Page 17 of King of Praise
The warning stings because it’s justified. My judgment is compromised, personal feelings bleeding into professional decisions. The image of Naomi’s bruised throat flashes through my mind again, followed by the memory of washing Lucas’s blood from her skin. The conflicting emotions create a dangerous cocktail.
“I know what’s at stake.” I meet Zeke’s gaze. “The families first. Everything else is secondary.”
He holds my eyes for another moment before nodding. “Good. Keep me updated on Francesca’s response. If we secure the Barones, the others will follow.”
Zeke ends the meeting, and we disperse, heading out to get started on our respected tasks. Before I leave Zeke’s private office, my phone buzzes. I scramble to dig it out of my pocket. It’s Francesca. She’s already responded to my meeting request. I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. She could be just as eager as we are to secure peace among the families in Columbus. Or it could be a play for power.
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I try to ignore the disappointment in my gut at not seeing Naomi’s name sending me a message. It’s silly, maybe even a little presumptuous of me, to assume she’d message me for anything other than a problem. No messages equal good.
But it still leaves me feeling uneasy, and not in a way I’m ready to identify.
Before I reach the front door, Zeke catches my shoulder in a rare gesture of physical connection. The squeeze communicates support beyond words. He understands the weight I’m carrying, even if he doesn’t know all the details. I’ve served beside him for years, our shared history creating a bond deeper than mere employment.
“We’ve faced worse odds,” he reminds me quietly.
Have we though?I just nod and continue outside, heading to my truck. The cold winter air bites against my skin and I hunch my shoulders as if that will somehow shield me.
Previous challenges felt cleaner somehow, uncomplicated by personal entanglements. Now every decision carries additional weight. One wrong decision or bad business deal could haveconsequences beyond the security of our territory. It could also further endanger the woman I’ve sworn to protect.
The drive to my meeting with Francesca gives me time to shift mental gears, forcing personal concerns aside to focus on strategy. The Barone family’s support is crucial to our plans. Without them, the smaller families will scatter, seeking protection from Nicolo rather than risking independence.
I park behind La Rosa, the upscale Italian restaurant serving as one of the Barones’ legitimate businesses. It’s still too early for the lunch rush, leaving the dining room mostly empty as I’m led to a private booth in the back. Francesca’s choice of venue is deliberate. It’s neutral ground that still demonstrates her family’s resources.
She rises to greet me, elegant in a tailored suit that emphasizes her confident bearing. Like her brother Marcus, Francesca projects authority naturally. Unlike him, she tempers it with charm and intelligence rather than brute force.
“Mr. Hunt.” Her smile carries genuine warmth. We’ve dealt with each other often enough to develop a cautious respect. “It’s been too long.”
“Ms. Barone.” I accept her offered hand, noting the subtle ways power has shifted since Marcus’s arrest. She moves with new assurance, fully embracing her role as family head.
“Please, call me Francesca.” Her smile puts me at ease.
“In that case, call me Micah.” I return her smile. “You’re looking well.”
“And you look tired.” She gestures for me to sit. “Busy times, I imagine.”
“You could say that.” I settle into the booth, accepting the espresso she orders for both of us. “How’s Marcus?”
“Counting days until his appeal.” Her expression gives nothing away. “Though we both know that timeline may have changed recently.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting. She sips her espresso before continuing.
“Interesting things happening in Columbus lately. Families falling, power shifting.” Her dark eyes study me over the rim of her cup. “One might wonder who benefits from suchrestructuring.”
“One might also wonder about outside interests looking to capitalize on instability,” I counter smoothly.
Francesca sets down her cup with a soft clink. “Nicolo.”
“He’s been asking questions. Sending representatives to evaluate opportunities.”
“And you’re here to offer an alternative.” It’s not a question.
“The Barone family has built something valuable here.” I lean forward. “Independent operations, respected territory, legitimate businesses. Would be a shame to see that absorbed into New York’s machine.”
“We could adapt.” But there’s a note of uncertainty in her voice.
“You could submit,” I correct. “Watch your family’s identity dissolve into Nicolo’s empire. Become another branch office taking orders from New York.”
Francesca’s fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table. “What’s your alternative?”
