Page 79 of Gilded Princess

“Listen, boss, I don’t want to talk out of turn here, but I think we need to consider looking into Jersey,” Ralph Vitale says.

“Is that right? What makes you think so?”

“Mikey heard from Paulie Amato himself that he’s making moves to overthrow us. He can’t act officially until his uncle Mario is out of the picture. Apparently, he’s all but officially stepped down.”

Dad nods his head and sips his whiskey. “I’ll keep that in mind. We might as well get our regular meeting out of the way since we’re all here. Who has something to bring to the table?”

“He doesn’t have sons to carry on the Gallo name, so why should he get to keep his seat?” Ralph Vitale spits, pointing at Victor Gallo, head of the Gallo family. He’s rounder than he is tall, and he spits when he talks. Which is why I always make sure to sit the furthest away from him. His three sons mirror his movements, which feels like a shitty attempt at a power play. If he thinks anyone will be intimidated by them—including Victor Gallo—he’s fucking stupid.

He’s lucky his last name protects him. For now.

Once I take over, I’ll take the concept of spring cleaning to a whole new level.

“Is that so, Ralph? And just what are you proposing we do? Add another family to the table?” Dad asks as he twirls a cigar over his fingers like a poker chip.

It’s an act, the nonchalance. And if you know him well enough you can pick up on it easy enough. It’s in the tightness around his eyes and the forced smile on his face. He’s like a deranged cobra, and he’s just sizing up his meal for the day.

He stares at Ralph, goading him with his questions as if we haven’t heard this bullshit before. Vic’s girls are just a few years younger than me, and he lost his wife two years ago. It’s not like he’s suddenly going to have a boy.

It’s the same shit. Someone pops off and Dad has to flex his power over everyone. Surprisingly, Dad says nothing, which will probably be worse for Ralph in the long run.

“Anything else, gentlemen? Or can we get the fuck outta here and go fuck our girlfriends while our wives cook our dinners at home?” my father asks, a slimy smirk on his face. Everyone laughs at his lame attempt at humor, and the fake notes grate on my nerves.

Vic holds my gaze and says, “Actually, I do have something. I’m proposing an arrangement between my Liza and Matteo, contingent upon the Gallos keeping their seat.”

I lock my shit down tight, my face never betraying my true emotions. Inside, I’m fucking raging at the audacity. That fucker brought it to the table to make me squirm, put me on the spot in hopes I’d cave under the pressure. What he forgot to factor in was the meddling men around the table.

“So you get to have two votes in the five? I don’t fucking think so,” Anthony Romano says, smacking his open palm against the table.

Dominic Marino scoffs. “There’s a reason we don’t mix the five bloodlines.”

“Good thing it isn’t up to you, then.” Gallo shrugs and looks at my father. As the boss of the five families, it’s his call. “What do you think?”

My dad stares at him for a moment, rubbing his thumb and index finger along the edge of his jaw. “I’ll talk to Matteo privately, which is what you should’ve done.”

The chastisement is hardly a slap on the wrist. He’s done far worse for far less. And I just fucking know that if I let him have this talk privately, he’s going to make me fucking agree to it. And since I’m not ready to take him out yet, I only have one option.

Sweat rolls down my spine, and for once, I’m fucking thankful for the ridiculous dress code of full suits. The corner of my left eye twitches—a sure sign my stress is rising.

Fuck it.

“I’m already engaged to be married.”

Silence fills the room, laden with accusation and suspicion.

“You better not be acting like you’re too good for my Liza. Made or not, I’ll fucking put a bullet in your eye and toss you over Old Man Baxter’s bridge. Let his crocs deal with you.”

Gallo’s threat isn’t entirely idle, but I’m not too worried. Like I said, I have Dante behind me.

My dad pushes back in his chair, balancing two chair legs on the floor and two in the air. His gaze is sharp and calculating as it stares me down. “Interesting timing, boy. Who is the lucky lady who’s going to be my daughter?”

The way he says daughter has my hackles up. I don’t fucking like it. Not for the first time, I’m going to stare the devil in the face as I deliver a lie.

“You don’t know her.”

“You better remedy that, son. Yeah? I want to meet the girl who stole my son from a profitable arrangement,” my dad growls out, the tone at odds with the deranged smile on his face.

“She Italian?” Romano asks.

---