Section 19
Let the Men Handle It
Lucky
Three men trail behind Frank—familiar faces, hard eyes. I recognize the type immediately.
They clock me.
Dismiss me.
Move on.
Good morning to you too, fuckfaces.
Gia doesn’t stand when they enter. She’s already at the head of the table, tablet in front of her, coffee untouched. Diablo sits beside her chair, alert but calm, a physical reminder that proximity is a privilege.
Frank stops a few feet away.
“Gia-bella,” he says. “You look tired.”
“I was shot at,” she replies. “It was inconvenient.”
One of the men winces. Frank sighs like this is all very unfortunate but not especially surprising.
“That’s exactly why we’re here,” he says. “To stabilize things.”
“Good,” she replies. “Because I already did.”
Frank sits slowly. “You retaliated?”
“I responded,” she corrects. “There’s a difference.”
She taps her tablet and a large screen turns on behind her, mirroring the content.
Maps. A web of connections that looks boring until you understand how lethal boredom can be.
“Bellini doesn’t want a war,” she continues calmly. “He wants legitimacy.”
She looks up.
“So I’m giving him silence.”
One of the men frowns. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
Frank leans back. “Silence looks like weakness.”
I feel something tighten in my chest.
Gia doesn’t react. “Only if you don’t understand leverage.”
Frank gives a patient smile. The kind you give children and waiters.
“Gia,” he says gently, “this is bigger than optics. This is when you let the men handle it.”
The room stills.
I don’t think he meant it like that.
Gia’s gaze sharpens.
Frank spreads his hands. “You’ve made your point. Now we escalate. Quietly. Cleanly. We remind Bellini what happens when you test the wrong people.”
She watches him for a long second.
“And by ‘people,’” she says, “you mean you.”
A beat.
“Well,” Frank says, “someone with experience.”
His eyes flick toward me.
That’s when he smiles.
“Not your dog walker.”
The room stops breathing.
I don’t remember deciding to speak.
It just… happens.
“Absolutely not,” I say.
Every head turns.
Frank looks annoyed now. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“No,” I agree. “But that part did.”
He snorts. “You’re security. You walk the dog.”
Diablo lifts his head.
Low growl.
Gia’s hand moves—firm, precise—and Diablo settles immediately.
“Lucky,” she says calmly.
I don’t sit.
But something in me snaps into alignment.
“With respect,” I say, “you don’t get to talk about her like she’s a mascot.”
Frank stiffens. “Watch your tone.”
“No,” I say. “You watch yours.”
One of the men shifts uncomfortably.
Frank’s jaw tightens. “You think you understand this world because you carry a gun?”
“I think I understand disrespect when I hear it,” I reply.
“You’re confusing loyalty with experience.”
“And you just said she needs men to do her thinking.”
“That’s not what I—”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
Gia doesn’t interrupt.
I think that’s the part that scares them.
Frank huffs out a breath. “This is why outsiders don’t belong in leadership rooms.”
“Funny,” I say. “Because from where I’m standing, she’s the only one in here who actually made a move.”
“Frank,” Gia says evenly, “if you want to run my organization, you’re welcome to challenge me for it.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Didn’t think so,” she continues. “Now—my plan.”
She swipes the screen again.
“This is Bellini’s supply chain,” she says. “Three layers deep. I’m not touching his men. I’m not touching his money.”
She looks up.
“I’m touching his patience.”
She outlines it cleanly, tapping her red nails on the tablet. The presentation is clean and calculated on the large screen.
Permits delayed, shipping rerouted into regulatory hell—everything detailed with precision, leaving no trace behind.
One of the men frowns. “That takes time.”
“Yes,” Gia replies. “Which gives us information.”
“And if he strikes again?” Frank asks.
Her voice doesn’t rise.
“Then he proves my point.”
They don’t like that answer.
Finally Frank says, “It’s risky.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “So is underestimating me.”
That’s it.
That’s the meeting.
When they stand to leave, no one looks at me again.
Except Frank.
His stare lingers—not angry so much as displeased.
As if I’ve upset the natural order.
Good.
When the door closes behind them, the room exhales. Or at least I do.
Gia doesn’t sit.
She just rubs her temple once.
Then she looks at me.
“That was unnecessary,” she says.
I nod. “Probably.”
A pause.
“But?” she prompts.
“But he doesn’t get to treat you like that,” I say. “Not in front of me.”
“That’s not your job,” she says, but there’s a slight softness to her voice I cling to with all my might.
“I know,” I reply. “Still felt right.”
Diablo thumps his tail.
Gia studies me for another second, then turns back to her screen.
“Next time,” she says, “wait until I finish talking.”
“Yes, boss.”
She pauses.
“…Thank you,” she adds.
Somehow, that feels bigger than the argument.