Chapter 4 Enrico
ENRICO
The mansion chosen for the meeting sat at the edge of the river.
Two guards waited by the far wall, eyes blank, hands near their jackets.
They belonged to Moretti. It was time for us to talk about the future.
Whether he wanted me to or not, his daughter was going to be my wife.
And it would be in both of our interests to keep the bloodshed to a minimum.
A long table divided the room. Footsteps. Then the double doors opened and Don Moretti entered. He appeared older than I remembered from the wedding, the silver at his temples catching the light like the edge of a blade.
“Signor Di Fiore.”
“Moretti.”
Politeness, brittle as glass. He didn’t sit until I did. A server poured coffee, the steam rising between us.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Moretti began, tone mild. “The Russo problem… resolved.”
“A temporary inconvenience,” I said. “Cleaned before sunrise.”
His mouth curved, almost approving. “You clean quickly.”
“Your efficiency left bodies with my signature on them. That attracts attention I can’t afford.”
“Attention is already here. Russo forced it. I only returned it to sender.”
He tapped one finger against the armrest—measured, precise. “And yet you come to me today, asking for peace.”
“Not peace,” I corrected. “Order.”
“Order,” he repeated, tasting the word. “That has a price.”
“Everything worth keeping does.”
Our eyes met, a brief collision of truth before it fractured back into diplomacy. He was thinking of territory, money, and leverage. I was thinking of something far rarer.
His gaze flicked involuntarily toward the corridor behind him. Just for a second. But I caught it.
He wasn’t afraid. Not yet. But the moment his eyes shifted, I knew whom he feared losing.
Moretti’s glance slid back to me, composure restored. “Safety doesn’t exist. Only balance.”
“And balance,” I answered, “is exactly what I’m offering.”
He gestured for me to continue, a small motion that cost him pride.
“Russo’s reach is wider than either of us thought. His people used the docks, your docks. If they move again, you’ll be dead before the week is out. I can stop that. I’ll place my men there—quiet, precise, loyal.”
He studied me. “Loyal to whom?”
“To survival,” I said. “Ours. Yours.” A pause. “Mine.”
He needed time to think about it. Any smart man would. This would be something my father would have been against. He might be rolling over in his grave now, but if it got me closer to Mia… I’d do anything.
“You’d plant your soldiers on my territory?” he asked.
“I’d defend it,” I corrected. “Call it mutual protection.”
Everything about this meeting was taut. Men like Moretti didn’t like working alongside the younger men.
But my father was killed, and when I took his place, many of the families worried.
Some believe that Marco should have taken the spot, but the only way to take it from me was to kill me. And Marco didn’t have it in him.
“And what would be the price?”
I let the question hang. This was the edge where negotiations became confession.
“Trust,” I said finally. “A seat at your table. Transparency between our families.”
His brow lifted. “You don’t ask for small things.”
“I don’t waste time on trivial things.” Although, if I thought I could get him to let me marry his daughter right now, I’d bring it up. If a war started, before I got her to see that I was the man for her, then who knew when she’d finally marry me. No. She needed to come to her senses soon.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping low. “Anything else?”
There it was—the opening. The line I shouldn’t cross and always would for her.
“Tomorrow evening. Invite your daughter to sit beside you during the meeting. Public optics, nothing more. Let them see our families aligned.”
“Leave Mia out of this,” he said.
I met his gaze and let the truth flicker, brief as a pulse. “I can’t.”
His jaw set. “You’ve mistaken my courtesy for tolerance.”
“And you’ve mistaken it as a request.”
For a long time we just looked at each other—two men measuring how far we’d go before the shooting started again. In the end, it was Moretti who reached for his cup, breaking the stalemate.
No fucking way I’d blink.
“She will attend,” he said. “One dinner. Nothing more.”
The meeting ended on the soft scrape of chairs.
Outside, the air smelled of rain. My driver waited beside the car, engine idling, headlights slicing through the mist. I didn’t get in right away. The need for control fought for space in my chest.
Through the window I could still see Moretti, framed by the light of the dining room, speaking to one of his guards. His hand flexed once at his side.
A tremor of satisfaction, then guilt, moved through me. Marco stepped from the shadows near the car. He must have arrived once I was already inside. “How did it go?”
I flicked ash from a cigarette I hadn’t lit yet out of habit. “We have access to the docks.”
“And the girl?”
I gazed toward the mansion one last time. “She’ll be at dinner. And she’s not just the girl. She’s my future wife, damnit.”
Marco’s mouth tightened. “Careful. Moretti’s daughter isn’t ready. Right now, we need to focus on territory.”
“No, she’s the reason the territory matters.”
He needed to stop putting his nose in my personal matters. Who I marry was my fucking business. And if I wanted to wait for Mia…. Then so fucking be it. Not even he could stop me.
A half-smile and a shake of his head. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I slid into the car, leather cool against my palms.
One dinner, Moretti said. He thought it was a concession. It was just the beginning.
I closed my eyes and pictured her again—red silk, the defiance in her spine. I would never stop chasing the future I’d already decided belonged to us. Where she slept next to me every night. I got to wake up to her every morning.