SIENNA POV
I finished the last spreadsheet at 6:47 AM. My eyes burned from staring at numbers all night. My back ached from sitting at the desk for hours.
But I'd found it. The pattern everyone else had missed.
Forty thousand dollars leaking out of the restaurant division every month. Not from theft. From bad accounting. Duplicate vendor payments. Overlapping insurance policies. Supply contracts that hadn't been renegotiated in five years.
Simple fixes. Obvious fixes. If anyone had been paying attention.
I created a presentation showing each problem and exactly how to solve it. Projected savings over one year: four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
That had to be worth something. That had to prove I was valuable.
I heard a car in the driveway. Checked the clock. 7:03 AM.
Matteo was back.
My stomach tightened. I told myself it was nervousness about showing him my work. Not relief that he'd returned safely.
I showered quickly and dressed in black pants and a white blouse. Professional. Capable. The kind of outfit that said I took this seriously.
When I walked into the dining room at 7:30, he was already there. Sitting at the table. Coffee in front of him. Reading something on his phone.
He looked exhausted. His eyes were red. His jaw had dark stubble he hadn't bothered to shave. His suit jacket was gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.
"Did you sleep?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He looked up. Something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. That I'd noticed. That I'd asked.
"Not much."
I sat down in my usual chair. Gina brought me coffee and fruit.
"How was the meeting?" I tried to keep my voice neutral.
"Complicated." He set down his phone. "Did you finish the reports?"
"Yes. I found several major inefficiencies."
I pulled out my laptop and turned it toward him. Walked him through each finding. The duplicate payments. The overlapping policies. The outdated contracts.
He listened without interrupting. His expression didn't change.
When I finished, silence stretched between us.
My heart pounded. Had I done something wrong? Missed something obvious? Made a stupid mistake?
"This is good work," he said finally.
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you."
"Have you ever sat in a negotiation?"
The question caught me off guard. "No. Why?"
He stood. "You're about to. Get changed. Something more formal. We have a meeting in an hour."
"What kind of meeting?"
"The kind where you prove your value."
An hour later, I sat in the back of Matteo's car wearing a navy suit I'd found in the closet. Professional. Conservative. The kind of thing that made people take you seriously.
Rocco drove. Matteo sat beside me in the backseat, reviewing notes on his phone.
"What am I walking into?" I asked.
"Restaurant owners. They owe protection money. They're arguing about rate increases." He looked at me. "I want you to find a solution."
My stomach dropped. "I don't know anything about protection money."
"You know about negotiations. You know about finding solutions that benefit everyone. That's all you need."
"What if I mess this up?"
"Then you'll learn from it."
Not exactly reassuring.
We pulled up to a restaurant in Manhattan. Expensive looking. The kind of place where dinner cost more than my weekly grocery budget used to.
Inside, we were led to a private room. Four men sat around a table. All older, fifties or sixties. All wearing expensive suits. All looking nervous when Matteo walked in.
Their nervousness increased when they saw me.
"Gentlemen," Matteo said. He didn't introduce me. Just gestured for me to sit beside him.
The meeting started. The owners complained about rate increases. Said they couldn't afford to pay more. Said business was tight. Said Matteo was squeezing them too hard.
Matteo listened without speaking. His face showed nothing.
The owners got more desperate. More angry. One of them slammed his hand on the table.
"We can't pay thirty percent more. It's impossible. You're killing our businesses."
Still, Matteo said nothing.
I realized he was waiting. Watching. Testing me.
My heart raced. My hands were sweating under the table. But I'd analyzed the restaurant division reports last night. I knew their numbers. I knew where the problems were.
I cleared my throat.
Everyone looked at me.
"What if we approached this differently?" I said. My voice came out quieter than I wanted. I forced it stronger. "Instead of increasing the protection rate, what if we restructured the arrangement?"
One owner frowned. "Restructured how?"
I pulled out my phone and opened the notes I'd made. "Mr. Carbone lowers your protection rate by fifteen percent. In exchange, you agree to exclusive partnerships with his suppliers. You commit to expansion within two years. He provides connection to investors and real estate opportunities."
"How does that help us?" another owner asked.
