Chapter 177 *
Scarlett’s POV
The dress was already laid out on the bed when I came out of the bathroom.
Black. Knee-length. A cocktail dress with a structured bodice.
I stood in the doorway with my towel and stared at it. "What's the occasion?"
"Get dressed." Damon was already in a suit, standing at the window with his phone. He didn't look up. "We're leaving in forty minutes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's all you're getting right now."
I looked at the dress. I looked at him. He was still reading something on his phone with the focused expression he wore when he'd already made all the decisions and was just waiting for the world to catch up.
I got dressed.
The fit was perfect, which didn't surprise me anymore. He had an uncanny ability to know my size without asking. I'd stopped wondering about it months ago.
I was finishing my makeup at the vanity when he appeared behind me in the mirror. He had something in his hand.
"Hold still."
He reached around me and pinned something to the neckline of my dress. I looked down at it. A brooch. Art Deco style, platinum and diamonds set in a sunburst pattern.
"Damon." I touched the edge of it carefully. "This is Cartier."
"It is."
"You're putting Cartier on me for a mystery errand at eight in the morning."
"I'm putting Cartier on you because it suits you." He took my shoulders and turned me to face him. He studied the brooch for a moment, then adjusted it one more time. "And because today requires it."
"Damon. Where are we going?"
He patted my shoulder once and picked up his jacket from the chair. "You'll see."
I grabbed my bag. "I hate when you do that."
"I know."
He was already walking toward the door.
We crossed the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge at eight forty-five. I recognized the route the second we hit the ramp.
Staten Island.
Outside the window, the bridge cables swept past in long grey arcs over the water. Arthur was driving and Damon sat beside me in the back seat, scrolling through his phone.
The convoy turned onto a familiar tree-lined street, and I felt my stomach tighten. The Romano estate came into view at the end of the block. Four stories of Victorian brick rising behind a cast-iron gate and a stone perimeter wall. The gate was already open.
Seven or eight cars were parked along the circular driveway. I scanned the plates automatically. I recognized three of them as Romano family vehicles. The others were unfamiliar.
Someone had gone to the trouble of getting a lot of people in one place. I'd spent enough time in this house to know that the Romano estate didn't host guests casually. Every meeting here was deliberate.
I didn't ask. I stored the question somewhere and got out of the car.
Lorenzo was waiting on the front steps.
He was wearing a dark charcoal suit, clean shave, the closest to formal I'd ever seen him outside of a funeral. When the car pulled up, he straightened and descended two steps to meet us. The relief on his face was obvious and immediate.
"You made it." He looked at Damon first, then at me. "Good."
Damon gave him a single nod. The social warmth of a brick wall.
Lorenzo's eyes shifted to me and stopped. He took me in once, from the brooch to the hem of the dress.
"Scarlett—" he started.
"Eyes up," Damon said, without turning his head.
Lorenzo cleared his throat and looked somewhere over my shoulder. "Right. Of course." He turned and gestured toward the entrance. "Come on in. We're almost ready."
I followed them through the double doors.
The entry hall was quieter than I expected given how many cars were outside. Staff moved at the edges. No one was standing around talking. Whatever was happening today, people had already been directed to their positions.
Lorenzo led us past the dining room and toward the east staircase. At the top of the stairs, Lorenzo turned right toward the back of the house. I knew where we were going before we got there. The double doors at the end of the corridor were already open.
The second-floor conference room.
I walked through the doors. The room was full.
Sal was seated at the head of the long mahogany table. He had on a suit that said this was business. His expression was authoritative, the face of a man used to being the last word in every room.
Along both sides of the table sat people I half-recognized. Romano Enterprises board members. On the far side of the table sat Viviana, Nico, Graham, and Zelda.
Zelda had her hands in her lap and a smile on her face that had frozen somewhere between welcoming and terrified. Her eyes moved from Damon to me to Damon again, trying to read the situation and coming up empty.
I understood the feeling. I was still doing the same thing.
I took a seat where Lorenzo indicated, beside Damon and slightly removed from both sides of the table.
The room was quiet in the way that happens when everyone has something to say and nobody wants to be first.
Then Lorenzo walked to the center of the room and the noise stopped entirely.
"Before we get started," he said, "I'd like to make a few introductions. I think most of you already know who this man is." He didn't gesture. Every person in the room was already looking at Damon. "Damon Wolfe. He controls the movement of money and goods throughout this city and a significant portion of the East Coast."
Lorenzo turned toward me.
"And this is Scarlett Romano." His voice was steady. "Sal's biological daughter. His firstborn. I believe most of you have heard the background by now. Today you're meeting her in person."
Zelda's smile had stopped being a smile. She was holding the expression the way you hold a position when you're not sure whether to retreat.
One of the board members, a heavyset man in his sixties, stood up and moved around the table toward Damon with his hand extended. "Mr. Wolfe, it's an honor. I'm not sure I understand the nature of your—"
"I appreciate that." Damon didn't stand. He looked at the man's extended hand, then at his face. "I'm not at liberty to say."
"Now that everyone's here," Lorenzo said, "let's get started. I'd like everyone to watch something first."
Lorenzo moved to the head of the table beside Sal and opened his laptop. He connected it to the display panel on the wall behind him. The large screen at the front of the room flickered to life.
He turned to the screen.
I looked around the table. Every face in the room was turned forward, waiting. Including mine.