Chapter 36 chapter 36

Chapter 36 chapter 36
The text was written in the finest, most bureaucratic mafia German—dry, precise, and absolutely murderous to my family's legacy.

"Addendum to the Logistics and Transit Agreement between the House of De Luca and the De Laurentiis Dynasty (North-West Sector).
§ 1.1 Transfer of Ownership and Exclusive Rights
Effective the current calendar month, the House of De Laurentiis hereby assigns all usage, customs, and transit rights for the properties Pier 4, Terminal 7, as well as storage complexes B and C in the Port of Genoa, to De Luca Logistik GmbH. All previous De Laurentiis security forces are to be withdrawn from the port area within 48 hours and replaced by accredited units of the De Luca Protection Group.
§ 2.4 Profit Sharing and Money Laundering Infrastructure
The accounting of incoming freight quotas (Category Alpha) shall be handled exclusively through the gastronomy and nightclub businesses in the city area controlled by Alessandro De Luca. The House of De Laurentiis is granted a fixed structural fee of 12%, which will be paid out on a quarterly basis after the deduction of bribery and distribution costs.
§ 3.2 Severability Clause and Authorization
For the legal validity of this document before the Commission, the personal, irrevocable signature of the legal heir of the House of De Laurentiis is required. Any sloppiness, delay, or sabotage of the handover shall be considered a breach of the alliance agreement dated \[Date of Wedding\] and entitles the House of De Luca to immediate disciplinary execution in accordance with Clause 3 of the main agreement."

