Chapter 6 The old law
Lina’s POV
The moment we stepped into the room, every gaze snapped to him.
I stayed half a step behind, tray balanced in my hands. But the second I shifted out of his shadow, the attention followed—sharp, curious, predatory. The kind that didn’t bother pretending. Heat crawled up my spine. I lifted my chin anyway.
There were many of them. Twelve, maybe fifteen. Men who looked like they’d buried secrets and people with the same calm hands. Everything about them screamed danger—the expensive kind.
“Why are you standing?” he asked. I opened my mouth, but he didn’t wait.
“Serve them.” He added, moving past me and claimed the chair at the head of the table—less a seat, more a throne. The room subtly bent around him as he sat.
Whispers broke out immediately.
“A girl in the Don’s house?” One questioned.
“How’s that possible?” Another question.
“She must be another slut he decided to let out.” Another dropped his opinion.
I didn’t let myself flinch. I flipped the first plate and began serving. My movements were smooth, deliberate. If they wanted a show of weakness, they wouldn’t get it from me.
Most of them were older—late thirties, forties, some older still. Faces carved by power, patience, and long memory. A few were young enough to still believe themselves untouchable.
“Eyes down.” Carlino’s voice cut clean through the noise.
I obeyed—but only after a beat. Long enough to remind myself I still owned that choice.
A throat cleared.
“I’m sure you acquired the girl through… negotiation,” a man said calmly. His voice was careful, measured. Not rushed. Not foolish. The kind of voice that had learned when silence was sharper than threats.
A pause.
“If you’re open to transferring ownership, I’d be willing to compensate you generously. Or—name a price. I’ll meet it.” My fingers tightened around the tray.
I shouldn’t have looked. I knew that.
But I looked anyway. Our eyes met.
He was around forty, maybe a little more. Not loud in presence, but commanding in a restrained way. Sharp features. Controlled posture. Dark hair brushed with grey at the temples. His gaze didn’t leer—it assessed. Calculated. Like I was an equation he wanted solved.
Another throat cleared.
I turned toward Carlino. He lifted his gaze slowly. “She’s not merchandise.” The room went dead still. “She was traded to me,” he continued, voice even, cold steel beneath it. “Which means she belongs under my protection, my rule, and my silence.”
A ripple of unease spread across the table. “You don’t get to price what’s already mine, Kenji Sato.” The name landed heavy.
Kenji’s lips parted. “Pad—”
Carlino raised a hand. That was enough. “We should discuss why this meeting was organized,” Carlino said flatly. “I don’t have time for useless conversations.”
Then his eyes flicked to me. “And you.” I stiffened.
“I told you—eyes down. Out.”
Something sharp rose in my chest. Fear, yes. But also something stubborn. Something angry.
I lowered my head—but not before straightening my shoulders.
“Okay,” I said, steady enough to surprise even myself. I set the tray down carefully. No rush. No panic. Then I turned and walked out.
Not run.
I stopped just outside the door, pressing myself to the wall as voices resumed inside.
“Don Lacentra,” a man said, “there’s been a slight dip in the northern routes. Not much. But enough to be noticed.”
A pause.
“Define slight, Ruggero,” Carlino replied.
“Three percent,” Ruggero said. “Maybe four. Street level hasn’t felt it yet, but the warehouse arrivals are moving slower.”
I held my breath. Something was shifting.
And whatever it was, I had the sinking feeling I was standing closer to the center of it than I should be.
Carlino leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing—not in surprise, but calculation.
“Supply or demand?” he asked.
“Neither,” another man cut in. “Transport. Two of our carriers altered schedules without notice. Claimed mechanical issues.”
Carlino hummed softly. “They don’t change schedules unless they’re told to.”
“No,” Ruggero agreed. “They don’t.”
Silence settled. Heavy. No one rushed to break it.
“And the product?” Carlino asked.
“Clean,” Ruggero replied. “Same quality. Same sources. No contamination.”
Carlino nodded once. “Then someone is testing patience, not declaring war.” A few men nodded in agreement.
Another shifted in his seat. “There’s also the stock issue you asked about. The white shipment from Valencia moved slower than projected.”
“How much slower, Luca?” Carlino asked.
“Two days,” Luca replied. “Not enough to raise flags. Enough to start whispers.” Carlino’s fingers tapped once against the armrest.
“Whispers,” he said quietly, “are louder than gunfire.” The room went still again. “Here’s what we’ll do.”
Every spine straightened. “Ruggero,” Carlino continued, “split the northern distribution. Half moves east for the next ten days. No announcement. No explanation.”
Ruggero nodded. “That’ll rebalance demand.”
“Matteo,” Carlino said, turning his gaze. “Replace the two carriers. Don’t fire them. Just… let them rest.”
A faint smile tugged at Matteo’s mouth as he nodded. “Understood.”
“Luca,” Carlino added, eyes sliding back to him. “Slow Valencia by another day. Make it look intentional. If someone’s watching, I want them to be bored.”
Luca exhaled. “Consider it done, Padrone.”
Carlino folded his hands. “If this is pressure, it’s polite pressure. Which means it’s coming from someone who still wants to do business.”
“And if it’s not?” Kenji Sato asked.
“Then they’ll push harder,” Carlino replied evenly. “And when they do, we’ll know where to look.”
No threats. No raised voices. Just certainty.
He stood, signaling the meeting’s end. “Adjust quietly. Keep our people paid and our surname clean.”
“Don Lacentra,” a voice called as he turned to leave. An older man stood slowly, measured in every movement. “They say an old law lingers in the shadows of every throne,” the man began. “A king without a queen is a king waiting to fall. Alone, he may command armies, amass wealth, and strike fear into men—but a crown without an anchor will always sway.”
The room listened.
“Without her—the partner, the strategist, the one who steadies the hand—the empire becomes a candle in the wind. Bright for a moment. Then gone.”
Carlino faced him fully now. “I have ruled for years,” he said calmly. “I do not need a queen.”
The old man didn’t flinch. “Then by law,” he replied, voice steady, “the throne will be taken from you and handed to another lineage.”
The words hung there. Unchallenged.