33

33

VIVIENNE

The Moretti office still smelled like my father.

A mix of cigar smoke and old leather clung to the walls.

I stood for a moment just inside the door, letting my eyes move over the room. The shelves were lined with books I’d never seen him read, trophies from deals struck, photographs with men who were both allies and enemies at one time or another.

I sat down in his chair. It creaked the same way it used to when he leaned back during long meetings. It felt strange to be here, like I was stepping into an old life I’d left behind.

Stacks of documents waited for me. Some were neat and organized; others were messy piles of numbers, names, and coded notes. I started going through them one by one, my pen scribbling in the margins. Shipments, payments, security arrangements—it was all here.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I said without looking up from the ledger in front of me.

Marisol entered, sharp as always. Her hair was pulled back into a clean twist, and she carried a leather folder tucked under her arm.

“Report,” I said.

She stepped closer to the desk. “We’ve had movement near the docks. The Rivera family’s been sending people—no direct interference yet, but they’re watching. At the clubs, one of the owners decided to push back on last week’s cut. It got heated. I stepped in before it went too far.”

I looked up at her. “The Riveras don’t send people just to sightsee. They’re probing for weaknesses. Increase patrols. No one goes in or out without being seen.”

Marisol gave a short nod. “Understood.”

“And the club owner?”

“Paid—full amount plus interest. He won’t be trying that again anytime soon.”

I leaned back, tapping my pen against the desk. “Good. Keep him on the list anyway. If he tried once, he’ll try again when he thinks the timing’s better.”

A faint smirk tugged at her mouth. “Duly noted.”

“Updates,” I said, gesturing to the folder.

She opened it and began. “Territory disputes—South Market, mostly shouting, no blood. Over in the East End, there’s friction between Dante’s crew and Romero’s. And—” she flipped a page—“one of the Valencia shipments came in ahead of schedule. It could work for us, but it messes with the timetable.”

I skimmed the sheet she laid in front of me. “These South Market numbers—too high for a routine week.”

“That’s because Romero’s runner handled collections,” she said. “He skimmed.”

“Find out how much. Quietly. And make sure it comes back to us before he thinks it’s gone unnoticed.”

She jotted a note. “Done.”

We went through two more pages like that—line by line, figure by figure—until I shut the folder and pushed it aside.

“Marisol,” I said, “we’re relocating our base.”

She paused mid-note. “Relocating?”

“Yes. The main offices, safe storage, and our primary meeting rooms. We’ll shift everything under Lucian’s territory.”

Her brows knit. “To Lucian’s side of the city?”

“That’s right. This is an alliance we have—we might as well make it work for us.”

“With respect, Madam… why plant ourselves in his shadow?”

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “Because right now, the Riveras—and every other scavenger circling—need to see a united front. I didn’t marry into this to sip wine and smile at banquets. They won’t dare touch what they believe Lucian is protecting.”

Marisol’s gaze sharpened. “And what if Lucian decides he likes having us so close? Close enough to keep?”

“This isn’t about giving him leverage,” I said. “It’s about shaping the board to our advantage. We make them think his reach covers us entirely, and they’ll hesitate. Meanwhile, we fortify in the background. When the time comes, we stand on our own ground again—stronger—and they won’t even realize we’ve shifted the power back into our hands.”

She studied me for a long moment, then closed her notebook. “Then I’ll see it’s handled exactly that way.”

I picked up my pen again, ready to move on, but something pulled at my thoughts—yesterday, Lucian, and the woman.

I looked back at Marisol. “There’s something else. I need you to find out everything you can about someone named Elena. She’s been with Lucian.”

Her brows drew together. “Elena?”

“Yes. I don’t have a last name. I want to know who she is, where she came from, and what she’s doing around him.”

“Is she a threat?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” My voice came out sharper than I planned.

Before she could say anything more, the door opened again and Bruno stepped in. He looked like a wall of muscle wrapped in a suit, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

“Madam,” he said. “The trucks passed the checkpoint without trouble. Shipment from Naples arrived early—everything’s clean. No heat.”

“Good,” I said. “Make sure the goods are locked down until they’re moved. I don’t want anyone sniffing around before they’re distributed.”

He nodded, but didn’t leave. “Also… the men are here.”

I frowned. “What men?”

He hesitated. “Your father’s old associates. They’re waiting in the meeting room.”

The words were like ice down my spine. Them.

I hadn’t seen those selfish, two-faced bastards since the day they practically shoved me into marriage with Lucian. They’d called it “protecting the family’s future.” I knew better. It had been about protecting their own power and profits.

Marisol’s gaze flicked to me. “Do you want me to send them away?”

“No.” My tone was calm. “I’ll see them.”

I turned to Bruno. “Keep security tight outside that room. If anyone so much as raises their voice at me, I want them escorted out before they finish their sentence.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Then to Marisol: “I want that information on Elena as soon as possible. And while we’re in the meeting, listen carefully. Those men will talk more than they should if they think I’m focused elsewhere.”

She smirked faintly. “Understood.”

I rose from my father’s chair and walked out the room.

Halfway to the meeting room, I paused. My father had sat across from those men countless times. He’d never let them forget whose name they served under.

I told myself, You are your father’s daughter. They don’t control you—you control the room.

My hand rested on the door for a brief moment before I pushed it open.

The meeting room smelled faintly old whiskey.Around the long table sat men who had once been my father’s closest allies.

Donato, with his slicked-back hair and fake smile. Pietro, lounging back with gold rings flashing on his fingers. Lorenzo, older but still sharp-eyed, his fingers drumming on the table. Others sat in silence, watching me as if trying to decide what I had become since they last saw me.

I stepped inside, letting my eyes move over each of them. I didn’t hurry. I wanted them to feel my s

ilence before I spoke.

“Gentlemen,” I said at last “It’s been a long time.”

Not one of them answered right away. Good.