Page 42 of The Silence Lies

“I admire your tenacity,” Greco says, leaning forward with a smile. It’s soft, fake, and menacing, but it gives me a glimpse into the real man. He’s conniving, not to be trusted at all. But I need him. I hate to admit it, but I need his family and their loyalty. “You get it from your fath—”

“I didn’t come here to talk about my father,” I snap through gritted teeth.

“I know exactly why you’re here, Donna Bianchi.”

“Then you know what I’m going to ask.”

Greco sits back like he’s assessing me. The room lapses into a tense silence while he appears to contemplate his answer. I can already tell by the way he huffs that I’m going to have to get my hands dirty. I had hoped he wouldn’t put up a fight over this. The last thing I want to do is call him out on the side hustle he clearly doesn’t want anyone to know about.

Unfortunately, it seems that is the only route to take.

“You know I don’t like to get involved with disputes.”

My fists clench at his words, my temper burning furiously beneath the surface. “I would hardly call the attempt on my life a mere dispute. Family members died because of the Verdi’s actions!”

“If it’s loyalty you’re after, you already have it.” He waves a hand in the air.

“And your protection?” I grip the arms of my chair, fighting the urge to lunge at the asshole before me. “Do I have that?”

Greco looks put off, almost dismissive. I know what I’m asking of him, but the bigger picture far outweighs the reason not to align with me. “You’ll be putting a target on my family's back. You can’t expect me to put my family in danger.”

I take a deep breath, standing up to straighten my dress.

Greco’s eyes tour my body, and while I hate the look he gives me, or the way he licks his lips, it’s the only thing I know will get his attention.

“Of course,” I sigh. “I understand.”

Greco raises a brow, shifting nervously on his seat.

I smirk, knowing I have him right where I want him. Clearly, Greco wasn’t expecting that, which means my next words are definitely going to piss him off.

“Though if you’re unwilling to reconsider, I may have to look elsewhere,” I say, smoothing the material of my dress down over my knee. “I’m sure the Elders would exchange services for valuable information, like your secret little side business, perhaps?”

My words have the exact effect I intend. Gone is his confident posture and arrogant expression. His jaw is practically clicking with irritation. For a moment he regards me, probably wondering if I’m bluffing or how far I’m willing to take this. Unfortunately for him, I’m willing to go as far as I can to ensure the Verdis suffer.

Placing my hands flat on the desk, I tower over Greco’s form. “Protection goes both ways, Greco. If you’re unwilling to offer yours, then I can’t protect you or your family from their wrath.”

The Elders are the retired leaders of La Cosa Nostra. Anything beyond my stretch of leadership defaults to them. While they have no hand in who takes over, they do oversee the legalities of our businesses. I’m not sure exactly what I’m dealing with when it comes to Greco, but his reaction to my threat tells me his side hustle isn’t exactly kosher.

He knows what the elder council would do to him if he was caught stepping outside of the gray boundaries we have in place. He understands the complexities of this life and how one single slip-up could land you at the bottom of the pile, left for the vultures to pick at. And when I say vultures, I mean the motorcycle gang that runs the streets, the bands of misfits that lurk in the shadows, prepared to take down anyone not protected by me and my family.

“You’re bluffing,” he sneers with narrowed eyes.

“Am I?” I goad. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

Greco huffs, his nonchalance long gone now. He’s practically foaming at the mouth from my threat. If he thought I was another female about to lie down and take this shit, he had another thing coming. I might be young, but I still have the backing of three families, plus my own.

“Fine!” Greco snaps at my unwavering form. “I’ll have my son contact you in a few days. We can spare you some men.”

“Tomorrow.”

The man grinds his teeth, the crunching sound piercing straight through. Obviously he doesn’t like being told what to do. A man of his age demands respect and power, he wants to be the one in charge, yet here he is deferring to a woman.

He fancies himself a king, but he’s bowing to a queen.

I raise a questioning brow, waiting for his confirmation.

“Tomorrow,” he concedes.

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