Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I gesture for the guard to open the door.
The first man looks inside, taking us all in. Behind him heads peer over his shoulder.
I fold my arms across my chest, and I watch them cross the room to the desk.
Allegra stands as they enter, a dozen or so cousins and other distant family some only glancing at me, others openly aggressive when they see me at her back. Whoever is loyal to Malek, and I’m sure at least some are, know my presence does not bode well for them.
Each man comes to take her hands and offers his condolences. Each head is momentarily bowed. This part is formality. This isn’t why they’re here. These men are the heads of smaller groups within the Moretti clan. These men are the ones who decide if what happens next will happen with or without bloodshed.
Well, maybe that’s optimistic. They’ll decide on how much bloodshed.
Enzo is last to enter. He closes the door behind him.
Once everyone is seated, Allegra resumes her seat in her father’s leather chair. She surveys the room. I do too and note how the men glance at her, but look at me. I meet each gaze. I want them to know to go against her will mean to go against me and to accept her will mean bending the knee to me.
Allegra clears her throat. “Cousins,” she says. “Vincent. Joseph…” she names them all in turn, acknowledging each man, each house.
They watch her, faces expressionless, thoughts concealed.
“With Michael’s unexpected death, and as the last of my father’s children, I’m stand before you ready to take his place. I’m sure you all have many questions. I want to assure you—”
“Where’s Malek?” Someone rudely calls out.
My gaze shifts to the man. I unfold my arms, fingers brushing over the holster beneath my jacket before I push my hands into my pockets and watch.
“Malek is no longer a part of this family,” Allegra says.
“But he is your husband.” The man insists before shifting his gaze to me, challenging me to challenge this.
My hands clench into fists in my pockets.
Allegra draws a breath in. I see how her hands tremble in her lap. “Malek is no longer a part of this family,” she repeats.
The man scoffs. Jet steps toward him, but I give an infinitesimal shake of my head to stop him from doing anything stupid. The man will be dealt with, just not now. Not here, in front of her. Not yet, at least.
“Now—"
Another man, emboldened, calls out. “The contracts we were working on with Michael and Malek, what happens to those? You’re not in a position to—"
“It is you, Joseph, who is not in the position to interrupt me,” Allegra says, cutting him off, surprising him. Surprising me.
I smile. That’s my girl.
No, not my girl. My queen.
“With all due respect,” he says mockingly.
This man has no respect for her. My fingers twitch, itching for me to pull my hands from my pockets, to pound this man down to his knees. To make him beg her forgiveness for his rudeness. Hell, for his existence. It takes all I have not to act on this impulse.
He looks around the room at the men who are watching him. “You are a woman. Barely that.”
I push off the wall to stand behind Allegra and set my hands on her shoulders, a solid weight.
I’m here. I’ve got you. You are not alone.
My soldiers shift position, standing at attention. I’m sure every single man in the room is armed. If a battle breaks out here, she’ll be hurt. Or worse. I won’t risk that.
“Your words, Joseph, is it? Your words do not match your actions,” I say calmly. “Would you speak this way to a male member of the Moretti family?”
Joseph takes my measure, his eyes narrowing, one corner of his mouth moving into a sneer, the scar on his ugly face dimpling.
These are violent men. But their violence is nothing to mine. They haven’t made the vow I’ve made.
“With all due respect,” he says to me, tone as mocking, “You are not a member of this family. You are not welcome here. Your soldiers are not welcome here.”
“Enough!” Allegra slams her hands down on the desk and is on her feet.
Joseph’s gaze shifts to her hands, taking in the missing fingers. Whatever he thinks he has the presence of mind to hide. He looks back up at her.
“You were loyal to my father. To my brother,” she says to him.
“Malek managed your brother. Your father I respected. Your father was a strong man.” His gaze shifts to her hands, then back up to her face, making a point. He knows it was her father who was responsible for the loss of at least one finger.
“My father was a butcher,” Allegra tells him, not missing a beat.
“In our world, you must be. Or you get your fingers cut off,” he taunts.