Page 8 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)

Do As I Say

Naeem Bulgari

I glanced down at my watch. It was eight thirty p.m., and Tatum’s first family meeting was starting in an hour.

Time to go.

“Can you walk?” I asked, doing everything within my power not to laugh at Khalil’s pain.

He was still hunched over, holding onto his dick like it was about to fall off. I’d never had a woman bite me, but I remembered the scraping of teeth from girls who didn’t know what they were doing. That pain stayed with you. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

But watching it happen to Khalil? That wouldn’t keep me up at night. He was always running his mouth about being a pussy tamer and bragging like there wasn’t a woman alive he couldn’t bend to his will, so I took a little pleasure in watching him sweat for once.

“Yeah. I think so.” Khalil slid off the front of the sofa, landed on his knees with a grunt, and used the armrest to haul himself upright.

He stood slow, stiff as hell, one hand still hovering protectively over himself. His face was tight, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscles ticking in his cheek. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at anyone, just stood there like a man whose entire ego had been dragged across broken glass.

Bats tried to hold in a laugh and failed miserably. “You sure, bro? You standing like you got a stick up your ass.”

Khalil shot him a look sharp enough to make a lesser man shut up, but Bats just grinned, laughing even harder when the door opened and he spotted both of Khalil’s women striding inside.

Tandy entered first, and Felicity followed a few steps behind.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the energy in the room became charged.

Gone was the defiance that usually clung to her like perfume.

She didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t toss out a smart remark, and didn’t carry the venom Khalil claimed she so often wore like armor. Instead, there was silence.

Stillness.

Felicity’s gaze landed on Khalil almost immediately, and for a beat, she just stood there and looked at him, her quiet stare stripping the moment of any pretense.

Khalil straightened instinctively, his posture tightening as if bracing for whatever she might throw next, but she didn’t throw anything.

She spoke.

“I apologize for biting you. It will never happen again.”

The words landed with weight, dropping into the room like a stone into deep water. For a moment, no one breathed. Even Bats, who had been riding the high of Khalil’s humiliation, fell silent.

She hadn’t raised her voice and didn’t need to.

The apology hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.

I watched closely, narrowing my eyes when I noticed Felicity’s fists clenched tightly at her sides and her throat moving with effort as she swallowed her pride.

Her voice hadn’t cracked, but it was clear that apologizing was difficult for her.

Khalil didn’t respond. He just stared, unreadable in expression, every part of him tense and controlled. Still, something in his eyes had changed.

And Felicity saw it too.

“I lost it,” she said, this time quieter. “I was angry and hurting, still grieving the loss of my father and my freedom. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening. I needed someone to blame, and you were there. You were easy.”

Tandy flicked her eyes toward Naeem, one brow lifting in silent translation: You see that? Run me my money, nigga.

Still, Khalil said nothing, but he looked at Felicity differently now. Not with softness. Not even forgiveness. Just a quiet understanding. As if, for the first time, he saw more than fire and sharp edges when he looked at her.

No one uttered a word. There was no point.

The look that passed between Khalil and Felicity had told us everything we needed to know.

Something had changed between them—not resolved, not softened, but moved just enough to matter.

And that was how real power shifted in this world. Not with shouting. Quietly. In inches.

Khalil was still standing, stiff and bruised, not just in body but in ego. He hadn’t moved an inch since she apologized. Didn’t acknowledge her beyond that jaw twitch and the flicker in his eye, but he hadn’t dismissed her either.

I checked his watch and gave a single nod, and said, “Let’s go.”

As soon as I spoke, Bats chuckled under his breath like he hadn’t just witnessed a near-death by teeth.

Tandy gave me one of those smug, half-bored looks as she turned to exit.

Felicity didn’t wait for permission to leave.

She moved behind Tandy, never making eye contact with anyone else in the room, but I saw the way her chin stayed lifted, the quiet defiance tucked into her spine.

It wasn’t the same kind she’d walked in with.

She gave Khalil one last look before walking out. Cool, not cold. Calm, but far from broken. Her steps didn’t waver, even though I could still feel the storm radiating off her. It was obvious that she wasn’t finished with him. That woman would be his undoing.

Once we were all out in the hallway, it echoed with the sound of heels. Tandy’s stride was smooth and unaffected, while Felicity’s… she was trying to walk like nothing inside her was unraveling. However, I could tell she was holding it together, but only just.

Behind me, I heard Khalil exhale. Just once. Low. Like he’d finally let himself breathe, and that was when I knew that for better or worse, that girl had gotten under his skin.

Neither of them knew it yet, but the war between them had changed shape.

***

We were just outside the door when I slowed my steps and turned to face my wife.

“Tatum,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Before we go in, you need to be ready for the bullshit.”

