"I have not forgotten anything, Papa," I say smoothly, taking a slow sip of the scotch. It burns, but I don't flinch. "In fact, my memory is crystal clear. I remember you telling me that I was a liability. I remember you telling me that I would die a maiden in this house, a burden on your ledger."
Orlando sneers, leaning back in his leather chair. "And I see Cassio hasn't taught you how to keep your mouth shut. If he sent you here to complain—"
I reach into my designer bag and pull out the thick manila folder Matteo gave me. I toss it onto his desk. It lands directly on top of his open ledger.
"Cassio didn't send me to complain," I correct him, my voice dropping the polite facade entirely. "He sent me to give you a choice. Read it."
Orlando glances at the folder, suspicion narrowing his dark eyes. He flips it open, his gaze scanning the highlighted bank statements and the offshore routing numbers. I watch the exactmoment the realization hits him. The color drains from his flushed, arrogant face, leaving behind a sickly, grayish pallor.
"Bastiano," Orlando breathes, looking up at me in shock.
"Your Capo," I confirm, setting my glass down on the edge of the desk. "He took Russian money. He sold the Vellutini convoy route to Volkov. He is the reason my husband is currently sitting in his study with a hole in his chest, and he is the reason I almost died in a hail of automatic gunfire three nights ago."
"This is forged," Orlando stammers, standing up rapidly, his chair scraping violently against the hardwood floor. "Bastiano is loyal! He has bled for this family for decades! Cassio fabricated this to start a war!"
"Cassio doesn't need to fabricate evidence to start a war with you," I shoot back, my voice turning to ice. "If he wanted you dead,Orlando Genovese, you would already be in the ground. I am standing here because I convinced him to give you the opportunity to clean up your own house."
"You dare speak to me this way?" Orlando roars, his pride finally overriding his shock. He steps around the desk, raising a meaty hand as if to strike me across the face, just like he used to when I argued back.
Dante steps forward instantly, his hand dropping to his weapon.
I don't flinch. I hold up a single finger, stopping Dante in his tracks, keeping my dark eyes locked entirely on my father.
"Do it," I challenge softly, tilting my chin up. "Touch me. Lay one finger on my face, and I promise you, Cassio will level this estate before the sun sets. He will slaughter every man in this compound, and he will make you watch."
Orlando’s raised hand trembles. He looks at my face. He sees the icy conviction in my eyes. He isn't looking at the unwanted spinster anymore. He is looking at the Queen of the Vellutini syndicate.
Slowly, and heavily, his hand drops to his side. He looks suddenly exhausted, an old dinosaur realizing the meteor has finally hit.
"You let a rat thrive in your inner circle because you were too busy hating my husband," I tell him. "You were so obsessed with proving Cassio was a reckless boy that you didn't even notice the Bratva buying your own men. You are weak, Papa. Your pride made you blind."
"He is my best earner," Orlando whispers, staring at the folder on the desk.
"He is a dead man," I correct him firmly. "The only question is who pulls the trigger."
I step back, picking up my purse. I adjust the lapels of my burgundy jacket, looking around the stuffy, cigar-choked study one last time. It holds no power over me anymore. The ghosts of my past are completely banished.
"You have until midnight," I state, delivering the final verdict. "Deliver Bastiano’s head to the Vellutini gates. Show the Commission that the Genovese family does not harbor traitors. If you fail to do this by the time the clock strikes twelve, Cassio will handle the execution himself. And you know that if he comes to do it, he won't stop at Bastiano."
Orlando doesn't argue. He doesn't yell. He simply stares at the bank statements, the reality of his own catastrophic failure crushing him into silence.
I turn my back on him and walk out of the study.
Dante follows me down the corridor. When I reach the foyer, my mother is still standing at the bottom of the stairs, wringing her hands nervously.
"Noemi," Serafina calls out. "Are you... are you staying for dinner?"
I look at the woman who was willing to let me die just to protect her precious younger daughter. I feel no anger toward her anymore. Just a profound, hollow pity.
"No, Mother," I say, walking toward the heavy front doors. "I am going home to my husband."
I step out into the sunlight, the cold air filling my lungs. The heavy gates of the Genovese estate close behind the Maybach as Dante drives us away, severing the final, lingering thread of mypast. I am completely, irreversibly untethered from the people who threw me away.
I lean my head back against the leather seat, a small, genuine smile curving my lips.
26
Cassio