I managed not to bat an eye, even though bile rose in my throat. My father had allowed these bastards a lot in the main contract, but this? This was absolute economic ruin for the De Laurentiis. Pier 4 was our main source of income for all imports. If we gave that up, we were financially completely dead and one hundred percent dependent on the crumbs that Viktor De Luca let fall from his table. Twelve percent? That wasn't an alliance, that was expropriation. My father had sent me here because I was the only one who could survive this phantom—and certainly not so I could sign our death warrant with a stroke of a pen. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Basti very slowly putting down his coffee cup. He did it so skillfully that for a fraction of a second, his hand brushed my bare hip. A brief, double tap with his index finger. Our old childhood signal: I have the goods. Everything is ready. He had safely stowed the secret attack file and the bug in his crates. That tiny signal gave me absolute control back. I slowly flipped back to the first page, slammed the folder shut with a contemptuous snap, and pushed it a bit away from me, straight into the coffee puddle slopping on the table. Then I slowly looked up at my husband. I let my gaze wander over his swollen lip and the fresh bandage on his temple. My grin was gone. All that was left was the pure darkness of the De Laurentiis. "I'm not signing this crap, Alessandro," I said, and my voice was so quiet, rough, and cutting that Antonio at the door instantly dropped his arms from his chest. Alessandro didn't move a millimeter, but his pupils instantly narrowed to two dangerous points. In a second, the air in the room became so thin you could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock. "You're refusing?" he rasped, his deep baritone voice vibrating with murderous, pent-up fury. He leaned in so close to me that his jaw almost touched mine, and his muscles tightened like steel springs under his shirt. "You know the contract, Nicolai. If you withhold your ink, the alliance breaks." And my father will not hesitate to finally wipe out your already bleeding house." "Then Viktor can try his damn best," I retorted ice-cold, not flinching an inch from his physical dominance and looking him straight in the stormy, grey eyes. "Pier 4 and Terminal 7 are under the control of my men. If I sign this here, we'll be bankrupt in three months and your house pets. My father didn't throw me into this cage so I could hand you the keys to our treasury. If you want Genoa, De Luca, then you'll have to come up with better numbers than these pathetic twelve percent. I'm your husband, not your Colombian errand boy." I reached for my coffee cup, took a very calm sip and looked over at Sebastian, who had long since lost the grin on his lips and was staring at Alessandro like a target object. "And now take your folder off the table before the leather gets even more stains," I added. "I've lost my appetite anyway." For an endless, pulsating moment my mind went completely blank. The air in the dining room became so thin in a second that you could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock. Alessandro had lost control. Completely. Utterly. Before I could even properly put my coffee cup back on the saucer, his hand shot forward. He didn't give a damn that Basti was sitting right next to me. His large fingers closed firmly around the back of my bare neck, unyielding, like a vise made of pure steel. With a hard yank he pulled me over to himself, forced my head back and pressed his knee so brutally between my legs that I was pressed deeper into the upholstered chair. My freshly stitched gunshot wounds in the lower abdomen instantly flared up, a stabbing, hot pain that briefly blurred my vision. I clenched my teeth to keep from groaning. "You probably think you can set conditions here, De Laurentiis?", he hissed out. His voice was no longer a whisper, it was a harsh, dangerous rumble that came so deep from his chest that his whole body was shaking. He leaned so close over my face that his swollen lip almost touched mine. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Basti jump up like lightning. His hand twitched under his jacket - right where his weapon was. But Antonio was faster. With a loud, metallic click, Alessandro's right hand had unholstered his weapon and was aiming directly at Basti's forehead. "Don't move, De Laurentiis bastard," Antonio growled coldly. "One single step to the table, and your brains will be stuck to the chandelier." Basti froze in his movement, the muscles on his neck strained like wire ropes, but his gaze didn't leave us. He was just waiting for a single sign from me. Don't do it, Basti, I pleaded with him in my mind. An open shootout in here would kill us both. I ignored the two idiots at the door and concentrated entirely on my husband. I increased the counter-pressure, refusing to lower my gaze under his iron grip, and fixed on his stormy, grey eyes. I wanted to show him that his physical concerns didn't intimidate me. But at the same very moment, my goddamn body committed high treason. Under the table, Alessandro's cock, throbbing painfully from pure, angry horny excitement, pressed relentlessly against my thigh. And instantly this sinful, uncontrollable heat shot into my lower abdomen. My own cock reacted to his raw violence, becoming hard in a fraction of a second, and I hated myself more than anything else in the world for it at that moment. "Listen to me damn well, Nicolai," the phantom hissed, and his breath burned hot on my pale skin. "Your father didn't send you here to guard the treasury. He sent you here because he's broke. Because you're bleeding out without our freight routes. You're signing this paper. Either now with the pen... or I'll get the consent out of your body tonight in a way that will make you forget by tomorrow morning how to even stand upright." His fingers dug deeper into my dark curls, holding my head in a merciless fix.
"You set conditions for me in the car, mio sposo," he whispered right against my lips, and the sinful, murderous grin returned to his face. "No more other beds. No more other bodies. I'm sticking to it. But that means I'm going to take out all my pent-up anger and lust exclusively on you starting tonight. You're going to pay the price for this defiance, Nicolai. And believe me... you'll beg me on your knees to stop." I stared at him, the air in my lungs burned, and the pounding pulsation of my hard cock in my pants felt like a ticking time bomb. He wanted the monster? He wanted the De Laurentiis heir who showed no mercy five years ago? He thought he could make me sign away the ruin of my family with a threat for the night? I suppressed the traitorous trembling of my muscles, forced the shame of my erection deep into my belly and let my coldest, most murderous smile return to my lips. I placed my hand very slowly on his wrist, not to loosen the grip, but to seek skin-to-skin contact, to show him that I reciprocated his closeness without yielding. "Then make sure your sheets are freshly washed, De Luca," I whispered ice-cold, and my voice cut through the charged silence of the hall like a razor blade. "Come to my room tonight. Threaten me all you want. But this paper... will be rotted in this puddle of coffee even before you so much as touch me. I'm not signing it. If you want Genoa, you'll have to negotiate with me. On equal terms. Not with a gun to Basti's head." I looked briefly at Antonio, then back at Alessandro, and my grip on his wrist tightened painfully. "And now tell your lapdog to take the gun off my right hand. Before I forget what I promised Selena and drown this breakfast table in your own blood." "For twenty years I watched this harbor being built," Alessandro's voice cut through the charged air as his thumb pressed mercilessly into the muscles of my neck.