Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The morning light filters through the windows of my office as Enzo and I review the casino blueprints. The Venetian Rose Casino project with the Sartoris is moving faster than expected, and we need to finalize security protocols.
"Riccardo's team sent over their recommendations for staff vetting," Enzo says, sliding a folder across my desk. "Standard procedure, but I want our people doing the final checks."
I nod, examining the detailed layout of what will become our most ambitious legitimate business venture yet. "Have them run the background checks twice. Anyone with even a hint of law enforcement connections gets flagged."
"Already on it." Enzo leans back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. "The construction timeline looks good. We'll be operational by summer if everything stays on schedule."
I trace my finger along the main gaming floor design. "This place is going to change everything. Clean money, political connections, a neutral ground for business."
"And a headache to manage," Enzo adds, but I can hear the grudging approval in his voice.
"Speaking of managing," I say, keeping my tone casual, "I want you handling the opening night."
Enzo freezes mid-stretch. "Excuse me?"
"The grand opening. I need you there, front and center."
He stares at me like I've suggested he walk naked down Fifth Avenue. "You might as well put a fucking bullet in my head than force me to socialize with those people."
I can't help but laugh at his horrified expression. "What people, exactly?"
"Politicians shaking hands for photo ops. Celebrities who think they're untouchable. Society wives judging everyone's fucking outfits." He shakes his head vehemently. "Not my scene, brother. Send Alessio. He enjoys that shit."
"Alessio will be there, but I need you too." I tap the casino floor plan. "This is as much your achievement as mine. Besides, the Sartoris respect strength, and you're the muscle of this family."
Enzo runs a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident. "I don't do small talk and champagne flutes, Damiano. I'll fuck it up."
"No, you won't," I say firmly. "You don't have to charm them. Just be there, be yourself—well, maybe not entirely yourself—and show a united front."
"Fuck," he mutters, the single word conveying volumes of resignation. "Fine. But when some senator's wife asks me about the fucking drapes or whatever, I'm sending her to Lucrezia."
"Fair enough."
A sharp knock on the door interrupts our conversation. Alessio stands in the doorway, his expression serious.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, walking into the office without waiting for an invitation.
"What is it?" I ask, noting the tension in his shoulders.
Alessio adjusts his stance. "The Albanians reached out."
Enzo straightens in his chair. "The Albanian crew from Queens? Byron's people?"
"The same," Alessio confirms, his dark eyes meeting mine. "Apparently with Byron's death, they're looking for new business arrangements. Their representative—Dardan Bajraktari—wants a sit-down."
I lean back in my chair, considering this development. The Albanians had exclusively operated under Byron's umbrella for years. Brutal enforcers, effective distributors, but always loyal to Easton.
"What exactly are they proposing?" I ask.
"They were vague on details," Alessio replies. "But reading between the lines, they've got distribution channels throughout Queens we never fully mapped. They're suggesting there might be mutual benefit in working together now that their boss is feeding worms."
Enzo scoffs. "Convenient timing. Byron's body isn't even cold."
"Pragmatic," I correct him. "They know there's a vacuum. Better to fill it with an alliance than wait for us to move in anyway."
I drum my fingers against the casino blueprints, weighing options. The Albanians could provide a seamless transition into territories we'd been eyeing since before the arrangement with Byron. No bloodshed, no territory war.
"What's your assessment?" I ask Alessio.
He crosses his arms. "They're dangerous, but they've always been professional. Never broke agreements with Byron, at least none we know of. They run tight operations. Could be valuable."
"Or they could be looking to get close enough to take revenge for their boss," Enzo counters.
Alessio shakes his head. "Byron wasn't the kind to inspire that level of loyalty. He paid them well, but there was no love lost."
I consider both perspectives, feeling the weight of the decision. Queens has always been a complicated territory, and absorbing Byron's operation without bloodshed would be ideal, especially with Zoe pregnant.
"Set up a meeting," I decide. "Neutral territory—the back room at Omertà. Make sure they understand it's exploratory only."
