Page 429 of Rosetti Family New York
"Then I suggest you choose your next words very carefully. Because option three involves me explaining to Domenico Rosetti why his new territory came with problems that needed permanent solutions."
The mention of Dom's name sends a visible shudder through the room. These men know exactly what permanent solutions look like in our world.
Christ. Watching her handle these bastards while terrified, watching her claim power through sheer force of will, makes me want to drop to my knees and worship her right here. Makes me want to fuck her on this table while they watch and understand exactly who owns them now.
The threat hangs in the air. One by one, they nod. Even the young hothead, though he looks like he's swallowing glass.
"Excellent." Isabella's voice warms by exactly one degree. "Mr. Pinkerson, you'll coordinate weapons transfers with our existing contacts. Mr. Lafayette handles shipping manifests through the new union agreements. Rodriguez, your book-making operations continue as before, but you report weekly grosses to me personally."
She turns to the scarred man who challenged her moral stance. "Volkov, you'll transition your Eastern European connections to arms and narcotics only. You have two weeks to phase out everything else. Use the time wisely."
The room is silent except for the sound of pens scratching on paper as men take notes. These are details that matter. Money. Territory. Survival.
"Questions?" Isabella asks.
"What about the Torrino family?" Pinkerson asks. "They've been eyeing our Brooklyn operations since the warehouse hit."
"The Torrinos will be informed that Brooklyn remains under Rosetti protection. If they have concerns, they can discuss them with Domenico directly."
A few appreciative chuckles. Everyone knows how Dom handles territorial disputes.
"Meeting adjourned," Isabella says. "You have my contact information. Use it wisely."
She turns to leave, then pauses. "One more thing. Anyone who thinks my gender makes me weak, or my background makes me soft, or my relationship status makes me compromised is welcome to test those assumptions. I promise the experiment will be educational."
The meeting dissolves quickly after that. Men shake hands, exchange numbers, file out with nervous energy. Within ten minutes, we're alone in Chase's boardroom, surrounded by theghosts of his empire. The mahogany table reflects the city lights below, and that throne-like chair sits empty at the head, waiting for someone to claim it.
Isabella stands at the wall of windows, looking out over the city lights. Manhattan spreads below us, glittering and endless. She doesn't move when I approach, doesn't acknowledge my presence until I'm close enough to touch.
"You didn't say a word," she observes.
"Didn't need to. You had it handled."
She turns to study my face. "You're not angry? That I made decisions without consulting you?"
The question reveals everything she's been thinking. That I'd expect to control her. That I'd demand input on her choices. That loving her means owning her.
I step closer, close enough to smell her perfume over the lingering scent of gunpowder. "Isabella."
"Yes?"
"I didn't fall for you because you were broken. I fell for you because even broken, you still burned."
Her breath catches. It's the first crack in her composure all night.
"I spent weeks trying to figure out how to protect you from this world," I continue. "But tonight, watching you take control, watching you handle those men like you were born to rule them? I realized something."
"What?"
"You don't need me to stand in front of you. You need me to stand beside you."
Her eyes search my face for deception, for hidden agenda. She won't find any. I'm done trying to control her, done trying to make decisions for her. The woman who stared down seven armed criminals and made them beg for the privilege of serving her doesn't need a guardian.
She needs a partner.
"And if I make choices you disagree with?" she asks.
"Then I'll tell you. And then I'll support whatever decision you make."
