Chapter 17 Leanna
LEANNA
The Commission meeting and graduation seem to take equal weight in my life at the moment. I should be studying and getting ready for finals.
If I were a normal person, I’d be interviewing for jobs and thinking about starting my career.
My roommates are all doing that. Rylee already has something lined up in New York. Makayla is interviewing for jobs here in Chicago. Charlotte is starting grad school in the fall.
Me? I’m attending more and more meetings with my father, sitting in like a dutiful successor-in-training for a job I don’t really want.
It’s not that it’s all boring; some of it is actually fascinating.
My father runs a sprawling network of legitimate businesses, all neatly tucked under the umbrella of a single holding company. And I’ll admit, it fascinates me.
The structure, the scale, the strategy. I genuinely want to learn how it all fits together.
But the truth? It’s overwhelming.
I tell him all the time there’s no way I’ll be ready to manage even that side of the operation straight out of college. I’m too green, too inexperienced. Just trying to wrap my head around the moving parts makes me dizzy.
He always laughs and waves me off.
“Oh, honey,” he says, “I didn’t build this in a day. It took years—smart investments, long nights, the right people around me. That’s what I’m giving you: a team, a foundation, and time. I’m fifty-seven, not eighty. I’ve got plenty of good years left to teach you.”
He’s not wrong. But that doesn’t mean I’m not conflicted.
Because while the business side genuinely interests me, the part cloaked in shadows and blood still makes my stomach turn.
I haven’t forgotten what I saw in that walk-in cooler. Christina Petrella’s lifeless body. The chill in the air. The weight of it.
That moment branded something into me.
I’m no closer to accepting violence now than I was then.
I can’t picture a future where I’d ever give the order to torture someone… let alone kill.
And I can’t decide if that makes me the disappointment, or the last thread of humanity this family has left.
What do I know?
This freedom I’ve been given isn’t really freedom.
It’s conditional. Short leashed.
Even something as small as aligning my schedule to visit Ahren each week comes with strings attached.
I have to promise to come back.
To keep playing the role.
To continue learning how to take over a future I never asked for.
The Campisi organization doesn’t hand out leniency. It demands loyalty.
Taking it seriously means digging myself in deeper and seeing my freedom thoroughly wash away at some point.
Today, my father hands me a dossier. It’s pretty slim and contains photos, resumes, and bios for five men.
“What’s this?” I ask, brow furrowing.
“I’ve vetted these men myself,” he says from across the desk.
“For…wha, Dadt?”
“For you,” he says, smiling.
I’m still confused. “Like, to be my second?”
He’s told me several times that I can pick a second — a person to manage the less tasteful parts of the job. It seems early, but he’s also said it’s essential to get someone in early so we can build a bond of trust together.
I flip through the dossier, expecting that’s what this is about
“No, baby,” he says. “For a match.”
“A…match.” My voice is flat.
“We’ve talked about this,” he says.
And we have, but I thought maybe I could get him to put it off for a while. I thought perhaps he’d be so pleased by my obedience in learning the business that he might not feel it was immediately necessary.
I thought I might have time to figure out how to wiggle my way out of it.
“Dad, I don’t—”
He puts up a hand. “Just look at it. Do me a favor, don’t start arguing. Just look at it.”
I stare at him across the table.
He’s still a striking man, even nearing sixty. Broad-shouldered, tailored suit, sharp jawline. His thick, dark hair is now laced with silver, giving him a refined, yet dangerous, edge.
He moves like he owns the air around him.
And maybe he does own it.
The Don. The one who runs half this city and makes the other half afraid to breathe.
But to me… he’s just my dad.
The same man who taught me to ride a bike.
The man who made Sunday pasta from scratch and sang old love songs off-key while stirring the sauce.
While I’ve seen a lot of his men being violent toward their wives, girlfriends, and children, he never has.
He loved our mother. He loved us.
He would never hurt us. And he would never let anyone else try.
Knowing what this means, I open the dossier.
Each man is undeniably handsome. The kind of polished, powerful, and attractive that comes with a legacy and curated bloodline. They all come from families my father knows and trusts. Good stock, as he’d say.
Beyond their appearances, they’re all accomplished, too.
A hedge fund manager in New York.
A consultant here in Chicago.
A movie producer in Los Angeles.
