Chapter 12 #2
Her face blanks out for a split second until my words register.
Then she lets herself smile. Like, really smile.
“No yoga. Sorry to disappoint. I just meant that they're going to have questions…
about you, about us. About whether you're there to support me or take over.” She puts down her fork.
“I need them to see you as mine. Not as a Molloy trying to absorb DiMicheli territory. "
“Got it. What's the plan?”
“You stand behind me. Not beside me, behind me. You don't speak up unless I ask you to. You're there as backup, not leadership.” She meets my gaze. “Can you do that? Let me lead, even if things get a little heated?”
“It's your show. I'm just there to look intimidating.”
Her face relaxes a bit. “You're good at that.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
She nods slowly. “If someone challenges me, like, really challenges me, I need to handle it myself. That's the only way they'll respect me.”
“Agreed.” I pause. “But if someone threatens you? Physically?”
“Then, by all means, you can step in.”
“That's not negotiable, Adriana.”
Her cheeks flush again, eyes softening. Just enough for me to notice. Then in a blink, she’s back to business.
I guess our moment is over.
“We should leave by one,” she says as she stands up from the stool. “I want to get there early. Check the place out.”
“I'll be ready.”
She picks up her plate and carries it to the sink. She starts to wash it, but I take it from her.
“I’ve got this,” I say. “Go get ready to kick some ass.”
She pauses then hands it to me. “Lochlan.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For breakfast. And for... understanding. How I need this to work.”
I shrug. “That's what I'm here for. I told you I’d support you in this.”
Something passes between us… almost like an acknowledgment that whatever this is, it's shifting into something neither of us planned. Or know what to do with, for that matter.
She clears her throat and backs away from me. “I'm going to get ready,” she says. As soon as she turns toward the bedroom, Reaper jumps up and trots after her.
“You know,” I call after her, “you’re gonna eventually have to admit you like me. And Reaper.”
She doesn't turn around. But I hear her voice float into the hallway.
"Maybe Reaper. But don't hold your breath for anything more, Molloy.”
The door closes.
I stand in the kitchen, my legs crossed at the ankles, and smile. “Ouch.”
The warehouse smells like rust and motor oil.
Vincenzo picked the place. Neutral ground, he called it. Somewhere the capos would feel comfortable. Somewhere they could speak freely.
Translation… somewhere they could test Adriana without witnesses.
Eight of them sit around a metal table. Some smoke cigarettes, some cigars. All of their faces are blank. No sympathy, no warmth, no indication that they’ve known her for years, if not her whole life. Anger bubbles in my chest.
Christ, they’re looking at her like she’s something they fucking stepped in, not their new leader.
I stand behind her, like she asked. Close enough to intervene if needed. Far enough to make it clear she's the one in charge.
She doesn't need me to fight her battles. But she also doesn't need to fight them alone. I hope she gets that.
“Gentlemen.” Adriana's voice cuts through the quiet grumbling. It’s steady and strong, and just what they need to hear. “Thank you for coming.”
Riccardo snorts from the far end of the table. My eyes narrow in his direction. Prick bastard.
“Did we have a choice?” he asks.
“There's always a choice.” She doesn't flinch at his obnoxious tone. “You could have refused. You didn't. So let's not waste each other's time pretending you were forced to be here.”
A few of the men exchange looks. They weren't expecting that.
Vincenzo clears his throat from his seat at her right. “Let’s begin with updates. The situation with the Kozlovs—”
“The situation with the Kozlovs is exactly why we're here,” Riccardo interrupts.
“Francesco is in a coma. The Russians have already made one almost deadly move to cripple our organization.
And we're supposed to take orders from a woman who's spent the last twenty-two years pretending she's not one of us?”
My fingers clench into tight fists. I hold them tight against my sides.
Make another comment, dick. Give me a reason to pummel your fucking ass into next year.
Adriana doesn't react, though. Just lets the silence stretch until it becomes suffocating.
“You're right,” she finally says.
Riccardo balks at that. “I'm... what?”
“You're right. I spent twenty-two years building something separate. Something clean. I walked away from this world the second I could, and I never looked back.” She leans forward, palms flat on the table.
“But here's what you're missing, Riccardo.
