Page 6 of Mafia Don's Twisted Union

He gestures toward the seat across from him. “Please, sit.”

I move quickly, settling into the chair and placing my portfolio on the table. He watches my every movement with a focus that’s both unnerving and oddly captivating.

“Bianca speaks highly of you,” he begins, his tone measured. “But I don’t make decisions based on words alone.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I reply, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice.

One of his eyebrows lifts slightly, as though amused, but he says nothing. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he waits.

Taking a deep breath, I open my portfolio and begin. “I’ve prepared an initial concept for the gala. It focuses on elegance and timeless sophistication, with an emphasis on creating a lasting impression for the guests.”

As I speak, I slide the portfolio across the table toward him. For a moment, our fingers brush as he takes it. It’s a fleeting contact, but the warmth of his hand lingers longer than it should.

He flips through the pages, his expression unreadable. Every so often, his gaze flicks up to meet mine, sharp and assessing, as though measuring more than just the work in front of him.

“Interesting,” he says finally, his voice giving nothing away.

The word hangs in the air, heavy and ambiguous. Is it a compliment? A critique? I can’t tell.

I sit straighter, keeping my hands folded neatly on the table to hide the faint tremor in my fingers. “If there’s anything you’d like adjusted or refined, I’m happy to make changes.”

Carlito studies me, his dark eyes steady and unflinching. “Your work shows restraint. That’s rare.”

I blink, caught off guard by the comment. “Thank you,” I say cautiously, unsure if it’s meant as praise.

He turns another page in the portfolio, his fingers moving with a deliberateness that mirrors his tone. “Restraint can be a strength, but it can also be a weakness. It depends on the execution.”

My pulse quickens, but I nod. “I agree. That’s why I aim for balance—restraint where it adds elegance, boldness where it leaves an impression.”

His lips twitch slightly, the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him. “And do you think this gala will leave an impression?”

“I do,” I reply, my voice firm.

He leans back in his chair, closing the portfolio with a quiet snap. The sound echoes in the stillness of the room, making me hyperaware of the charged silence between us.

“This isn’t just about a party,” he says, his tone shifting to something sharper, more deliberate. “It’s about legacy. Image. Status.”

The intensity of his words sends a shiver down my spine. For a moment, I’m struck by how different he is from Bianca. She’s vibrant and effusive, all warmth and light. Carlito, on the other hand, is like a storm contained within a polished exterior.

“I understand,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Every detail will reflect the importance of the occasion. It will be exactly what you envision.”

He watches me for a beat longer, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he rises from his seat and moves to the window. The sunlight streaming in outlines the sharp angles of his face, making him look both imposing and almost otherworldly.

“You have confidence,” he says after a moment, his back still to me. “That’s good. Confidence is necessary in this business.”

I swallow, unsure how to respond.

“But confidence without results is useless,” he continues, turning back to face me. “Don’t let me regret trusting you with this.”

The weight of his words settles heavily over me. “I won’t,” I promise, my voice steadier than I feel.

He nods, his expression softening by a fraction. “Good. We’ll start touring venues together in a few days. I want to see how you work in real time.”

The sudden shift in the conversation catches me off guard. “Venues?”

“Yes,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Caesars Palace. Four days from now, be ready.”

The words linger in the air like a command, leaving no room for hesitation. I nod, clutching the edge of my portfolio. “I will be.”

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