Alessio nods. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock." I turn to Enzo. "I want you there, but out of sight. Watch their body language, count their men."
Enzo's mouth curves into a predatory smile. "Gladly."
"I'll handle the arrangements," Alessio says, already pulling out his phone.
As he turns to leave, I add, "And Alessio—tell Daniel to double security on the house. Just in case this is something else entirely."
One month later
I rest my hand on my still-flat stomach as I lounge on the chaise in what will soon become the nursery.
The room is spacious with large windows that flood it with natural light—perfect for a baby's room.
One month has passed since Byron's death, and while nightmares still occasionally plague me, each day feels lighter than the last.
"I think we should go with a neutral palette," I say, watching Lucrezia inspect the crown molding. "Cream walls with accents we can change later."
Scarlett, sprawled on the carpet with paint swatches spread around her like fallen autumn leaves, shakes her head. "Boring. Babies need stimulation. What about a mural on this wall?" She points to the largest uninterrupted section. "Something whimsical but not too cutesy."
"Not everything needs to scream for attention like your hair does," I tease, and Scarlett flips me off with a grin, her vibrant red locks cascading over her shoulders.
Lucrezia traces her fingers along the windowsill, her movements more deliberate than they used to be. In the month since her attack, she's slowly reclaiming herself, piece by piece. Today is a good day—she's been laughing, offering opinions, present in a way she sometimes isn't.
"What about an Italian countryside theme?" Lucrezia suggests. "Rolling hills, cypress trees, maybe a little farmhouse in the distance."
"I love that idea," I say sincerely. "Something connecting the baby to their heritage."
Scarlett shuffles through her paint samples. "We could do a soft sage green for the hills, maybe a buttery yellow for the sun."
"And a soft blue ceiling like the sky," Lucrezia adds, more animated now. "With clouds!"
"Look at you, getting all artistic again," I say gently.
Lucrezia's smile falters slightly, but she recovers. "I've been sketching a little. Nothing serious yet, but..." She shrugs, leaving the thought unfinished.
"Well, I think your idea is perfect," I tell her. "And you should paint it. No one could do it better."
"Absolutely," Scarlett chimes in. "The famous Lucrezia Feretti original nursery mural? That baby's going to have serious bragging rights."
Lucrezia laughs softly. "Let me think about it. I'm not sure I'm ready for a project that big."
"No pressure," I assure her, then gesture to the corner. "What about the crib over there? Away from the windows but still getting natural light?"
"Perfect," Scarlett agrees. "And maybe a comfy rocking chair by the bookshelf for late-night feedings?"
"God, you two are turning into proper mamas before my eyes," Lucrezia says with warmth in her voice. "It suits you, Zoe."
I feel a flush of pleasure at her words. "It feels right, somehow. Even with everything that happened to bring us here."
A knock on the door interrupts our planning session, and Ginerva appears with a tray of iced tea and cookies. "Thought you ladies might need refreshments," she says, setting it down on the small table near the window.
"You're an angel, Ginerva," I say gratefully, reaching for a glass.
After she leaves, Scarlett grabs a chocolate chip cookie and asks, "So, Lucrezia, what about you? Any looks preferences for your future niece or nephew?"
Lucrezia takes a sip of her tea before answering. "I just want them to be happy and safe." She traces the rim of her glass with her finger. "And loved. Always loved."
Something in her tone makes me look at her more closely. There's a wistfulness there I haven't noticed before.
"Speaking of future little ones," Scarlett says, helping herself to another cookie, "any potential romance on your horizon, Lucrezia? Once you're ready, of course."
Lucrezia's expression shutters slightly. She sets her glass down with deliberate care.
"I've never actually been in love," she admits quietly. "Or had sex with anyone."
Scarlett nearly chokes on her cookie, but recovers quickly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."
"It's okay," Lucrezia says, offering a small smile. "Damiano and Enzo kept me so protected, I barely got to speak to boys, let alone date them. Remember that Nick story I told you about, Zoe?"
I nod.
