She looks up at me, blinks like she doesn’t think she heard me right. For a moment, I see emotion, but she quickly covers it. I imagine she’s telling herself my words mean nothing. Just me being flippant.
Antonio appears at my door announcing our guests' arrival.
The Rileys sweep in with confidence I like to see in a family I plan to do business with. Sean and Margaret, their three sons, and Sean's brother Ian, sit at our table.
Everything rides on tonight. One wrong move could send them running back to their careful neutrality. Or worse, into the Keans' camp.
"Lovely place," Margaret comments, her eyes sharp as they scan the room. "Who did you hire to decorate?”
“I did.”
“Really. You’re so… young.” Margaret looks over at me, and I see a similar look that Lucy gives me when she’s talking about the archaic patriarchy of the Mob.
“Old enough to know color and shape.” Hannah laughs musically. I catch Hannah's confident smile across the table, and my anxiety settles into something closer to anticipation.
The dinner is delicious, and apparently, a favorite of Mr. Riley. How Hannah learns this stuff, I don’t know. Perhaps she has her own informants out in the streets like I do.
When Ian mentions the Keans' latest power grab, Hannah doesn't pounce on the opening. Instead, she lets Margaret voice her displeasure first before adding a casual observation about similar Kean tactics in other territories.
"It's shameful how they've forgotten the old ways," Hannah says, swirling her wine, like she’s an old pro, not an underage drinker. "My father always taught me that respect and tradition drive more profits."
“Loyalty should stand for something,” Sean adds gruffly.
I bite my tongue at mentioning how Hannah’s father is waffling on loyalty. Or how most of the families quickly abandoned my family to support Hampton Kean. The Rileys get a pass on that considering they were never involved with us.
“Loyalty was the centerpiece of Patrick Ifrinn’s business,” Hannah says, glancing my way.
I take that as my cue. “My father made everyone rich and safe. The Keans only care about the Keans. You’re fortunate he didn’t retaliate against your defiance.”
“Fuck ’em,” Ian sneers.
“Ian!” Margaret snaps at him.
“They don’t own us. No one owns us.” Ian looks at me. “You won’t either.”
“I don’t want to own you. I want to make you rich.”
“Yeah, well that’s what the Keans say.”
I’ll admit a part of me wants to reach across the table and shake Ian.
Hannah’s hand settles on my thigh as if she knows I want to throttle him. “All you have to do is compare business with the Ifrinns versus the Keans to know the Keans’ word means nothing.”
Hannah keeps the conversation flowing naturally, moving easily away from business to personal before things get too tense. She asks about the Riley’s youngest son's upcoming soccer tournament and Ian’s upcoming wedding, sharing details about our own recent ceremony that make Margaret lean in with interest.
By dessert, Sean and his brother are openly discussing their frustrations with Kean's recent territory grabs and interest in what I and my brothers can offer instead.
In one dinner, Hannah has accomplished more than months of careful negotiation could have. The Rileys aren't just listening. They're actively engaging with the idea of taking sides.
I’m filled with pride watching her. She's transformed from the reluctant bride into a true partner in every sense. The way she commands these delicate situations, reading the room and knowing exactly what buttons to push… it's masterful.
When Margaret squeezes Hannah's hand warmly as they discuss meeting for lunch next week, I know we've won. The Rileys won't commit tonight, but the groundwork has been laid.
The door closes behind our guests, and Hannah lets out a small whoop as she pulls out her phone, turns on the music, and begins to dance. My smile is wide as I lean against the wall and watch her.
“Oh, yeah, oh, yeah.” She beams, and it feels like a piece of the sun is in my foyer.
“You seem proud of yourself.”
