Chapter 12 - The Old Guard’s Warning
The mahogany-paneled library smelled of Cuban tobacco, old paper, and gun oil. Salvatore sat behind his monolithic desk, scanning the contents of the black dossier Luca had provided.
"Don Corvi called the meeting himself?" Salvatore asked, not looking up.
"Yes, Boss," Luca said, leaning against the edge of the heavy bookshelf. "Corvi brought in the Bellandi and Marcone families too. They’re claiming your judgment has been compromised. Word got out that you signed over twenty percent of the Ashworth holding company into an irrevocable trust for a girl who used to mop the lobby floors."
Salvatore closed the folder with a sharp snap that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. "The Ashworth was paid for with my personal capital, not syndicate funds. My money is mine to burn or bestow as I see fit."
"We know that, Boss. But Corvi is an old-school dinosaur. He believes bloodlines and marriage pacts are the only things that hold a syndicate together. He’s telling the Commission that you've elevated a peasant to the throne, and that it makes the Moretti family look weak."
Salvatore stood slowly, towering over the desk. The sheer physical presence of the man was suffocating. "Weak? Did Corvi forget who wiped out the Tarasov faction in a single weekend when Gianna was taken? Did he forget whose blood painted the walls of the docks?"
"He hasn't forgotten. He's testing the fence," Luca warned. "They’ve requested your presence at the annual Saint Anthony’s Gala at the Plaza Hotel this Saturday. It’s supposed to be neutral ground, but Corvi made a specific point in his invitation: he expects you to bring your 'new ward and companion.' They want to inspect Mara. They want to see if she folds under pressure."
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure obsidian. "They think she is a weak link they can exploit. They think she is a frightened maid who will flinch at their diamonds and sneers."
"Will you leave her here?" Luca asked. "We can double the perimeter security. She doesn't need to be thrown to the wolves."
"No," a calm, clear voice interrupted from the doorway.
Both men turned. Mara stood in the frame of the double doors, dressed simply, but carrying herself with an innate, unyielding grace. She held a silver tray with a pot of black coffee, but her eyes were fixed entirely on Salvatore.
"Mara," Salvatore murmured, his tone softening instantly. "You don't need to involve yourself in this."
"I am already involved," Mara replied, stepping into the room and setting the tray on the corner of the desk. "You gave me Gianna to protect, and you gave me a voice in this city. If these men believe I am your weakness, leaving me hidden behind twelve-foot stone walls will only prove them right."
Salvatore stared at her, mesmerized by the fierce fire burning in her hazel eyes. She wasn't born into mafia nobility, but she possessed the one thing money and bloodlines could never buy: raw, unbroken iron.
"Corvi will try to humiliate you, Mara," Salvatore warned, stepping closer until only inches separated them. "The wives of the Five Families are vipers. They will strike at your past, your lack of pedigree, your hands that worked for minimum wage."
Mara looked directly into the eyes of the most feared man in New York, completely fearless. "Let them strike, Salvatore. They’ve never had to fight for a crust of bread in their lives. They don't know what real hunger looks like. Buy me a dress that looks like armor, and take me to the wolves."
May you like
A slow, prideful smile broke across Salvatore’s face. He reached out, his hand cupping the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her jawline. "Then on Saturday night, my sweet warrior, we will show them who rules this city."
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