I didn't walk away because I couldn't handle it. I walked away because I wanted something different. Something that was mine.”
“And now?”
“Now my father is fighting for his life.
Now the Russians are making moves. Now I'm the one standing between this family and everyone who wants to tear it apart.” Her eyes do a sweep of the table.
“So I'm back. Not because I want to be, but because my family needs me.
And if you think for one second that I'm going to let anyone… Russian, Irish, or Italian… destroy what my father built, you haven't been paying attention. And I’d urge you to start. Right. Now.”
She shut him up fast. I swallow a smile and watch the faces around the table. I see mostly shock, but there’s a little bit of respect, too.
Not from Riccardo, though.
“Pretty speech,” he sneers. “But speeches don't run an organization. Neither do MBAs and PowerPoint presentations.”
An older capo leans forward. He’s got gray hair, deep lines etched around his eyes.
He’s clearly been doing this since before Riccardo and Adriana were born.
“The boy has a point. Some of us were running territories when you were still in school, young lady. We know this world. We know its rules. We know who our enemies are and how to handle them.”
“And I know people, Sammy,” Adriana says, her voice icing the air.
“I've spent a long time reading boardrooms full of men who wanted to see me fail.
I know when someone's lying. I know when someone's scared.
I know when someone's hiding something." She pauses, letting her gaze drift across the table and land on Riccardo.
“I see a lot of that in this room right now.”
The room goes very still. Not surprising. They’re all a bunch of criminals.
Riccardo's face reddens. “You think you can intimidate us?”
“I think I don't have to. I think some of you are smart enough to see which way the wind is blowing now.” She leans forward. “And I think the ones who aren't... well, they’ll learn.”
Shit, I've seen men twice her size back down from less. And that idiot Riccardo doesn't back down, but he doesn't push either. So there’s at least one functioning brain cell hidden underneath that fucking rug on his head.
“My father trusted you,” Adriana says, looking around the table.
“Some of you have earned that trust. Some of you are coasting on history.
I don't have the luxury of history. All I have is right now.
So here's how this is going to work. You do your jobs, you report to me and Vincenzo, and we get through this crisis together.
Or you don't, and we have a different conversation.”
“What about him?” Riccardo jerks his chin toward me. “Molloy. What's his role in all this? Are we taking orders from him, too?”
I don't move or speak. This is her moment to drive it all home.
“My husband is here because I want him here,” Adriana says. “His role is whatever I decide it is. And right now, I've decided he's going to stand there and look intimidating while I handle business. Any other questions about my marriage?”
Someone at the end of the table actually laughs and quickly covers it with a cough.
Riccardo's jaw tightens. He pushes back from the table and stands.
“This is bullshit.” He points at Adriana. “Francesco would never have let a woman—"
“Francesco signed a contract that says otherwise.” She doesn't raise her voice. “Sit down, Riccardo.”
“Or what?” he bites out.
He takes a step toward the spot where she is sitting.
That’s when I move.
I don’t go for his jugular, although I’d really like to do that. I just move forward, positioning myself next to Adriana’s shoulder. It’s not a fast or aggressive move. But I’m close enough that Riccardo would have to go through me to get to her.
That stops him dead. He glares at me then at her, his nostrils flaring. I silently will him to make a move so I can drop kick his fucking ass.
He doesn’t. Damn shame.
“This isn't over,” he says.
“No,” Adriana says, sparks spitting from her eyes. “It's not. But this meeting is. Vincenzo will be in touch with details about how things will proceed. I expect updates by the end of the week.” She pushes her chair back, the legs scraping against the concrete floor. “Gentlemen.”
She turns, eyes forward, and walks out. Like she owns the room.
I level Riccardo with one last glare before leaving.
And that’s when the murmuring starts.
She makes it to the car before the cracks start to show.
Her hands shake as she reaches for the door handle. But I grab it first and open the door for her.
She sinks into the seat, her eyes glued to the windshield. Minutes pass. Adriana sits with her hands in her lap, fingers clenching and unclenching. Her posture is rigid, her shoulders squared. The tension radiates off of her, humming in the air.
Three blocks later, she finally speaks.
“How bad was it?”
“Define bad.”
She turns to me, her forehead pinched. “Did they believe me? Any of them?”