A CIA agent.
An architect.
I look up at him, a little dazed.
“Did I do good?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder. “I mean… on paper, they seem okay.”
“Okay?” he snorts. “They’re all very ambitious. Smart. I know you’d want someone smart.”
It sort of melts my heart a tiny bit, knowing he picked wise men for his smart daughter. That’s cute.
“Thanks for not picking a bunch of goons,” I say.
He grins. “I would never let you marry a goon. You’re too good for that. Besides, we need intelligent children in this family. Marry a goon, and it’s fifty-fifty you get a dumb baby. We already have your dumb brothers. We need more smart kids like you.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, but inside, my stomach clenches.
I’m twenty-two. I don’t really want to get married, let alone have babies. At least not anytime soon, and definitely not to someone I don’t love.
And I don’t know these men. How could I ever really get to know them under such pretenses?
I know they want to impress me. They want to impress my father. This is ridiculous; I can’t believe Maria fell in love under these circumstances.
Still, I can tell my dad really thought about what I might like in a man, which is weird, but whatever. I agree to at least have a conversation with each of them.
“Great!” he exclaims, literally clapping his hands. “One or two of them will be here for the Commission meeting, so that will work out wonderfully.”
I can’t really muster any genuine enthusiasm, so I just make a noise that I hope he thinks is positive.
“You mentioned your second,” he says, changing the subject. “Do you want me to pull some people together that you can interview?”
I look up sharply, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“You thought these men were for your second. We could get started on that, too, if you’d like? I have some guys in mind.”
“Dad, you just said I have, like, fifty more years until you hand things over to me.”
“Well, you know, I think it’s important to vet people early. You need to trust this person completely, and building that kind of trust takes time. They’ll be your right hand. The sooner you find someone suitable, the sooner we can integrate them into the training.”
I sigh and lay my head back against the leather chair.
I hate this. I’m fine when we discuss normal business matters, but then it always veers to this.
To the criminal enterprise, to the need to marry someone trusted and inside the family business.
It makes my stomach roll and my head ache every single time.
“Leanna,” he says.
“Dad.” I make a face.
“What’s wrong now?”
“It’s…a lot. Too much for one day. I’m tired and I need to study for finals.”
His lips flatten into a line.
“I’m tired,” I say again. “And I still don’t want to kill anyone.”
“Who are we killing tonight, that this is on your mind?”
I make a haha face.
“Leanna, I pray you never have to pull a trigger. Truly. Taking a person’s life is not a joke.
It’s a heavy responsibility that weighs on a person’s soul.
But listen to me when I say that you cannot back down or give an inch, or someone will get into your space.
They will take advantage of your weaknesses.
And if they know you won’t pull a trigger, then you’re dead already. ”
A chill runs the length of my spine. I sit up straighter. My father holds my gaze, doesn’t let it go. I finally nod. “I understand.”
He nods sharply. “You can go.”
I’m up and out of there in a heartbeat.
I can barely breathe as I leave the office, as I walk down the hallway, as I step out into the spring night.
I have tried, if only for my sake, but deep down, I do not think I want this life.
I do not think I will ever grow into it, no matter how much my dad insists I will.
I can’t imagine standing over a decision that dictates who lives or dies.
I can’t picture myself giving the order to torture someone for answers.
That’s not power to me. That’s cruelty in a suit.
The moment I reach Ahren, the weight begins to lift.
I punch in the back door code like muscle memory.
In the restroom, I change into my silk chemise and stash my bag in a locker. I pad barefoot down the corridor to the room that has become an odd respite from the rest of my life.
Something changed after we talked a couple of weeks ago. I was always attracted to him, always intrigued by him. But what happened that night? It made him feel more real to me, more human.
And I want to know him.
I want to understand him.
I would give anything to see his face.
To let him see mine.
He’s there, as always.
Waiting.
The mask covers his face and eyes. His shirt is black tonight, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing those powerful forearms that make my breath catch. His pants are unbuttoned. Unzipped.
A belt lies on the floor beside his chair.
My pulse stutters.
I push the button to start our session, though I know now that it will end, but we will just try it again.
I stayed for four hours last week. He sent me home with twenty thousand dollars. I almost didn’t accept it. I don’t like feeling like a whore, and he knows that.