Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Lorenzo
The boardroom was a cathedral of power—dark mahogany, leather chairs that have held the weight of five generations, a chandelier imported from France.
The portraits on the walls were not ancestors; they were warnings.
Men who built this empire with blood and silence, whose eyes follow you, reminding you that you are never free of the family.
My father sat at the head of the table, his hands folded, his expression calm. That’s how he operates—serene on the surface, while beneath the water, sharks are circling.
Around the table, the heads of the families waited.
Uncle Matteo, who runs the shipping ports that bring in product from overseas.
My cousin Costa, who handles construction contracts—and the occasional body that gets poured into a foundation.
Francesco Rossi, lean and sharp, the family’s consigliere, who keeps the books clean and the blood off the ledgers.
And Enzo De Luca, young and hungry, who took over his father’s territory after a “heart attack” last year.
There are others—soldiers who have earned their place at this table through loyalty, through violence, through silence.
And me, the underboss, next in line to assume my father’s position, second in command of the family. A title I never wanted but was forced to accept, regardless.
I sat at the far end, my back straight, my face unreadable. But inside, I was a war zone.
“Port of Genoa,” my father said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. “Matteo, your report.”
My uncle rested his elbows on the table, spreading papers across the table. “The dockworkers’ union is restless. New leadership. They want a bigger cut of the off-book shipments.”
“Then give them a cut,” Costa muttered. “Standard.”
“Standard won’t work. They know what we’re moving through there. They’re asking for more—or they’ll ‘accidentally’ tip off the authorities.”
The room went quiet. This is the kind of problem that got solved with money or with blood.
“Son.” His eyes shifted to me. “You’ve handled unions before. What do you suggest?”
I blinked, pulling myself back from the edge of a cliff where Zara’s face is waiting. “They’re testing us. If we give them more, they’ll ask for more. We need to remind them who controls the port.”
“And how would you do that?”
I met his gaze. “Find the new leader. Show him the difference between cooperation and the bottom of the harbor. He’ll see reason.”
Enzo nodded slowly. Costa grunts in approval. But my father’s expression didn’t change.
“Weakness invites wolves,” I continued, the words coming automatically, the rhythm of this life ingrained in my bones. “If we bend, they’ll break us. The port is ours. It stays ours.”
“Agreed.” My father turned to Uncle Matteo. “Make arrangements. Discreetly. I want the union leader to understand our position without needing… demonstration.”
“Understood.”
The meeting continued. They discussed a shipment being routed through Naples, a rival family encroaching on our construction contracts in Rome, and the need to “retire” an old associate who’d been talking too much to the wrong people.
Names were mentioned. Plans were laid. Blood is promised in careful, measured words.
I participated. I nodded. I offered input. But my mind was elsewhere.
I’m thinking about the way Zara tempts me.
The way her freckles lit up under the sun, but it’s more than that.
I craved her touch, yes, but I craved her laughter more, her stubbornness, her warmth tangled in the cold iron of my world.
I wanted to know the sounds she’d make when I was finally inside her, but I wanted her trust even more.
Sometimes I felt like I could drown in the woman who was now my wife. Like last night, when I stood in the hallway, pressed against the wall like some fucking voyeur in my own home, listening to her panting my name.
Fuck. The way she moaned it—broken, desperate, coming apart on her tongue.
I got hard instantly, painfully hard. I pressed my palm against my cock through my slacks, biting back a groan, and let her voice wash over me.
She said my name over and over. And I ended up coming in my own pants, right there in the hall, like a damn teenager.
But afterward, lying in my bed, the high faded into darkness.
What other names had she called before mine?
What if that toy—the one she’d just gotten off with — had been in her hand while she thought of another man? Some man who’d touched her, pleasured her.
The thought made my blood run cold.
So this morning, before I left for another monotonous meeting, I left her a package and a note.
If you want to come without my mouth or my cock, don’t use a toy you’ve ever touched while thinking of another man.
You want to come? Come with me. Come for me. Or don’t come at all.
Say my name, and it comes to life. Say another man’s name, and it dies.
—L
Now I’m here, pretending to care about ports and rival families, while my phone vibrates in my pocket. The app I installed pings, telling me she was using it — saying my name as she touched her sweet little clit. I could almost hear it: the way her voice would catch, the way her breath would hitch.
“Lorenzo.” Someone called, but instead of the smooth sound of Zara’s voice, it’s gruff.
I closed the app, pocket the phone, and looked up at the expectant faces around the table. No one spoke. They’re all watching me, waiting for the verdict on some question I didn’t hear.
“I asked for your thoughts on the Moretti situation.” My father asked, clearly unimpressed.
Right. The Morettis. Our “partners” in the north have been skimming shipments and pushing for more control. A delicate problem—too much force might start a war, too little might be seen as weakness.