She folded her arms, cocking a brow. “Bullshit like what?”

“Like pushback,” I said. “They’re going to test you, question your authority, maybe even bait you into reacting. Don’t take it personal, just stay in control. You don’t owe them explanations, just direction.”

Her jaw tightened slightly. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but I did.

“I know how to run a room,” she said coolly.

I nodded. “I know you do, but this is your first meeting as Don of the Genevese, and some of your people will only see you as your mother’s daughter, and your father’s heir by default because you’re a woman. You don’t need to prove anything to them—just don’t give them anything to use.”

Tatum’s arms uncrossed, and her shoulders squared. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake?” she snapped, voice low and clipped. “You think I made it this far by accident?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You think I need to be coached before walking into a room I’ve already bled for?” She stepped closer, eyes shooting me with daggers. “I don’t need your warnings, Naeem. I need you to either walk beside me or get the fuck out of my way.”

That fire in Tatum? I respected it. I always had. Still, I didn’t apologize. I never would. Everything I said came from a place of making sure she didn’t get blindsided, even if she hated the delivery. Now wasn’t the time for her to be defiant.

Without a word, I reached for the handle, pushed open the double doors, and we stepped into the room together.

Bats was positioned near the far corner, standing sharp with his hands clasped in front of him, eyes sweeping the space in steady intervals.

Khalil stood just off-center, posted near the window, his posture rigid, the lingering pain in his side the only thing softening his stance.

Two more of our men were stationed near the exits—fully alert, eyes tracking every movement.

No one slouched. No one spoke. This wasn’t a social visit, and we weren’t on our home turf. We were soldiers on high alert, inside another family's walls. We all understood the risk.

The Genevese lieutenants noticed us the moment we entered.

I sensed the shift in body language, the barely concealed tension, and the darting glances.

One of the older capos leaned toward another, whispering something behind his hand.

Another just stared, jaw tight, tapping his finger against the edge of the table as if it took all his self-control not to speak.

They didn’t like that we were here. That much was clear. To them, this was Genevese business. Their meeting. Their table. And no matter how close the families had grown through blood and war, they didn’t want lines blurred by Bulgari men breathing the same air while decisions were being made.

Tatum felt it too, but she didn’t flinch.

She walked to the head of the table with her chin high, shoulders set, and claimed her seat without waiting for anyone to offer it.

Her presence cut through the room like a blade, sharp, intentional, deliberate.

Whatever doubt they’d carried in here, she was daring them to say it out loud.

I stayed on my feet just behind her—not because I didn’t trust her to lead, but because I wanted everyone in that room to know exactly who stood at her back. Sitting would’ve made them believe I belonged. Standing reminded them that I knew I didn’t—but I wasn’t leaving either.

I didn’t need to speak. Just being there was enough to remind them that while she was Genevese by blood, the weight behind her throne carried a different name, and if anyone had a problem with that, they could suck my dick.

She was the Don now, and my job was to make sure no one forgot it. Protecting my wife was top priority.

A man two chairs down from Tatum cleared his throat. Gino Moretti. Mid-sixties. Ran numbers out of North Dresano City before the war. He was traditional, ornery, and didn’t respect a damn thing he didn’t help build himself.

“If this is a Genevese family meeting,” he said, his tone measured but clipped, “I’m wondering why the Bulgari men are present.”

No one moved, and no one spoke, waiting to see what Tatum would say.

“They’re here because I said they could be,” she replied, voice calm but firm.

A few glances were exchanged around the table. No one else jumped in, not yet, but I could feel the shift. The tension stretched like a wire pulled too tight.

Gino leaned back slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “With all due respect, Donna… that’s not how we’ve done things in the past.”

Tatum smiled, and for a second, it was almost sweet.

“Well, with all due respect, Gino,” she said, the edge in her voice shrill enough to draw blood, “the way we’ve done things in the past almost ruined this family and put my father in hiding. So you’ll excuse me if I’m not interested in nostalgia.”

That landed, and the room went still again, this time for a different reason. She wasn’t Vera’s daughter defending herself. This was a Don establishing rules.

Gino nodded, slowly. Not in agreement, but in acknowledgment. He’d made his point, and so had she.

Tatum glanced around the table, her eyes landing on each man like she was weighing them against a standard they hadn’t been informed of.

“We’re not here to debate decorum,” she said.

“We’re here to restructure and move forward.

The world doesn’t care about tradition. It cares about power, and I don’t plan to lose any more of it because of pride and protocol. ”

I watched her with a strange mix of pride and caution. She was doing it—standing firm, commanding the table, making it clear that she wasn’t a placeholder, but I also knew what it took to maintain control, how easy it was for power to turn on you the second you let your guard down.

She was playing the game well.

I just hoped she remembered it was a blood sport.