"Lower protection payments mean better cash flow. Exclusive supplier deals mean consistent quality at better prices. His connections mean you can expand faster. Expansion means higher revenue. Even with protection payments, your net profit increases by approximately forty percent."
Silence.
The owners looked at each other. Calculating. Thinking.
"And what does he get?" the first owner asked carefully.
"Four loyal restaurant partners instead of four resentful ones paying under threat. Long-term relationships instead of short-term collections. A stronger position in the restaurant market. Growth instead of stagnation."
I looked at Matteo. His expression hadn't changed but something in his eyes told me I was on the right track.
"Everyone wins," I said. "You make more money. He makes more money. The arrangement becomes partnership instead of extortion."
The owners looked at Matteo.
"What she said," Matteo said simply.
They left an hour later with signed agreements. Lower protection rates. Exclusive supplier partnerships. Expansion commitments with Matteo's support.
They shook his hand like they'd just negotiated a victory.
As they walked out, I heard one whisper to another. "That woman is more dangerous than the enforcer."
The words sent a chill down my spine. Dangerous. They thought I was dangerous.
Maybe I was.
Back in the car, Matteo was quiet. Too quiet.
I stared out the window, wondering if I'd done something wrong. If he was angry that I'd spoken up without permission.
"Where did you learn to think like that?" he asked finally.
I turned to look at him. He was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"My father," I said. "Before he disappeared. Before everything fell apart. He taught me one thing that actually mattered."
"What?"
"In every negotiation, there's a solution that makes everyone feel like they won. You just have to think bigger than the immediate transaction. Find what each side actually wants underneath what they're asking for."
Matteo leaned forward slightly. "Your father taught you that."
"It's the only useful thing he ever taught me." Bitterness crept into my voice. "Then he took his own advice and found a solution that made himself the winner. At my expense."
Something shifted in Matteo's expression. Understanding mixed with something darker. Something that looked almost like guilt.
"You're angry at him."
"I'm furious at him. He created this mess. He borrowed money he couldn't repay. He ran instead of facing consequences. He left me to deal with his debts and his enemies and his choices." I met Matteo's eyes. "So yes. I'm angry. And I'm never going to forgive him."
The car fell silent.
Matteo reached out slowly. His hand covered mine where it rested on the seat between us.
The touch sent electricity up my arm. Warm and solid and completely unexpected.
"Good," he said quietly. "Don't forgive him. Use that anger. Channel it into being better than he ever was."
I should pull away. I should put distance between us. I should remember that this man owned me, controlled me, held my entire life in his hands.
But his touch felt like the first honest thing anyone had offered me in years.
"I have another meeting tomorrow," he said. "Bigger stakes. More complicated players. I want you there."
"Why?"
"Because you just saved me four loyal restaurant partnerships and increased profit margins by restructuring the deal. Because you're brilliant. Because I need you."
The words landed in my chest like something heavy.
He needed me.
Not just as an asset. Not just as a tool. He needed me.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his expression turned dark.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Richard Zhao just made an offer to buy out two of my suppliers. He's moving faster than I expected."
"What does that mean?"
Matteo looked at me. His hand still covered mine.
"It means whatever plan he has, it's accelerating. It means we have less time than I thought." He squeezed my hand once, then pulled away. "It means I need you to be ready to work harder and faster than you've ever worked in your life."
"I'm ready."
"You don't even know what I'm asking yet."
"Doesn't matter. I'm ready."
He smiled. It wasn't the cold, dangerous smile I'd seen before. It was something warmer. Almost genuine.
"You really are extraordinary, aren't you?"
Before I could answer, his phone rang. He answered immediately.
"What?"
His expression went from dark to lethal in seconds.
"When?" Pause. "How many?" Another pause. "Lock down the Hamptons house. Triple security. I'm on my way back now."
He ended the call.
"What happened?" I asked.
He looked at me with eyes that had gone completely cold.
"Richard Zhao just sent men to your old apartment. They didn't find you because you weren't there. But they left another message. Photos of your bedroom. Your clothes. Your personal items."
My blood turned to ice. "He's escalating."
"Yes."
"Why? What does he want with me?"
Matteo's jaw tightened. "He wants to use you against me. He thinks you're my weakness."
"Am I?"
The question hung between us.
Matteo didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
"Yes. You are."