I snatch my phone from my pocket, forcing my focus elsewhere. I need to be sharp, ready for whatever it is Roberto wants to bring up in this meeting.
We arrive at the restaurant ten minutes before the scheduled meeting time. Enzo and I slip into my upscale establishment through the back entrance and weave through the secret passageways leading to the VIP room.
The exclusive section bathes in dim, atmospheric lighting that casts long shadows over the polished mahogany table and the powerful men who occupy the chairs. The air hangs heavy with cigar smoke and the rich, oaky scent of aged bourbon.
“I see everyone is here. Right on time too.” I survey the room as I enter.
“Mr. Moretti, an honor.” Roberto rises to his feet, extending his hand, head bowed in subservience. I shake it firmly, and when he finally looks up, our eyes meet for a brief second. There’s something calculating—cynical—in that gaze of his that bothers me.
What do you want?
“Roberto,” I say coolly, taking my seat at the head of the round table. I nod at my brothers, noting that Romero and Maximo both have what looks like whiskey on the rocks infront of them, while Michael has a clear liquid in his glass that I suspect is water.
Roberto takes out a pack of cigars and offers them to me first. I wave him off and signal to Enzo, who leaves immediately and returns less than a minute later with a waiter.
Roberto shrugs and lights a cigar for himself as a waiter pours me a generous serving of whiskey. I eye the ashtray in front of him—already filled with some ash and the butts of two cigars. He’s been here a while.
“So,” I speak once the waiter departs and the door locks behind him, “tell us what was so urgent you had to call us here, Ricci?”
He blows out a thick cloud of smoke and leans forward. “I’m sure you’re aware the feds have been poking around the city.”
My fingers flex involuntarily around the tumbler of whiskey, but I force my grip to relax. “Oh?” I ask after taking a deliberately slow sip, letting the liquor burn a path down my throat.
“They’re tightening their grip on us, Rafael. Surveillance. Wiretaps. Underground agents sniffing around our businesses.” He pauses for a moment, letting the tension build. “Emilia Rossi.”
My expression remains carved from stone, my posture deliberately relaxed, but something inside me twists, tightening until my chest hurts.Emilia.I’m well aware of her recent activities—her little crusade at my club two nights ago. After I had dealt with the supplies I got from Roan, I summoned Eric to my office to explain her presence.
She’s since moved on to other parts of my city, sticking that beautiful nose of hers where it doesn’t belong. And now she’s on Roberto’s radar.That, I don’t fucking like. I take another sip of my whiskey, rolling the warm drink around my tongue before swallowing.
“What about Emilia Rossi?” Romero asks when my silence drags too long.
“She’s persistent. Like a dog with a bone,” Roberto continues, soaking up the full attention he’s getting from us. “She’s not just a random fed sniffing around. I suspect she has a personal stake in this. And from what I hear…” His gaze fixes on me, watching for any reaction. “She knows you better than most.”
There it is.
His implication is clear. He knows about my history with her.
The heat inside me intensifies, and it has nothing to do with the whiskey in my hand. Yet I give him nothing. I stare down at him, making my gaze hard as flint as I say, “So?”
He breaks eye contact first, clearing his throat as his gaze jumps between my brothers. “So, what are we doing about her?” His tone remains measured but firm. I respect him for that. A lesser man would have backed down. “She already came after you all before. If we don’t deal with her now, she’ll burn everything we’ve—you’veall worked for to the ground.”
His meaning couldn’t be clearer if he painted it on the wall: he wants Emilia out of the picture.
Over my dead body.
My fingers tighten around my tumbler again, and this time there’s no controlling the reaction. My brothers all remain silent, but I feel their gazes on me. This isn’t just another problem to deal with—this is personal. She’s personal. Not just to me. To all of us.
Killing a federal agent is risky enough under normal circumstances, but killing Emilia?Impossible. I couldn’t do it ten years ago when she gave up our location to the agency, nearly getting us all killed. There’s no chance in hell I can do it now.
Roberto clears his throat again as the silence thickens into something suffocating. He leans back in his seat and raises hiscigar to his lips. One long inhale, then smoke curls from his nostrils and mouth as he exhales.
“Listen, I know it’s a daring suggestion, but she’s not going to just let it go, you know. Your nightclubs first, the medications now—what’s next?Who’snext? We have to be proactive to protect our empire. They came after us first. Retaliation is justified self-defense.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Unless, of course, there’s a reason I don’t know that she should be spared?”
His question is heavy, filled with implication.Fucking snake.He’s testing me, probing for confirmation that Emilia still matters to me—if the great Rafael Moretti has a soft spot that can be exploited.
“Thank you for bringing this up, Roberto.” My gratitude is arctic, my words a clear dismissal.
Roberto Ricci’s lips thin as Enzo takes a step towards him, and he crushes the tip of his cigar into the ashtray with a savage twist.
