Chapter One #2
Willa’s bottom lip quivered slightly, and she looked down, a perfect portrait of a bullied outsider trying to hold back tears.
Renzo’s jaw tightened. He placed a protective hand over Willa’s, his dark eyes sweeping over his family, but settling heavily on Roselia.
"Enough," he commanded softly. It wasn't a request. It was an edict from the head of the syndicate.
"Willa is my guest, and she will be treated with respect. By the dog, and by you, Roselia."
Roselia didn't break eye contact. She reached down, snapping her fingers once. Bruno immediately stopped growling, though he kept his body firmly planted between Roselia and Willa, a silent, furry shield.
"My apologies, Don Falco," Roselia said smoothly, stripping her voice of all familiar affection, leaving only professional, cold courtesy. "Bruno, seduto."
The dog sat.
Marco coughed to break the tension, stepping forward. "Dinner is ready, yes? Because if I don't eat in the next five minutes, I'm going to start chewing on the furniture."
"Language, Marco," Ana scolded lightly, though she looked grateful for the interruption. "Yes, everyone into the dining room."
The dining room was an opulent affair, bathed in the soft glow of an antique crystal chandelier.
The long mahogany table was set with silver and delicate crystal glasses.
Salvatore took the head of the table, with Ana at his right and Valentina at his left.
Andre sat next to Valentina, while Roselia took her usual seat next to her father, flanked by Marco and Enzo.
Renzo took the seat directly across from Roselia, pulling Willa’s chair out for her with unwavering devotion before sitting beside her.
As the staff began serving courses of rich risotto and braised veal, the conversation flowed easily among the men, pivoting smoothly from shipping logistics at the Naples port to the acquisition of a new string of high-end real estate in Milan.
Renzo contributed sparingly, his dry, unexpected humor occasionally cutting through his father’s bombastic storytelling.
But whenever he spoke, he commanded the room.
Through it all, Willa played the perfect companion. She laughed warmly at Renzo's quiet jokes, a beat too loudly to be genuine. She kept her hand resting gently on his thigh, periodically leaning in to whisper something in his ear that made him soften, ever so slightly.
But when Renzo turned his attention to his father to discuss a shipment of weapons coming through the docks, Willa’s eyes darted across the table to Roselia. The soft, adoring expression vanished.
"I was so surprised to hear you were coming tonight, Roselia," Willa said, her voice carrying just enough to cut through the men’s conversation.
She smiled, but the edges were sharp. "I thought you would be busy cleaning up the mess at the warehouse on the South Side.
Renzo mentioned there was a... slight miscalculation on your part with the new recruits. "
The table went quiet. Andre paused with his wine glass halfway to his mouth. Salvatore’s brow furrowed.
Willa immediately shrank back, looking mortified. "Oh, goodness. Was that private? Renzo, I’m so sorry, I thought everyone knew. I just get so concerned about Roselia's safety when she’s doing all this dangerous... grunt work."
She framed the insult flawlessly—calling Roselia's strategic oversight 'grunt work' while weaponizing Renzo’s private complaints, and masking the entire attack as genuine concern. It was a classic triangulation tactic.
Roselia calmly picked up her napkin, dabbing the corner of her mouth. She felt a familiar flare of irritation, not at Willa, but at Renzo for discussing syndicate business with a civilian whose only skill was curating an image.
"The miscalculation was an informant in the ranks, Willa," Roselia said, her voice level, devoid of any defensive edge. "He has been dealt with. The warehouse is secure. You can sleep peacefully tonight knowing the 'grunt work' is handled."
Willa blinked, her eyes shining with sudden, unshed tears. She looked at Renzo, her breath catching. "I... I only meant I was worried. I didn't mean to offend her, Renzo. She always takes things the wrong way with me. She hates me, I know she does."
Renzo’s expression darkened. The protective aura of the Don flared to life. He leveled a look at Roselia that would have made hardened killers drop to their knees. "Watch your tone, Roselia. She meant no disrespect. There is no need for your constant hostility."
Marco slammed his fork down. "She wasn't being hostile, Renzo, she was answering a question."
"Stay out of this, Marco," Renzo warned, speaking slowly. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't have to. The threat was implicit.
"It's fine, Marco," Roselia said softly.
She looked at Renzo. Really looked at him.
She saw the intelligence in his eyes, the loyalty he held for the people he loved, and the gaping blind spot that Willa had carefully constructed around him.
He was a man who could destroy an empire with a single phone call, yet he couldn't see the parasite sitting next to him.
Roselia realized in that moment, with utter clarity, that she didn't care.
She didn't care about his delusion, and she certainly didn't care about Willa’s petty jealousy.
Willa collected grudges and slights to build a fortress of victimhood.
Roselia built her life on actual survival.
They were not playing the same game, and Roselia had zero interest in stepping onto Willa's board.
"I apologize if my tone was harsh, Willa," Roselia lied effortlessly, mirroring Willa’s own game for a brief, fleeting second. "I appreciate your concern for my safety."
Willa smiled tightly, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. She leaned into Renzo, resting her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Roselia. I just want us to all get along."
"Of course," Roselia murmured, taking a sip of her wine.
Under the table, Bruno rested his chin on Roselia’s knee, letting out a soft sigh. She slipped a piece of veal from her plate and fed it to him silently.
"So," Andre said loudly, forcefully changing the subject. "Salvatore, tell me more about the zoning permits for the new restaurant in Rome. Have we bribed the right officials, or do I need to send my daughter to have a polite conversation with the mayor?"
The tension slowly bled out of the room as the men resumed their business talk. Valentina caught Roselia’s eye across the table and gave a small, approving nod. Ana smiled warmly, pushing a bowl of roasted vegetables closer to her.
Roselia relaxed back into her chair. She was surrounded by four people who loved her, a father who adored her, two brothers who would take a bullet for her, and a dog who worshipped the ground she walked on.
She glanced one last time at Renzo, who was whispering something softly into Willa’s ear, his hand gently stroking her hair. He was the most dangerous man in Europe, conquered by a woman who would abandon him the second the empire cracked.
What a stupid, beautiful idiot, Roselia thought smoothly, cutting another piece of meat.
She turned her attention back to Enzo, laughing genuinely as he recounted a ridiculous story about a botched boat robbery.
She belonged here, in the fire and the blood of the Falco family, standing tall in the shadows.
And she didn't need the Don's approval to do it.