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Gustave Conti and his son Stephano sit to Carlos' right. Gustave has been grooming Stephano to take over for the last few months, ready to retire somewhere in Italy.

Enrico sits with his father, Fabrizio, and his brothers. Roberto, the new capo of the Giordano family, sits on his chair, glaring at Enrico. I should feel a sense of commiseration with him. After all, his father was just killed, too, but I fail to bring up any sympathy for the fucker. Not only is he the new head of human trafficking and prostitution—I despise human trafficking and refuse to launder any money coming from that side of thebusiness—but contrary tomyfather,hisactually deserved to be killed after taking Enrico's sister for reasons we have yet to figure out.

The rest of the men in the meeting are cousins and consiglieres. Vito normally would be here with me, but I kept him back at the mansion to keep an eye on Scarlet.

"Well, since we're all here, let's begin with the bad news first," Edoardo glares at Enrico, who looks unfazed. "As you can probably well imagine, Giovanni's demise," again, he glares at Enrico, "has not only put us in a bind, but also in the red. The Venezuelans have all but taken over the human trafficking side of the business and would have taken prostitution too, if it wasn't for Stephano stepping in."

The heir of the Conti empire bows his head sarcastically. I don’t know him very well, but it seems I should remedy that. From the look he just threw at Edoardo, it doesn't seem like he's a big fan of his either.

"I appreciate Stephano helping out in that regard," Roberto asserts, spitefully, "but I'm fully capable of handling my family business."

"What are our plans regarding the Venezuelans?" Fabrizio asks, ignoring Roberto and earning himself another glare from Edoardo.

"Nothing right now," Edoardo says.

"Nothing?" I crease my brows. "We'll just sit back and do nothing?"

"I thought you, of all people, would be happy about that. You've been on my ass to shut human trafficking down ever since my father died and I took over," Edoardo scoffs.

The fucker is trying to back me into a corner. "That doesn't mean I'm willing to allow the fucking Venezuelans to encroach on our territory."

A mumble of agreeing voices rises from the others.

"Fine, if you want it, you take it," Edoardo calls my bluff.

"It's mine," Roberto asserts, having no clue when to keep his fucking mouth shut, but sparing me from doing something stupid like taking on human trafficking just to spite our Don. On the other hand, maybe I should. Then I could shut it down on our terms.

"We will not go against the Venezuelans, that's an order." Edoardo slaps the table. "The matter is done."

"My sister Camilla is still missing," Roberto changes the subject, turning to Enrico, "If you have her…" he leaves the threat hanging.

Camilla wasn't at the villa when Enrico stormed it to free his sister; nobody has seen or heard from Giovanni's daughter since.

"I don't keep vipers in my house," Enrico leans back in his chair, challenging Roberto, "but you're welcome to come look. You'll get the same welcome as any other intruder."

"I have men looking for her," Edoardo intervenes before things can escalate. I don't give a rat’s ass about Camilla Giordano, that whole branch of the family is rotten to the core. But I'm willing to put my hand in the fire to swear Enrico has nothing to do with that. Like me, he loathes violence against women.

"I'm sure she will show up. In the meantime, I'm all too happy to take over trafficking," Carlos offers. Of course, he would be. He and Angelo have been salivating over the Giordano's business for years.

"I'm not dealing in humans," Marcello objects.

"Nobody asked you to, boy. I will handle it," Carlos blusters.

"I'll say it only one more time. This business is finished. Basta! I don't want to hear another word about it," Edoardo proclaims.

I look through the room and notice with satisfaction that I'm not the only one unhappy with this decision. We might not want to be part of trafficking, but we also don't want the Venezuelans to just take it over. It portrays weakness. Edoardo just weakened all of us.

Maisy brings in my breakfast,asking me where I would like it, and I reluctantly get out of bed. It's been nice lying here, letting my mind drift. I was relishing in the smell of sex on the sheets because when I sayletting my mind drift, I meant letting it circle around Antonio.

The smell of coffee, however, is incentive enough to leave the bed, and Maisy pauses at the door to ask if I need anything else. I quickly eye the tray to check that there is enough creamer and sugar to put me into a diabetic-induced coma and tell her everything looks good. Once she's gone, I shamelessly add both to the coffee. The mix of caffeine and sugar raises my mood instantly, and I sit down on the couch beside the low table, where Antonio's laptop is waiting for me.

A yellow note sticks out on the lid. I assume it has his login info scribbled on it; my heart has a quick hiccup when I read what he wrote.

Like a besotted schoolgirl, I kiss the note before I press it against my heart, giggling slightly.

I don't know when he did all this, but as soon as I open it, a Google page opens with several tabs for me to select from. Yves St. Laurent, Gucci, Dolce Gabbana, Versace, and the list goes on.Except the ones I can afford, as a quick glimpse at the price tags confirms. Who pays five hundred dollars for a pair of thongs? I might pay that for a purse or a sweater. A pair of shoes, maybe, if it’s for a special occasion. But athong? Curiously, I look for a purse and nearly snort my coffee through my nose. Twenty thousand dollars—I make sure it’s US dollars—for a purse. No way. At one tab, I notice that the shopping cart already has items inside it. The store name says Agent Provocateur, piquing my curiosity. I click on it, and my jaw drops. A loud giggle escapesme. Of course, he would have started shopping there. In the cart, I find a bra with matching thong and garter belt, in blood red. It's lacy and cute, and I would love to own it, but these three items alone total over a thousand dollars.

One purse alone would wipe my savings account clean.