"That was the closest I ever came to anything real," she continues. "And now..." Her voice trails off, and she looks down at her hands. "After what happened, I think it's going to be even harder. I can't imagine letting anyone touch me now."
My heart aches at the vulnerability in Lucrezia's eyes. The shadows of what happened to her still linger, but there's something else there too—a longing for a normal life that she never got to experience.
"You will find someone," I say softly, setting my glass down and moving to sit beside her on the window seat. "Someone who understands what you've been through and respects your boundaries. Someone who'll be patient and kind."
Lucrezia offers a small, disbelieving smile. "Maybe in another lifetime."
"No, in this one," I insist, taking her hand. "I'm absolutely certain you'll find a guy who's totally hot for you. Someone who'll make your heart race just by walking into a room."
She laughs then, a genuine sound that brightens her whole face. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because you're beautiful, talented, and have the biggest heart of anyone I know," I say, squeezing her hand. "And because I've seen how guys look at you, even when your brothers are hovering like angry guard dogs."
"It's true," Scarlett chimes in, gathering paint samples into neat piles. "At the hospital fundraiser last week? That doctor in cardiology couldn't take his eyes off you."
"Dr. Reynolds?" Lucrezia asks, a hint of color touching her cheeks. "He was just being polite."
"Polite doesn't involve staring at your lips every time you spoke," Scarlett says with a knowing grin.
"The right person will understand that healing isn't linear," I continue. "They'll know that some days are harder than others, and they'll love you through all of them."
Lucrezia leans her head against my shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"
"Probably around the time I realized I was carrying a tiny human and needed to figure my shit out," I say, making her laugh again.
"I just don't want to be seen as damaged goods," she whispers after a moment.
"You're not damaged, Lucrezia," I say firmly. "You're a survivor. And that makes you stronger than most people will ever be."
Lucrezia's eyes glisten with tears, though her smile remains brave. I squeeze her hand, wishing I could take away her pain, when the door swings open.
Damiano leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes sweep the room, taking in the paint swatches, our little tea party, and finally landing on his sister's face. I wonder how long he's been listening.
"You have plenty of time till you reach your 50s," he says, his tone light but his eyes full of care. "Then you can fall in love with some dumbshit man."
Laughter erupts from Scarlett first, followed by Lucrezia's surprised giggle. I can't help joining in, especially when Lucrezia reaches for a decorative pillow from the window seat.
"You're such an ass," she says, hurling the pillow at his face.
Damiano catches it easily, a rare playful smile transforming his usually stern features. "I'm just being realistic. No man is good enough for my sister."
Scarlett's lips curve into a mischievous smile as she looks at Damiano. "Actually, we've decided on our color scheme already," she says, her voice perfectly serious. "We're painting everything black. Walls, ceiling, furniture—all of it. Maybe some skulls as accents."
I press my lips together, fighting back laughter as Damiano's expression shifts from playful to mildly horrified.
"Black?" he repeats, his brow furrowing. "For a nursery?"
"Absolutely," Scarlett continues, warming to her theme. "Studies show babies respond well to high contrast. And what's higher contrast than black everything?"
Lucrezia catches on immediately. "We're thinking of adding some silver spikes to the crib rails too. Very edgy."
"Very safe," I add with a completely straight face. "The baby will develop an excellent aesthetic sense right from birth."
Damiano's eyes narrow as he looks between the three of us. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"
That breaks me. I burst into laughter, unable to maintain the charade any longer. Scarlett follows immediately, slapping her knee as she howls.
"Your face!" Lucrezia gasps between giggles. "You looked like someone suggested feeding the baby raw meat!"
Damiano shakes his head, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Very funny."
"We had you for a second," I say, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. "Admit it."
"No comment," he replies, tossing the pillow back to Lucrezia. "I'll leave you ladies to your plotting. Just remember I have veto power on anything that goes in this room."
"Says who?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow.
"Says me," he responds with a playful growl before backing out of the room.
We dissolve into another fit of giggles once he's gone.