Section 16
The I in Team
Lucky
I am not supposed to be in this meeting.
That’s clear immediately.
I’m standing near the back wall of Gia’s private office trying very hard to look like a coat rack with opinions.
There are six men in the room.
All armed.
All convinced they’re the smartest one here.
Gia sits at the head of the table—spine straight, hands folded. She looks calm in the way hurricanes probably look from space.
No one else looks calm.
They talk over each other at first. Power meetings always sound like a pack of dogs pretending not to be dogs.
Then he walks in.
Frank Nemico. I know his name before someone says it.
Late fifties, gray at the temples, jacket that’s older than my motorcycle and twice as respected.
He kisses Gia on the forehead.
I feel something ugly and immediate bloom in my chest.
Not jealousy exactly. More like… territorial confusion.
“Gia-bella,” he says warmly. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
Oh no.
Gia doesn’t flinch, but something in her jaw tightens.
“I’m fine, Frank,” she says evenly. “Sit.”
He does—but at his own pace.
Frank used to work for her father. Everyone knows that. It’s said with reverence, like surviving that era was a credential.
He looks at her like she’s still twelve.
Which is wild, because it’s hard to imagine her as a child. I bet she played with guns like others played make-believe.
They start going over the attack again. Routes and timing; the whole shebang.
Frank listens. Nods.
“Well,” he sighs, leaning back. “It does make a kind of sense.”
Gia’s eyes lift. “Explain.”
The temperature drops in an instant.
Frank spreads his hands gently. “You run clean. If I were him, I might think—”
“Think what?” Gia says through gritted teeth.
That you’re soft.
That you’re safe to test.
That you’re the daughter, not the father.
Frank hesitates, and I hate him instantly. Gia better not listen to this asshole.
“That’s bullshit,” I mutter.
A few heads turn.
Frank finally notices me.
“Who’s this?” he asks, frowning.
“New hire,” someone says dismissively.
Frank’s gaze drags over me, and I recognize the look.
He turns back to Gia.
“You shouldn’t have strangers this close right now,” he says. “After what happened.”
I don’t care.
I don’t care at all.
But Diablo does.
The dog lifts his head and growls.
Frank stiffens. “That thing still isn’t trained?”
Gia doesn’t look at Diablo.
“He is trained,” she says. “He just has standards.”
Good boy.
They move on to logistics—rotation, visibility. Who stays close. Who sleeps where.
Frank clears his throat again.
“You don’t have to prove anything anymore, sweetheart,” he says in a way that makes my blood boil. “You shouldn’t be alone,” he continues. “Not right now.”
“I’m not,” Gia replies.
“Your father always kept someone nearby.”
“I am not—”
“You will be,” he says. “At night.”
Silence.
Then a guy at the table—younger, slick hair, too much confidence—leans forward.
“I can stay,” he says quickly. “Overnight. No problem.”
His eyes linger on Gia for half a second too long.
I feel it like a flare going off behind my ribs.
Nope.
Absolutely the fuck not. I may be the world’s biggest hypocrite but there’s no fucking way.
Before I can stop myself, I step forward.
Diablo beats me to it.
The dog rises in a smooth, terrifying motion and plants himself between Gia and the volunteer. Teeth visible.
The man goes pale.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
Every eye in the room snaps to me.
Frank’s brows knit. “Excuse me?”
I don’t look at him.
I look at Gia.
Then at the man who volunteered.
Then back at Gia.
“I don’t have a problem with the good boy,” I say evenly. “And he clearly has a problem with that guy.”
Diablo growls again, just to underline my point.
Someone snorts.
Frank looks furious. “This is inappropriate.”
Gia finally leans back in her chair.
“And yet,” she says calmly, “we’re still discussing it.”
She looks at the volunteer.
“You want to stay here,” she asks, “because you’re concerned about my safety?”
“Yes,” he says too fast.
She tilts her head.
“Then explain why my dog wants to remove your soul.”
The man opens his mouth. Closes it.
Frank rubs his face. “Gia—”
“No,” she says, and stands. “I will decide who stays near me,” she says. “Not men who think proximity is permission.”
Frank looks like someone just informed him the little girl he used to protect grew teeth while he wasn’t paying attention.
Fuck yeah!
“Lucky,” Gia says.
“Yes, boss.”
“You’re staying.”
I don’t for a second think she needs protection, but I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Not that I’ve ever been given a horse, but a night with Gia? Yes, please.
I nod. “Copy that.”
Diablo sits at my feet.
Proud. The goodest boy in the world.
Frank stares at us. I can with confidence say that there’s no better feeling than seeing an old world mobster get put in his place. Except maybe the feeling that Gia picked me!
The meeting breaks shortly after.
People leave carefully.
Frank lingers—but says nothing.
He looks from me, to Diablo who’s sitting at my feet, to Gia.
His mouth tightens.
Then he nods once to himself and walks out. That’s right, geriatric douchebag!
When the room is empty, I finally breathe.
Gia doesn’t look at me.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, “if you ever wore pigtails, I’m guessing you were armed.”
She snorts despite herself.
“Get out,” she says.
I grin inside my helmet and obey.
From the hallway, I hear her lock the door.
Diablo pads after me.
I crouch and scratch behind his ears.
“Good instincts,” I tell him.
He wags once.
Yeah.
Bellini picked the wrong woman.
And the wrong day.
And if anyone in this city thinks she’s the weakest link—
They’re about to learn how bad an assumption can hurt.