Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty Nine
Adrian
I hate this room.
Not because there is anything wrong with it.
The Regent Club security room is more than adequate.
Better than adequate, actually. Caterina’s people had done good work before I ever set foot in this building, and after the last month, the system is stronger, with even more cameras, better coverage, redundant feeds, reinforced access, updated locks, independent power.
I even made sure there was a clean sight line to every important public and restricted area on the property.
It is a perfectly good place to be during something like this.
Someone.
Not me.
I stand behind the main console with one hand braced against the edge of the desk and my eyes locked on the camera feed from Conference Room Three.
Caterina sits alone at the long table.
She looks calm in her business attire. Hair smooth over one shoulder. A slim file folder in front of her, a gold pen sitting neatly on top. The always-present tablet sitting next to that.
She looks like Caterina Conti, executive director of The Regent Club, prepared to repair vendor relationships after a difficult month of bad press, shaken confidence, and public speculation.
I hate that I am not well enough to be her bodyguard right now. That I cannot be in that room, standing between her and whatever comes through the door.
Everything in me wants to get out of this room and go to her.
My side gives one hard pulse under my shirt when I shift my weight.
A not-so-gentle reminder about why I can’t.
The wound is healing again, but slower this time.
It had been reopened badly enough that I cannot even pretend it is a minor inconvenience.
The doctors kept me in the hospital longer than I wanted, which was one minute after I woke up.
Caterina threatened me with everything if I left against medical advice.
Then Teresa really did call my mother, and she came down immediately to badger me as well.
Now I am upright, dressed, and armed, but not fully recovered. Not fast enough to be down there if she needs me.
I hate it.
On the screen, Caterina turns one page in the file folder.
The door to Conference Room Three opens.
Every muscle in my body locks as vendors start coming in for the meeting.
One of the men is late thirties, dark hair, dark eyes. He is handsome in the way that some men like to use as a negotiation tactic.
“Matthew Carr,” comes his voice through the monitor. He takes a seat on the other side of the table, and I’m a little relieved he didn’t sit in the seat next to Caterina’s.
A couple more men file into the room and do the same: introduce themselves to Caterina and find a seat.
On the screen, Caterina smiles. Professional and warm.
“Gentlemen,” she says, extending a hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Caterina sits again, smooth as silk.
“I appreciate you making the time,” she says. “Given recent events, I wanted to speak directly with some of our vendors. I know the last few weeks have created uncertainty, and I do not want concerns to fester when they can be addressed openly.”
The one who introduced himself as Daniel Sloane smiles faintly. “Very considerate.”
Caterina inclines her head. “The Regent Club relies on strong partnerships. If faith has been shaken, it matters to me that we restore it.”
Matthew’s fingers rest on the arm of his chair as he looks around the room. “Lovely place.”
“Thank you,” Caterina says.
“I mean the whole operation,” he adds. “You’ve done well here.”
“I have.”
Not we.
Not my family.
I have.
My mouth curves despite everything.
“Confidence is fragile,” he says. “Especially in an industry like this.”
“It can be,” Caterina agrees. “That is why transparency matters.”
His smile widens a fraction. “Transparency. That’s refreshing.”
“It should not be.”
“No,” he says. “But with your family, Miss Conti, it usually is.”
Caterina's expression remains pleasant, but I feel the change in her.
“Mr. Carr, was it?”
“Matthew, please.”
“Matthew,” she says smoothly. “If your concern is with my family name, I can save us both some time. You knew who owned the casino when your company applied for vendor status.”
“Owned,” the third man says softly. “Interesting word.”
Caterina turns her head toward him. “Would you prefer managed?”
“I would prefer honest.”
She smiles. “Then we already agree on something.”
Caterina folds her hands on the table. “We are still waiting on a few more attendees, but while we do, I would be happy to hear whatever concerns you brought with you today.”
Matthew leans back and shares amused glances with the other two.
