Page 9 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

As promised, Mom got a position in the HR department at Montgomery Industries. Dad's medical care was covered by the company's premium insurance. Jake received a full ride at UT Austin.

Everything changed, just like Elliott said it would.

I set my empty glass in the sink and stare out the kitchen window at the manicured garden beyond.

I made my choice. I saved my family.

And I've been paying for it ever since.

Matteo

I lean back in my chair, studying the blueprints spread across the conference table. The Venetian Rose Casino's new security system is impressive—maybe too impressive.

"These camera blind spots are intentional?" I tap my finger on three separate locations marked in red on the schematics.

Daniel nods, his military-short hair catching the light from the overhead fixtures. "Damiano's orders. Some conversations need privacy, even from our own security feed."

"Smart." I trace the path from the main gaming floor to the private rooms. "But risky. The Sartori family could exploit these gaps if they knew about them."

"They don't." Daniel's voice is certain. "These plans are eyes-only for Feretti security leadership."

I nod, appreciating the thoroughness. This joint venture with the Sartori family requires a delicate balance—partnership on the surface with careful protection of our interests underneath.

The casino represents millions in legitimate business, plus the additional benefit of having a neutral meeting ground for more sensitive discussions.

"What about staff rotation?" I ask, flipping to the personnel schedules. "I'm seeing too many Sartori people on the main floor during peak hours."

Daniel's jaw tightens. "I noticed that too. Riccardo keeps pushing for more of their dealers during high-stakes play."

"Unacceptable." I make a note on the margin. "We need equal representation at all times, especially when whales are in the building."

My phone vibrates against the table. Damiano's name flashes on the screen. I glance at Daniel, who immediately starts gathering the papers.

"Damiano," I answer, switching to Italian. "We were just finishing up the security review."

"Good." His voice is clipped, all business. "I need you in my office once you're done. We need to discuss the charity gala next month."

"The one at the casino?" I check my watch. I'd planned to review the shipment manifest for our Colombian friends this afternoon, but Damiano's priorities always come first.

"Yes. The guest list needs... adjustments." The way he says it tells me this isn't just about adding a few names to the invitations.

"I'll be there in twenty."

"And Matteo," Damiano continues before I can hang up, "once you're finished with Daniel, send him to Lucrezia. She wants to go shopping."

"Daniel will be thrilled," I say dryly, catching Daniel's grimace as he overhears his assignment.

"He'll survive," Damiano replies, no sympathy in his voice. "My office. Twenty minutes." He hangs up without waiting for confirmation.

I set my phone down and look at Daniel, who's already standing, resignation written across his face.

"Babysitting duty?" he asks.

"Lucrezia needs a shopping companion." I stack the blueprints neatly.

Daniel runs a hand over his buzz cut.

I check that all the security documents are properly gathered. These plans can't leave this room except in the secure briefcase Daniel brought them in.

"Children's Hospital Annual Gala. The casino hosts it every year—perfect opportunity to display the legitimate side of our business, while rubbing elbows with New York's elite." I slide the papers into the leather portfolio. "And an excellent chance to make certain political connections."

Daniel nods, understanding the subtext. The casino may be our most visible business but the real value comes from the relationships we cultivate there—judges who look the other way, police captains who ensure our territories remain undisturbed, politicians who can be persuaded to vote in our interest.

"Good luck with Lucrezia," I say, unable to resist a small smile. "Maybe take her to Bergdorf first. That usually puts her in a good mood."

Daniel grunts, clearly unenthusiastic about his assignment. "I'd rather face down a cartel hit squad."

"No, you wouldn't." I clap him on the shoulder. "At least Lucrezia won't shoot you. Probably."

"Funny." He secures the briefcase with a click of the locks.

I follow Daniel down to the underground parking level beneath the Feretti office building.

The garage is pristine—polished concrete floors and perfect lighting.

No dingy corners or suspicious stains here.

The Ferettis keep everything immaculate, whether it’s their money laundering or their parking garages.

"I'll meet you there," I tell Daniel as he heads toward his black Audi SUV—the standard-issue vehicle for Feretti security.

My Ducati Panigale waits in its reserved spot, gleaming under the overhead lights. I run my hand over the sleek red body, feeling the cool metal beneath my palm. This bike is the one indulgence I allow myself—pure Italian engineering and speed.

Daniel gives me a nod as he slides into his car. "Try not to get yourself killed on that thing."

"Where's the fun in that?" I grin, swinging my leg over the seat and feeling the machine come alive beneath me.

I pull out first, the SUV following behind as we exit onto the street. The mid-afternoon Manhattan traffic is heavy but predictable. I weave between cars while Daniel remains trapped in the gridlock. The bike gives me freedom in a city where space is the ultimate luxury.

Twenty minutes later I pull up at the Feretti mansion in the most exclusive part of the Upper East Side. Daniel arrives a few minutes after me, looking annoyed at being left behind.

As I remove my helmet I spot Lucrezia waiting at the entrance.

She's dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.

Her dark hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders and her expression is the usual mix of boredom and irritation.

At least that's what she wants to show. We all know that she uses that as a shield.

I can't blame her after what she's been through.

"Finally," she calls out as Daniel parks. "I've been waiting ten minutes."

I can't resist. "Daniel's really excited about your shopping trip. He was just telling me how much he loves holding your bags while you try on clothes."

Daniel shoots me a death glare as he climbs out of the SUV.

Lucrezia's lips twitch with amusement. "Is that right, Daniel? You enjoy being my personal packmule?"

Daniel stands at attention, his face carefully neutral. "Whatever you need, Miss Feretti."

She laughs, the sound surprisingly light coming from someone who usually projects such a hard exterior. "Relax, both of you. I'm not in the mood for much shopping today."

I raise an eyebrow. Lucrezia Feretti not in the mood for shopping? That's like saying the Pope isn't in the mood for Mass.

"I might just go meet Sienna for coffee instead," she continues, pulling out her phone to check something. "She's at that new place in SoHo."

Daniel visibly relaxes and I bite back another smile.

"Coffee's still a security concern," Daniel says, professional as always. "I'll drive you."

Lucrezia rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. In our world solo outings aren't an option for someone of her status. Too many enemies would love to get their hands on Damiano Feretti's sister.

"Your brother's waiting for me," I tell her, tucking my helmet under my arm. "Try not to torture Daniel too much."

"No promises," she says with a wicked smile. "He's so much fun to mess with."

"I'm standing right here," Daniel mutters.

"I know." Lucrezia pats his arm condescendingly. "That's what makes it fun."

I leave them to their bickering and head inside.

The mansion is a fortress disguised as a palace—classic architecture on the outside, state-of-the-art security on the inside.

Two guards nod at me as I enter, not bothering to check my credentials.

Everyone knows who belongs and who doesn't in this house.

The interior is all Renaissance art and modern Italian design. Old money mixed with new power. I walk through the main hall toward Damiano's office, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

Damiano's office is at the back of the house, a massive room with windows overlooking a private garden. I knock twice before entering—not waiting for permission. Few people can get away with that but Damiano and I have history that predates his rise to power.

"Matteo," he acknowledges without looking up from his computer. "Close the door."

I do as instructed and take a seat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. I wait in silence, knowing better than to rush him.

Finally he looks up. "The security plans for the casino are finalized?"

"Yes. Though I've noted some concerns about the staff rotation. Sartori's pushing for more of his people on the floor during peak hours."

Damiano's expression hardens slightly. "I'll speak with Riccardo about it. Now," he continues, "about this charity gala..."