Page 6

“This better be fucking good,” I growl, leaning into the doorframe, my fists clenched. Matteo shifts, his unease apparent. “It’s urgent, Enzo.”
I glare, waiting. “Go on.” He swallows hard. “Our docks just got hit.” I clench my fists harder. This is bad enough news. I raise a brow, indicating for him to continue. “Rossis are behind it. I haven't found out all the details, but right now, it’s a fucking mess.”
Fucking Rossis.
My vision goes red and I feel the anger clamp on my heart like a vise. The name Rossi is like a knife in my gut. Those fuckingbastards. They're my sworn enemies. In sleep, I'd smell Rossi blood if it ever smeared itself on me. They're the ones who bled my mom dry. My jaw locks as I rock on my feet, my eyes burning with rage. My body's humming, gearing for war
Matteo clocks it. He knows of my deep-seated hatred for the Rossis. All of my associates know. He steps into my line of vision and puts his hands to rest on my shoulders. “Let’s not act rashly, Enzo. We can handle this calmly. Talk it out.”
I shove his hands off my shoulders as all-consuming rage nearly blinds me. Talk it out? I laugh, and it's cold and sharp. I slam my fist into the wall and I feel the plaster crack beneath my fist. “Fuck calm,” I spit out in a deadly voice. “They want to play, I’ll bury them.”
My blood’s roaring in my veins, that kill-high mixing with this new hate almost choking me, making me itch for a fight. I turn to steely eyes to Matteo. “Get the crew. Now. We’re meeting.”
“Enzo…” His voice is a warning. A plea for me to think this through. Fuck that. The Rossis hadn't exercised that diplomacy when they murdered my mother in cold blood.
“Now!” I ground out and he knows better to obey my order this time around.
I spin back into the chamber, where Alanna’s still kneeling, waiting. For a while, I'd forgotten her existence. My arousal is well out of the way now, and with the anger simmering in my blood, I bark, “out.”
She scrambles up without a protest. She flounders as she grabs her shit. Within seconds, she's gone. They all listen—always do.
When she's gone, my chest heaves as I try to envision it through my mind’s eye—the Rossi faces I want to smash. If it’s war they’re vying for, I’ll give them one they’ll choke on.
2
Serafina
If looks could kill, the man sitting across the table from me would be a rotting corpse by now. Luis. He’s leaning back in his chair, smirking across the table, eyes gleaming and teeth bared like he thinks he’s got me.
The nerve of him.
The meeting room’s heavy with cigar smoke, dark oak walls closing us in, a single chandelier casting yellowish light over the ten men around me. My father’s crew, leather jackets and battle scars. These battle scars tell different stories of various victories, never defeat. It's stifling, the smoke, and it grates on my nerves. I should be used to it by now, but by God, the only thing it doesis make me irritable. And now, Luis thinks it is wise to push my buttons further.
“We’ve been at this game longer than you. We know how it works. You should need our suggestions.”
I fold my arms across my chest, pinning him with a deadly glare. I know it’s because I’m a woman, that’s why they keep underestimating me. They're all trying to frustrate my efforts, because how dare a woman head them in a meeting, even though I'm only just filling in for my father. My brother Riccardo would be here instead of me, but he's out on a mission. My father would rather have me head this meeting, even though he thinks I'm inexperienced, than show how weak he's gotten. His health is deteriorating fast.
“Say that one more time and I’ll have you chew your words.”
“Serafina,” Luis drawls, voice dripping with thick condescension, “you’re playing with fire. That port’s a trap. We stick to the old routes.” The others murmur, some nodding, others eyeing me like I’m a kid.
I lean forward, elbows on the table, my black blazer sharp against my white silk blouse. I level Luis with a compelling look “Luis,” I say, my voice deceptively low, “you’re scared of a little heat? That port cuts our time by half. We move faster, we make more. Or do you prefer losing money?” I see the moment his smirk falters. Good. But he doesn't go down without a fight. None of them do. That's why they're my father's associates. Noneof them can be pushovers. He opens his mouth again, ready to push.
A snigger cuts through the room. It grabs the men's attention. It's none other than Aida, sitting to my right. She gasps theatrically and covers her mouth when she sees the ripple she's caused, her dark curls bouncing.
And she's still sniggering. She’s my ally. She runs part of my father's money-laundering gig on the side with me. Most of the time, her presence is tolerable, but right now, her presence is off-putting. She must know that that laugh pisses me off.
I shoot her a glare, and she shuts up, eyes dropping quickly to her notes.
The room quiets again, tension so thick I can squeeze the moisture from it. I stand, heels clicking on the hardwood, and point at Luis who still has that condescending look on his face. I don't mince words as I address him.
“You oppose me again, you’re out. I don’t care how long you’ve been here. Cross me openly, and you’re done.” My voice is ice, it brooks no room for argument.
Although they like to underestimate me at every turn and pretend they know better than me, even though I mostly keep out of their hair, they know my bite—vicious, quiet, deadly. Luis shifts, jaw tight, but he stays silent.Brilliant.
I shift my steely gaze to the other men, daring them to further oppose me. They don't rise to my bait, they're not stupid. I nod my head. “Good. We go with my plan. Gather some more men and have it done. Make it quick and efficient. We're done here.”
That's it. Meeting is over. The men file out, not a single cough or grumble. I've made myself clear. I exit the room after them. Aida falls in step with me, our heels echoing through the villa’s halls.