“I say we send a message,” I replied, my voice steady. “Not to the Morettis. To their underboss. He’s ambitious. If we give him a reason to think he could run the family better, he’ll do the work for us.”
Francesco raises an eyebrow. “You want to turn their own men against them?”
“I want to save us the cost of a war. Let them tear themselves apart. Then we step in and offer ‘stability.’”
My father studied me for a long moment. Then he nods at me. “See to it. Work with Costa on the details.”
The meeting dragged on for another hour. By the time it ended, the sun had set, casting long shadows across the room. One by one, the men rose, shaking hands, exchanging murmured words until I was left alone with my father.
He didn’t stand. He just sits there, his fingers steepled, watching me with that calm, unreadable expression that has made him a legend in our world.
“You were distracted tonight.”
I didn’t deny it. “I had things on my mind.”
“I have allowed your little ploy to continue, son, but the minute I am done allowing you to play games, she will be gone.”
“She will not be going anywhere.”
My father walked to the window, to where the city glitters below. “Our world is not forgiving, Lorenzo. One moment of weakness, one distraction, and everything we’ve built can collapse. Your grandfather taught me that. I’ve tried to teach you.”
“You’ve taught me well.”
“Have I?” He turned to face me. “Because I hear rumors. I hear whispers about instability.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” His voice was soft, but it cut deeper than any shout. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re not fully here. You’re somewhere else. With someone else.”
I held his gaze. “She doesn’t affect my work.”
“She affects you. And you are your work, Lorenzo. You are this family. You are this legacy. You cannot afford to be divided.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He walks toward me, stopping inches away. “Because if you make a mistake—if your judgment is clouded—it won’t just be you who pays. It will be every man in this room. Every soldier under our command. Every family that depends on us for protection.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He clasped my shoulder, a rare gesture of something almost like affection. “Then prove it. Show me you can still lead. Show me you haven’t lost yourself.”
He left me standing there, alone in the empty boardroom.
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. The portraits watched me. The weight of a hundred years of blood and power pressing down on my shoulders.
I stepped out onto the terrace; the city hums below, a thousand lives unfolding in the dark. I lit a cigarette, allowing the smoke rush into the night.
“Quite a meeting, eh, cugino?” Costa said from behind me. His voice carrying that familiar edge of mockery as he comes to stand beside me, lighting his own cigarette.
“You handled the union thing well. Reminded everyone who runs the show.” He took a long drag. “But I noticed you zoning out in there. Thinking about the pretty little thing you’ve got back home?”
“Costa.”
“I’m just saying.” He grinned. “You’ve got the whole family worried. The great Lorenzo Falcone, heir to the empire, distracted by a piece of—”
I moved before I could think.
My hand grabbed his throat, slamming him against the stone wall. The cigarette fell from his lips. His eyes widened, but he’s too shocked to fight.
“Finish that sentence,” I growled, my voice low, deadly. “I dare you.”
He choked trying to laugh. “Easy, cousin. I was just—”
“You were just disrespecting my wife.”
“Wife,” he laughed the word. “You actually did it. Married her behind Uncle’s back. And now you’re ready to kill your own blood over her?”
“Yes.”
The words came out without hesitation.
Costa stared at me. Something flickers in his eyes—fear, maybe. Respect. Or pity.
“Let me go, Lorenzo.”
I held him a moment longer, letting him feel my strength. Then I released him. He staggered, rubbing his throat.
“Jesus. You’ve lost it. Completely lost it over some woman.”
I turned away, gripping the railing as the wind whipped around us. “She’s not just some woman. She’s my wife. In front of God, in front of whatever laws we still pretend to follow. She’s mine.”
“You’re in deep, cugino. Deeper than I’ve ever seen you.” He straightened his jacket, watching me carefully. “I hope she’s worth the war you’re about to start. Because if the boss decides she’s a liability…” He lets the threat hang.
The words hitting me like acid.
She wouldn’t be a liability. I’d kill every man in that room before I let anyone take her from me.
My family was so quick to assign blame for my wavering loyalty to someone else, instead of noticing that my loyalty to the family, to this world, was drifting long before I laid eyes on Zara.
“Your mouth is really starting to piss me off tonight, cousin,” I said through gritted teeth.
Costa’s hands flew up. “Okay, okay! I get it. She’s off-limits.”
He laughed, straightening his shirt. “I guess I owe you a congratulations then. Can’t wait to see little Enzos running around here.”
I turned and walked away, leaving Costa behind.
Back home, Zara way laying in bed fresh from release.
And I’m here falling apart, piece by piece, for a woman who had no idea how completely she owned me.
Let the family talk. Let them whisper.
I’ve already made my choice.