Page 55 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

I turned my head and looked out at the infinite sea of clouds.

I didn't know what lay ahead. I knew my leaving would cause new problems. But I had no choice. This was all I could do.

Let them deal with the trouble. What belonged to me was what was coming—freedom.

Chapter Twenty

Dante

The conference room was dimly lit.

Both sides of the long table were packed with people. Smoke curled through the air—a mix of different cigars fermenting into something thick and suffocating in the sealed space. Someone set their whiskey glass down with a sharp clink. Someone else leaned back in their chair, expressionless. Another played with a lighter—click, click, click—like some kind of impatient countdown.

I sat at the head of the table. Said nothing.

"Don," Rizzo spoke first—a middle-aged Italian who ran the east side of Brooklyn. His knuckles were thick, a heavy gold ring on his pinky. "The Gulf Corridor situation. You need to give us answers today."

My voice dropped low, my gaze cutting toward him like a blade. "Open your damn eyes and look clearly. What gives you the right to talk to me like that?"

"Where the fuck were your men? Your men couldn't hold that line, and now all our shipments are stuck halfway. Three men died at the docks. Three! All mine!" He was shouting now, voicerising. "The FBI's watching that dock now. We can't move ships for at least two months. You know how much money I'm losing?"

"We know you're handling it." Vincent cut in from across the table. He was someone I'd elevated myself, seemed calmer, but his tone had no patience either. "But Dante, it's been almost a week since this went down, and you still don't know who did it. We're not saying we don't trust you, but you can't make us sit here and wait."

The noise was giving me a headache. These people only knew how to complain about their own problems, sitting at my table, speaking to me with fake concern. But I knew exactly what they were thinking—their money, their shipments, their losses.

I stubbed out my cigar in the ashtray. The burnt tobacco smell hit my nostrils.

"Javier Mendez."

When I said the name, the room went silent.

"The dock bombing was his people." My voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet room every word landed clearly. "He wasn't after your shipments. What he wants is control of the Gulf Corridor."

Vincent thought for a moment. "Javier? That Mexican? Isn't he a rabid dog for the Cruz family? Why would he come to New York and target our passage?"

"This is an old problem. You don't need to know why." I was getting impatient. "You just need to know that the dock being shut down works in our favor. He'll make another move. And I'll be watching him until I catch him."

"You'll watch him?" Rizzo slammed his glass down hard. "You don't even know where his people are right now. Are we just supposed to sit here like targets? When Salvador was in charge, this never would've happened. I've been saying it—being a Don isn't just about being named Moretti, you have to—"

He didn't finish.

I stood up fast. The chair scraped backward across the floor with a harsh screech. I leaned forward, palms flat on the table, my other hand already pressing the gun to his forehead.

Rizzo's mouth snapped shut.

"You talk too much." I rolled my neck. My patience was gone.

I tapped the gun against his head a few times, looking him in the eye, speaking slowly, word by word. "You're still sitting at this table because I let you have that chair. If you think I'm not as good as Salvador, I don't mind kicking you out of New York. Let's see how long your so-called business lasts without the Moretti family's protection. Without my support."

I leaned in closer, voice dropping even lower, colder. "Want to try?"

Rizzo's face changed. His lips moved, but nothing came out.

I put the gun away and straightened up, scanning everyone at the table.

"The Gulf Corridor situation—I'll give you answers," I said. "I'll catch Javier myself and get your operations running again. Any losses during this time, I'll cover them all."

No one spoke.