Page 8 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
I tap my finger against my chin.
“You’re thinking of your mother,” Veronica says.
“I am. With a bonus, we might finally have enough for her to start her catering business again.”
“A moment ago, you sounded like you were too intimidated to even try.”
“Can you blame me, Veronica?” I snap.
“I’m not sure I like your tone.”
“Fair enough, butcanyou? Going from being your right hand to orchestrating an entire event for an Old Money family with a whole island’s worth of logistics to keep track of–it’s a jump.”
“Are you up to the challenge?”
I almost say no, I’m not. She needs to fly in backup. But there would be repercussions if I admitted defeat here.
“How are you feeling?”
“You’re wondering if I’m going to recover in time to help you.”
“This is a week-long event, a week-long buildup to the renewal. There’s time.”
“The truth is, I feel awful. It’s like there’s a spike in my head and barbed wire in my throat and poison in my stomach. You should make your decision based on the assumption you’ll be doing this alone, all of it.”
I think of my mom with tears in her eyes.I did my best…The letters from the bank, her dream crumbling to ash…
I’m not entirely sure I’m up to the challenge, but I know one thing. If I don’t try, I won’t forgive myself.
“I can do it,” I affirm.
“Are you sure?”
No.
“Yes,” I tell her, trying to sound certain. “I’m the right woman for the job.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. I trust you to make sure this goes off without a hitch.”
“How much input do you want from this point forward?”
“I need to focus on recovering,” she says with a sigh.
“Okay, sure, fine. Yeah. Makes sense.”
Before I leave, Veronica says, “Good luck.”
I walk back down the beach, sweating, not from the heat, but from the sudden responsibility. This is huge. If I mess it up, it could have serious consequences, not just for me, but for Evermore Events. Veronica is trusting me with her baby.
But if I do well, I get a bonus… and I’ll earn Veronica’s respect, meaning I’ll get more solo gigs.
Trial by fire.
I return to Fantasy Boat Rental. A man I don’t recognize approaches me. He’s around fifty, maybe mid-fifties, bald on top with black-grayish hair sprouting from the sides. Oddly, when I saw Dario, I thought of the streaks in his hair as silver, not gray.
I need to focus.
“Hello… Siena, yes?”
