"What is the meaning of this?" Arturo roared.
"One move," Alex said mildly, almost bored, "and my man pulls the trigger. Just one move."
Sergio's gun was pressed to the back of Arturo's head, steady and merciless. For a fleeting second, Camilla crossed my mind. What she would think if she saw this. Her lover, pointing a gun to her father's head.
But guilt followed fast, sharp enough to cut. I pushed the thought away. I've done enough damage for one lifetime.
"Isolda?" Arturo said, disbelief cracking his voice.
"I'm sorry, zio," I replied, simply.
Then I turned to the rest of the men, who sat frozen in their seats, their backs ramrod-straight. Their guards had been left outside, since this was meant to be a brief, ceremonial meeting. No weapons allowed. Alex's men had made sure of that.
They were trapped.
Just like Arturo.
His jaw tightened, the realization settling in at last.
"You've gotten your memories back," he murmured.
I shrugged simply. "It was getting exhausting," I said lightly, lips curling despite myself, "pretending I didn't know who I was. Pretending I didn't know the truth."
"When?" Arturo snapped.
"Does it matter?" I drawled.
I slipped the knife from beneath my black suit, rolling the familiar weight of it between my fingers. This was the same blade I had pulled out of Dante's shoulder just a week ago. Lately I've found that I preferred it now, over the guns. It was quieter, much more intimate.
"What matters," I continued, "is the betrayal. All of it."
"What do you want?"
"I want my birthright," I said, meeting his narrowed eyes head-on.
"Like hell you'll get it now, you ungrateful—"
The gunshot cracked through the room.
Blood followed.
Arturo dropped back against his seat, a sharp sound tearing out of his throat as he clutched his arm, blood spilling between his fingers. His cigar had slipped from his lips, fallen on the carpet somewhere, forgotten. I watched it all numbly.
It surprised me still, how little I was feeling these days. It was like my emotions vanished into thin air. Or maybe I simply stopped caring.
"I'd suggest you don't finish that sentence," Alex said calmly from behind him, smart enough to still keep his distance. Men like Arturo were most dangerous when wounded. "Unless you'd like to join your men. Face-down. With holes in the back of their heads."
The room went utterly silent.
I stepped forward, heels muffled by the carpeted floors as I stepped over the slumped bodies, stopping just short of Arturo. He was still clutching his arm, his jaw clenched, pride bleeding out slower than the wound.
"Declare it," I told him quietly, pointing my phone camera at him and pressed 'Record'.
His eyes snapped to mine. "You think pointing guns—"
I raised the knife, taking a step closer.
"Say it," I repeated, my voice calm enough to terrify. "Or I let him take your other arm. Then the legs. And then we see how long tradition keeps you alive."
Arturo swallowed. Around the table, the men shifted. Sweat beading, spines stiff, calculating exits that no longer existed.
"With the authority vested in me," he said hoarsely, his eyes looking anywhere but my camera, each word dragging out like it tasted of ash, "I recognize Isolda Ricci as Underboss of New York."
I didn't look away from him. "Louder."
He straightened as much as his injury allowed. "Isolda Ricci is the Underboss of New York. By blood. By right"
That was when I turned back to the table.
"Those who recognize my position," I said evenly, "stand."
Chairs scraped back. Not all at once. Not bravely, even. But one by one, I watched as they rose. Their hands visible, heads bowed just enough to be respectful.
I let the moment linger, relishing on the view before tapping on the 'End' button and placed my phone back into my jacket before speaking again.
"Understand this," I said, my gaze sweeping over them, memorizing their faces, tells, their weaknesses. "Loyalty is not optional. If I find even a whisper of conspiracy. Just one meeting, one phone call, one misplaced ounce of ambition, your territory will not be contested."
Alex shifted behind him, just enough for them to notice.
"It will be absorbed," I continued, watching the way my husband's eyes flared at my words, "piece by piece, into Barinov's hands. He already knows your routes. Your accountants. Your mistresses. He's planted deep enough that by the time you realize you've lost everything, you'll still be swearing you were careful."
Alex shifted behind him, close enough that I could feel him without looking. A silent presence, urging me to go on.
"It will be absorbed," I continued, my voice steady, aware of him in a way I didn't even need to hide now. "Piece by piece, into Barinov's hands. He already knows your routes. Your accountants. Your mistresses. He's planted deep enough that by the time you realize you've lost everything, you'll still be swearing you were careful."
They paled. One of them sank back into his chair as if his legs had given out.
"Good," I said softly. "Then we understand each other."
I turned to Arturo and finally lowered the knife. Not in mercy, just certainty.
"You wanted ability over blood," I told him. "This is ability. You've trained me well, uncle."
I walked past him without another glance. As I reached Alex, I heard him murmuring something in Russian to Sergio before turning and leaving the room.
Arturo shifted, instinct overriding sense.
The shot rang out. Sergio put a bullet through his other arm. Arturo cried out, clutching uselessly at himself, collapsing inward with a sound that was almost animal.
I didn't stop walking.
I needed to get out of here.
"Isla," Alex called from behind me as the guards flooded into the conference room, voices rising, chaos finally allowed to exist now that the verdict had been delivered.
I didn't stop walking.
The elevators were a mistake, I knew that instinctively, so I veered toward the stairwell instead. Cold concrete. Somewhere I could breathe.
He caught me in the hallway.
Alex's hand closed around my wrist before he pulled me in, hard and sure, wrapping his arms around me like he was anchoring me to the world. It was like the damn broke afterwards. All the fear, the guilt, the weight of blood and power, all of it crashed into me, all at once.
I buried my face against his chest, fingers curling into his jacket as I breathed him in like he was the only real thing left in my life.
"You're going to be okay," he murmured, lips brushing my temple. "They deserve this."
They did. But still, the weight of it all pressed into my chest because I had known them. I had trained beside them, bled and killed for them. Their faces, their voices, all those memories I had growing up, refused to leave me.
But with Alex's arms around me, holding me steady, I let myself stop for awhile. Just breathe. Just stand here. Because I had no choice but to believe him.
That everything will be okay.