to me before he continues.
“Enzo kept Sophia safe at enormous cost to this family. We’re still paying for that decision. Do we really want our new enforcer to commit the same sentimental mistake?”
The room goes quiet.
It takes discipline to not curl my hands into fists. The scar above my eye tingles as my jaw tightens.
Greco’s words carry the phantom weight of all the knockout punches I’ve taken in the ring. He’s verbally assaulting me, and I’m itching to launch back with words or violence.
Enzo says nothing for twelve seconds. I count meticulously to prevent myself from speaking out of turn or clocking Tomas’s face, though the second option makes for a satisfying fantasy. I want everyone to know what I think about the argument he spent the last few minutes constructing in that whiny, oh-so-reasonable voice.
I’m about a hairsbreadth away from shouting that I’ll protect Lucia whether this room approves or not, which I already know is exactly what the padrino does not need to hear in front of these people.
I continue to count the seconds, stay in my chair, and wait impatiently for Enzo to speak.
When he finally does, his tone is measured. He urges caution and insists on gathering more intelligence before committing to a protection arrangement.
His response really means, “Not with Tomas watching” and “She isn’t one of ours, and I won’t let my family bleed for her on your word alone.”
I accept this verdict with a nod because I have no other choice. But acceptance and agreement aren’t the same thing, and Enzo knows that too.
The meeting dissolves into controlled murmurs as the chairs scrape the floor. One by one, the capos file out until the long table sits empty. Tomas leaves last, his satisfaction clear in the set of his shoulders. He carries himself with the obvious quiet pleasure of a man who got exactly what he came for. He doesn’t glance back on his way out.
I watch the doorway for a while once he disappears, the unease of being outmaneuvered settling in my chest. Tomas didn’t argue against Lucia’s protection tonight. He simply cautioned the other players in a subtle warning that did the job for him.
I linger alone in that room long after it’s been emptied, running scenarios in my head and turning over how to keep Lucia safe without handing Tomas the ammunition he wants. Every option I consider has the same flaw. None of them are enough.
I’m still lounging in my chair and considering possibilities when Izzy appears in the doorway in her workout clothes. Her hearing protection is still hanging around her neck, so she must have been practicing her aim at the shooting range again. Izzy’s nothing if not relentless. While patriarchy and ego might blind most of the capos from taking advantage of her prowess, I doubt any of them doesn’t know she’s one of the most brutal operatives Enzo has.