“No one else will be coming,” he says.
My blood goes cold, even though I knew it was coming.
Caterina gives a small, confused laugh.
It is perfect.
“What do you mean?”
His smile remains.
“I mean, no one else will be coming.”
She looks toward the door, then back at him. “I’m expecting several more vendors, Mr. Carr. We’ll give them a few more moments before we start.”
“There will be no one else.”
His tone is cold now. Apparently, the friendly meeting is over.
Caterina lets the pause stretch just long enough to look believable.
Then she picks up her pen.
“That is concerning,” she says. “Did someone notify you of cancellations?”
He laughs softly. “You’re good.”
“I try.”
“No,” he says. “You’re very good. I see why Luca keeps you polished and visible.”
My jaw clenches.
Andrew, who stands to my right with a sling on one arm, tenses and hovers near his weapon.
“Hold,” I say.
Caterina’s smile thins. “I keep myself polished and visible.”
“You sound like your father.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I take it as one.”
The one who introduced himself as Victor Hale speaks for the first time. “You have no idea what your father is.”
Caterina turns to him.
“I have a better idea than most.”
“No,” he says. “You have the child’s version. The daughter’s version. The version he lets sit at board tables and think she earned the chair.”
There it is.
My hand curls into a fist.
Caterina only looks at him.
Then she says, “Is that why you came here? To insult me? I hope not. That would be disappointing.”
The cocky smile on Matthew Carr’s face drops a little.
She hit a nerve.
“You think this is a meeting,” he says.
“I know it is.”
“No,” he says. “This is courtesy.”
Caterina tilts her head. “Courtesy?”
He leans forward slightly. “We wanted you to understand before everything you built starts collapsing.”
Andrew looks at me.
I keep my gaze on Caterina.
She taps the pen once against the file folder.
“Oh?” she says softly.
Victor Hale’s mouth twists. “The Contis do love taking what belongs to other men and calling it legacy.”
“What other men are you referring to?” she says. “I only see cowards who threaten pregnant women and children. Who give false names and hide behind shell companies.”
The men are silent for a moment, absorbing the information.
“You’re right, Rocco,” she says, directing the comment at the one who called himself Matthew Carr. “There is no one else coming to this meeting. I made sure my event planner, Alana Gibson, heard all about it, though. She is your snitch, isn’t she?”
Then she points the pen at the man in the wheelchair, the one who called himself Victor Hale. “Or rather, your snitch, I should say. Granddaughter of Damiano Vitale.”
He narrows his eyes, but Caterina continues before he can get a word in.
“It was the flowers, wasn’t it?” she says. “My admin admitted he passed the task off to her, and I never get yellow roses—not really my style—except… when my sister comes to dinner. That granddaughter of yours must’ve put that together somehow. Maybe looked at order forms and lined the dates up?”
At his silence, she smiles. “That's it, isn’t it? That’s what she did.
My bodyguard warned me about those damn flowers, but I just had to have them.
I really hate admitting when he’s right, so I’ll be happy to get you back for that one.
She’s been arrested for conspiracy to commit murder, by the way. ”
“You cunt,” he says viciously.
Caterina tsks. “My, my. What language. My father always says that men lose their manners when they realize they’ve already lost the room.”
Rocco’s chair scrapes back an inch, and I tense.
I know that the room is contained, that security is standing right outside the doors to the conference room.
I know that my own people are positioned outside, ready to burst in there at a moment’s notice.
I know that her own brothers and uncles are standing outside the door as well, not leaving it up to chance.
But that does not stop me from hating that it’s not me there.
But before Rocco can stand, the last man lifts one hand without looking at him. “Sit.”
Rocco stills, but rage covers his face, and I know he would hurt her if he could.
A beat of silence follows.
Then Carlo Valenti sits back slowly, cold eyes fixed on her.
“Well,” he says softly. “Luca’s little girl has been doing her homework.”