Page 74 of Fortress of the Cursed

“May I let Mr. Rodriguez know who you are?”

Angelo stares at her, deadpan. “Angelo Medici.”

Her eyes go wide. When they flick to Marco and then to me, she swallows hard.

“Of course, I’m so sorry, Mr. Medici. I’ll personally show you to the elevators.”

“Perfect,” Angelo says, as she scrambles around the side of the desk to guide us to the elevators.

People whisper as we approach, moving out of our way like we’re fucking royalty.

This is the part I love.

The power.

The way people stop and take notice.

I’ve never hidden the fact that I enjoy being a Medici. That I’m not ashamed of what we do or what we stand for. Angelo and my brothers spent many years cleaning up this city, and we won’t let it go without a fight.

Angelo glances down at her name badge as she swipes the fob over the plate on the wall.

“Thank you, Caroline.”

She smiles, but her bottom lip trembles. “You’re welcome, Mr. Medici.”

Traveling up to the correct floor, we’re greeted by another receptionist.

“Mr. Medici,” she says. Her face is worried. She should be.

“Good afternoon…” He glances down at her badge. “Lindsay. We’re here to see Mr. Rodriguez. I’m assuming his schedule has just been cleared.”

Her eyes dart around, like she can’t keep a straight thought in her head. “Uh, yes… yes… he’s very pleased to uh… have you… uh, see you.”

Poor girl. In her defense, I doubt she’s ever had the mafia knocking on her door.

“Very good. Please, lead the way.” Angelo steps back as she stands and moves around the front of her desk, leading us down a long hallway.

When we arrive at an office with Rodriguez on the nameplate, she leaves us.

The door opens in a flurry. Orlando Rodriguez is a middle-aged, balding man wearing an expensive looking suit and a startled expression.

“Mr. Medici,” he splutters, taking in Angelo’s form, which takes up the entirety of the doorframe. “Please come inside. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I look at Marco, wondering if Angelo’s gonna pull a gun. Luckily, he doesn’t, but I’d bet a dollar that he thought about it.

Angelo steps into the swanky office. By the looks of things, Orlando is doing okay.

“I’ll make this brief,” Angelo begins.

“Please sit.” He gestures to the chairs on the other side of the desk.

Either this guy is really fucking clueless, or he has a death wish.

I refuse to believe he doesn’t know what’s going on, but it’s best we hear him out.

Angelo sits in the first chair, and I sit in the second. Marco stays standing behind us. Dom remains outside the door, standing guard.

Orlando pats his head with a handkerchief.

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