Page 9 of The Enforcer's Possession
A meeting.Neutral ground.Somewhere private enough to talk but public enough that he couldn’t simply make me disappear if he didn’t like what I had to say.
I’d offer him what he wanted -- though I wasn’t entirely sure what that was yet.Power?Access to Lombardi territory?A blow to Papa’s reputation?Whatever it took to make the deal appealing enough that he’d consider it.If I could snag a De Luca, then my father would be appeased.It would be advantageous for our family, and I knew he’d be willing to make a deal with his new in-laws.
Because the alternative was Marco.It was three months of watching the days count down to a wedding that would end with me trapped in a marriage that made my current prison look like freedom.
No.Fuck that.Fuck all of it.
I grabbed my phone again and opened a new message to a contact I rarely used -- Isabella, a girl I’d known in school whose cousin worked in the De Luca organization.Not close enough to be suspicious.Close enough to maybe get me information about where Dante might be tomorrow.Either that, or she could possibly help me set up a meeting with him.That would be even better.
My fingers moved across the screen, keeping the message casual.Just asking if she’d heard anything about a party this weekend, any interesting gatherings I should know about.
Nothing that would raise red flags.Nothing Papa would notice if he checked my messages, which he probably would after tonight’s dinner disaster.
I hit send and set the phone down again, then moved to my closet.The black dress suddenly felt wrong -- too much rage, not enough strategy.I needed to think like Papa now.Cold.Calculating.Ruthless.
Tomorrow I’d find Dante De Luca.
And I’d offer him a deal he couldn’t refuse.
Chapter Three
Caterina
The Velvet Room lived up to its reputation.Obscenely expensive, ruthlessly exclusive, and designed for the kind of conversations that ended careers or lives.I’d chosen it specifically for that last quality.The lighting was low enough to hide expressions but bright enough to read intent.Red leather booths lined the walls, each spaced far enough apart that conversations couldn’t bleed from one to another.The bar itself stretched along the back wall, all black marble and gold fixtures, manned by bartenders who’d perfected the art of selective deafness.
I’d arrived thirty minutes early, which felt both deliberate and desperate.Probably because it was both.
The hostess, a woman in her forties with the kind of face that suggested she’d seen everything and been impressed by none of it, had barely glanced at my ID before leading me to the booth I’d requested.The farthest from the entrance, tucked into a corner where I could watch the door without being immediately visible to anyone entering.I’d slipped her three hundred for her discretion.She’d pocketed it without comment.
Now I sat in the shadows of that booth, my back against the wall, trying to project a confidence I absolutely did not feel.
The dress I’d chosen was Versace in a deep burgundy.The cut was sharp, businesslike despite the color.I’d paired it with understated jewelry, nothing that screamed Lombardi wealth.This wasn’t about flaunting what I had.This was about negotiating for what I needed.
A server appeared at my elbow -- male, young, attractive in that generically polished way that suggested he’d been hired as much for decoration as service.“What can I get you?”
“Macallan 25.”I didn’t look at him.“Neat.”
He disappeared without acknowledgment.Efficient.Good.I needed people around me who didn’t ask questions or make small talk.
The scotch arrived in a crystal tumbler that probably cost more than the bottle itself.I wrapped my fingers around it but didn’t drink.Just needed something to do with my hands that wasn’t obviously anxious.
My thumb traced the rim of the glass.Once.Twice.I forced myself to stop and placed both hands flat on the marble tabletop instead.That lasted maybe ten seconds before my fingers started drumming.
I checked my phone.Twenty-three minutes until the meeting time I’d arranged through Isabella’s cousin.Dante might show early.Might show late.Might not show at all, though Isabella had seemed confident he’d be intrigued enough to at least hear me out.
“He doesn’t take meetings with Lombardis,” she’d said when I’d finally gotten her on the phone yesterday.“But he’s been asking about you.”
That last part had sent a chill down my spine that I still couldn’t quite shake.Asking about me.What the hell did that mean?
I watched the door.A couple entered -- older, wealthy, the man’s hand possessive on the woman’s lower back.They were led to a booth on the opposite side of the room.Two men in expensive suits came in next, heading straight for the bar.One of them glanced toward my booth, his gaze lingering just long enough to be noticed before his companion said something that redirected his attention.
Good.I didn’t need anyone recognizing me.Papa had spies everywhere, and while The Velvet Room was known for discretion, money talked louder than professional ethics.If it hadn’t been for an emergency at home, I might not have slipped away unnoticed.But thanks to an altercation, I’d managed to escape without guards following me or confining me to the property.
My phone buzzed.A text from Luca:Where are you?Papa’s on a rampage.
I turned the phone face-down without responding.Luca would worry, but he’d also understand.He always understood, even when he didn’t approve.
Fifteen minutes now.
