Chapter One #2
She walked smoothly across the room, projecting the calm, clinical authority of a senior analyst.
"Excuse me, Don Raphael," Azar interrupted, her voice clear and carrying over the low hum of the room. She stepped cleanly between Silvia and Raphael, turning her shoulder just slightly enough to box the other woman out.
Damian paused mid-pour with his bourbon, raising a thick eyebrow. Ezra merely adjusted his glasses.
Raphael looked down at Azar. For a fraction of a second, something like amusement flickered in his eyes.
"What is it, Azar?" Raphael asked, his tone dropping into a gentle, almost patronizing register.
"I apologize for the interruption," Azar said, looking up at him, her hazel eyes locking onto his.
"But the encryption key for the offshore routing protocol expires in exactly four minutes.
I need your biometric authorization to roll the cipher forward, otherwise the eastern accounts will momentarily flag on international grids. "
It was a complete fabrication. She had automated that system three weeks ago.
Silvia let out a delicate, annoyed huff, stepping back. "Surely this can wait until after dinner?"
Azar didn't look at Silvia. She kept her eyes on Raphael. "Security doesn't wait for dinner, Signorina. I'm sure the Don prefers his empire secure."
Raphael held Azar’s gaze. He was a master of reading people, a man who had built his throne on knowing exactly what motivated the people around him.
He saw the fire in Azar's eyes. He saw the jealousy, disguised so thinly as duty.
And he loved it. It fed the monstrous, egotistical part of his soul to have this beautiful, intelligent young woman looking at him like he was the only god in her sky. It was validating.
Raphael let out a low, smooth chuckle. He reached out, not to scan his thumb on the tablet, but to lightly, affectionately tap the side of Azar's cheek, exactly the way one might praise a loyal hound.
"Always so diligent, little bird," Raphael murmured. He finally pressed his thumb against the tablet's blank screen. "Is it done?"
Azar’s skin burned where he touched her. "Yes, Don Raphael. The grid is secure."
"Good." Raphael turned his attention away from her, the amusement vanishing as instantly as it had appeared. He looked at the judge's daughter. "Silvia, as Azar has so kindly reminded me, the empire requires my attention. Ezra will show you to the dining room."
He didn't wait for Silvia's response. Raphael turned and walked toward his private study, gesturing for Damian and Ezra to follow.
Azar stood there, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm. She had done it. She had protected his time, protected him from parasites like Silvia.
"Smooth," a voice grunted behind her.
Azar turned to see Damian downing his bourbon. The hulking underboss looked at her, his face unreadable. "You realize there is no biometric lock on the eastern routing protocol, right? I read your report last week."
Azar kept her face blank. "You must have misread the technical jargon, Damian."
Damian let out a sharp laugh. "Right. Technical jargon. Careful, kid. You play games in the deep water, you're gonna forget how to swim." He turned and followed Raphael into the study.
An hour later, after the family had finished their sprawling, tense dinner, Azar was summoned to the private study. The air inside the mahogany-paneled room was thick with tension and cigar smoke.
Raphael sat behind his desk, leaning back, the shadows of the room carving out the harsh angles of his face. Damian paced in front of the fireplace, while Ezra sat rigidly in a wingback chair, nursing a glass of scotch.
"They are pushing our boundaries," Damian growled, gesturing sharply with his thick hands. "The Albanians hit two of our trucks in the north. We cannot sit here and debate jurisdiction, Raphael. You let me take five men, and I will paint the snow red. We make an example out of them."
"And invite a federal RICO investigation?
" Ezra countered coldly, not looking up from his phone.
"The trucks were carrying untaxed liquor, not weapons.
It's a misdemeanor loss. If Damian goes up there and starts a war, we lose the political insulation I have spent three years building.
We absorb the loss. We squeeze their suppliers legally. "
"Legally?" Damian spat. "Since when do we play by the law?"
"Since I took the throne," Raphael said. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a weight that immediately silenced both men.
Raphael leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers.
"We do not react like street thugs, Damian.
But we do not absorb insults, Ezra. Find out who sold our routes to the Albanians.
When you find the rat within our house, Damian...
you take care of it. Quietly. Let the Albanians keep the liquor.
They will choke on it when they realize their inside man is gone. "
Azar stood by the door, holding the updated encryption logs. She listened to the cold, calculated way Raphael dispensed life and death. He was brilliant. He was a king.
"Azar," Raphael said, suddenly looking up at her. "You have the logs?"
She stepped forward quickly, placing the tablet on his desk.
"Yes, Don Raphael. I've also analyzed the logistics data from the hijacked routes.
I overlaid the GPS pings with our internal shift schedules.
" She leaned in, desperate to show him her value, to show him she understood his world.
"If you look at the variance, the leak has to be coming from the mid-level management at the Verona warehouse. The data proves it."
Damian stopped pacing, looking at her with a mix of surprise and irritation. Ezra raised an eyebrow.
Raphael looked down at the tablet, his eyes scanning the incredibly detailed, highly complex statistical model Azar had stayed up for three nights building. It was flawless work.
He looked up at her, his expression softening into that polite, patronizing mask. He reached out and slid the tablet toward himself.
"Very thorough," Raphael said, his tone perfectly even. "Thank you, Azar."
"I could run a deeper diagnostic," she offered eagerly, her eyes shining with devotion. "I can track their offshore wires, see if I can find the exact name of the traitor."
"That won't be necessary," Raphael said, dismissing her with a slight wave of his hand. "You've done well with the numbers. Ezra will handle the rest. It's late. Go back to the staff quarters and get some rest. You work too hard for us."
The words staff quarters hit her like a physical blow. She wasn't an advisor. She wasn't inner circle. She was the help providing a spreadsheet.
Azar swallowed the lump in her throat, her spine stiffening. "Of course, Don Raphael. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Azar," he murmured, his attention already shifting back to Damian before she even turned around.
As the door to the study shut behind her, Azar stood in the quiet hallway. She pressed her hand against the cold marble wall, taking a shaky breath. He was just protecting her, she told herself. He didn't want her involved in the violent side of the business. That was it. He was keeping her pure.
Inside the study, as the door locked, Damian poured himself another drink.
"You indulge that girl too much, Raphael," Damian muttered. "She's practically tripping over herself to play gangster just to get your attention."
Raphael didn't look up from the tablet, his eyes cold and devoid of the warmth he had just shown her. "She is a brilliant analyst, Damian. Her devotion ensures her loyalty. Let her play her games. She keeps the vault locked."
"She looks at you like you're going to marry her someday," Ezra observed dryly, sipping his scotch.
Raphael finally looked up, his expression hardening into stone. "She is the housekeeper's granddaughter, Ezra. She is a useful tool. Nothing more." He tapped the screen of the tablet. "Now, give me the names of the men at the Verona warehouse. We have a rat to kill."