Page 87 of He Should Be Mine
Riccardo will be destroyed. And I will claim what’s mine.
“I’m listening,” I say, my voice gravel.
Carlo doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go. He returns to his hand, one brow lifted like he knows he’s the only one here with actual cards that matter.
I glance at mine. Worthless. I’m holding garbage.
There’s a cigar between my fingers. Hand-rolled, imported from Cuba, a gift from someone who wants me in their debt. I lift it to my mouth and inhale deeply. The smoke is sweet, but not as sweet as Molly’s kiss.
Across from me, Dante glares at the table like it insulted his mother. His dark eyes gleam with violent focus. He hasn’t spoken since we sat down, which is normal for him, but it still sets the others on edge.
I shift my attention to Nicolo. The kid looks relaxed, shoulders loose, mouth neutral. But his eyes are sharp. Watching. Calculating. He’s got a better poker face than I gave him credit for. When he catches me looking, he lifts one brow, just a twitch.
Probably should let Dante win, I try to say with my eyes.
Nicolo licks his lips. The corner of his mouth tightens. Message received.
I lean back in my chair. It’ll have to do. There’s no other way of warning him.
I take another drag from the cigar and let the smoke cloud the stale air.
“I’m going to bring Isabella on board,” I say.
Three pairs of eyes turn to me, instantly alert.
“How?” Carlo asks, voice low.
“By giving her what she wants.”
The overhead lightbulb buzzes. Its light is yellow and weak, casting long shadows over the cracked concrete floor. The only exit is a steel door with a lock that clicks whenever the wind shifts upstairs. It smells like grease, damp, and gun oil.
The three men facing me are motionless. I have all of their rapt attention.
“What does she want?” Nicolo blurts out, clearly unable to resist.
I bite back a smile. “To be the wife of the heir.”
Nicolo frowns. Carlo lets out a bark of laughter. Dante doesn’t move, but I feel his attention sharpen.
“You’re going to marry the bitch?” Carlo asks, amused and disgusted in equal measure.
I shrug. “She’s as good a wife as any.”
“She’s smart. She’s an asset,” Dante says, his voice low and even. He gives nothing away, but I know what he means. It’s not mere approval. It’s recognition.
Nicolo whistles under his breath. “That’s a sharp move. A lot of people respect her. Enzo will be pleased.”
I nod and smoke my cigar. I can’t say anything else. Can’t show any emotion. I have to appear strong, cold, ruthless. I need to be a man they can trust. One they can follow. A man worthy of a crown soaked in blood.
No one here can know that my heart already belongs to someone else. That I’ve pledged myself to a boy with a sweet smile and a soul full of bruises. That this isn’t ambition, it’s a war for what is mine.
“She’ll keep Riccardo off balance,” I add. “He won’t know whether to trust her.”
Carlo’s eyes gleam. “She’ll give us intel.”
Dante speaks again. “She’ll expect power. Not just rings and gowns.”
“She’ll get power,” I say. “Enough to keep her loyal.”
