Page 129 of Iron Roses

“Che puttana.” Bitch

Allegra hears it.

Her fingers tighten against the iPad. One knee shifts, heel dragging back, ready to rise.

I touch her wrist. Her eyes snap to me. I look at him.

I pick up the pen. My fingers wrap around it once. Then, with a flick of the wrist, I hurl it across the room.

It whistles past his face—misses by less than an inch—and buries itself in the wall behind him with a sharp thud.

I tilt my head.

The man swallows. “I—I apologize. That was uncalled for. I’ll have the numbers reconciled by tomorrow. Personally.”

My fingers brush my knee. I stand, walk over to the wall and I retrieve my pen and I return back to my seat.

Then Allegra turns back to the iPad. “Next.”

The next man speaks with more care. His hands stay flat on the table. No one else breaks eye contact after that.

Allegra straightens beside me, slips the iPad under one arm, and flicks a strand of hair from her shoulder with two fingers.

“See you all next year,” she says smoothly, already turning toward the door.

Not a single reply.

I push my chair back, stand and I walk toward the exit.

Allegra follows. Behind us, a voice—low, careless, like it thought the distance would protect it.

“Does she ever speak?”

It floats to the surface, tossed lightly between two men.

I stop. I turn my head.

Their voices cut off mid-breath. One of them lowers his gaze. The other fakes a cough. No one else dares move.

I let the silence hold a second longer than necessary.

Then I turn forward and walk out.

After Fausto’s death, I was the only Fontanesi standing. He had no heir, his businesses were linked with my father’s. It all became mine. When Cassian publicly backed me up, I was no longer the disgraced consigliere’s daughter or the traitor's daughter. I had real power.

Cassian showed me how to run it all. The ports, the smuggling lines, the family accounts. He taught me to handle a room without speaking, and to measure respect by what people don’t say when I enter. He taught me how to make decisions that don’t need explaining.

He didn’t teach me to speak. So I don’t speak, what’s the need for that?

The marble under our shoes doesn’t echo. Too much carpet in this wing. The doors close behind us, sealing in the tension. I hear it as it settles back over the table, the way people exhale when they think the moment has passed.

Allegra walks ahead of me, her pace steady. She doesn’t speak as we exit through the portico. Outside, the light is softer than I expected. The clouds are gathering again. It’s going to rain before we reach the city.

The car is already waiting. Black, discreet, identical to the others in the fleet. The driver stands by the rear door until we reach it. He nods once, then returns to his seat without a word.

We climb in. Allegra first, then me. The car pulls forward.

Allegra glances down at her screen once more, then locks it and sets it aside.

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