Page 38 of Fall Before Her Throne

I moved to walk with him until Ciel’s hand slipped into mine. His eyes flicked to the garotte he still wore, wrapped around his wrist like a simple bracelet. I squeezed his hand back and straightened my shoulders.

He wasn’t turning over everything, and neither was I.

Greco led us through the empty dining room to a private room in the back. As he pushed open the door, the faces of Enzo Rossi and his men, plus Giuseppe Sandrini and his men, greeted us. They already sat around a large, wooden dining table that extended the full length of the room.

There were only four chairs.

“Sit, please.” Greco gestured to one of the empty seats while he walked to the other. Obi’s palm on my back nudged me to the chair, and I sat down at the same time as Greco.

Five of Greco’s men formed a line behind him, but one had a nasty sneer plastered across his face as he stared at something behind me. I turned slightly to see what had drawn this asshole’s attention. His mocking smile was aimed at Max.

Max glared right back through his yellowing black eye. His hands were in his pockets, but I could see the tension in his corded muscles under the clothes he had borrowed from Cas.

Who the hell was this guy?

“Max,” I murmured while Greco got settled. He ordered one of his men to pour four glasses of water before passing them out.

Max’s eyes dipped to mine, a question written in them.

I crooked my finger. All of my men watched curiously as he ducked his head, and I whispered in his ear. “Who is that man?”

His jaw clenched. “One of the capos who beat the shit out of me.”

“Hmm. Got it.” I turned back to the table. Greco’s capo still leered at Max while he cracked his knuckles. The sound snapped across the table like a whip.

“Now, before we begin, I must thank you all for coming,” Greco said diplomatically. He looked at each of the Heads, giving us all a nod before moving to the next. “There have been some changes in New York in recent months, and it’s time we all met to discuss.”

I almost snorted. Who the fuck did he think he was?

Instead of giving him the lip I so desperately wanted to do, I stretched backwards, my arms over my head with my hands curled back so I could slip my fingers into the razorback of my sports bra. Discreetly, I pulled the small knife I’d put there free. With it braced between my two fingers, all it took was a firm flick of my wrist.

The knife careened through the air.

It landed in Greco’s capo’s neck.

His hands flew to his throat, yanking the blade free, but it was too late. It had nicked his artery, and pulling it out had doomed him. His eyes went wide while his hands tried to staunch the blood. All around us, shouts echoed, men yelling. I was dimly aware of Sandrini shoving to his feet and pointing at me, but I watched calmly, unmoving, as the capo fell to his knees, then plonked to the ground face first.

Dead.

Greco held up a hand, and the room went silent.

Obi put his hand on my shoulder. My men crowded forward, trying to protect me from however Greco would react, but he had his eyes locked on me. Anger rippled beneath their surface.

“Why have you killed one of my men?” he demanded.

“Here’s the way I see it, Greco.” I folded one leg over the other and leaned back in my chair. “Max Volpe belongs to me. Your man hurt my man. It’s only fair that I retaliate. Now, we’re square.”

Greco narrowed his eyes. Lightning practically crackled between us. I kept my face passive, while my heart pulsed a steady beat inside my chest.

How would Greco respond?

I could have flicked that knife at him. It would have buried in his neck just as deep before he could even blink. My men would have backed me up. Ciel still had his garrotte. Even if things devolved into a fight, I had six men behind me, where Rossi and Sandrini had three. Greco might have had more, but if we all turned on each other, our numbers would be close to even.

Greco’s eyes trailed over my arms and my chest, as if he were looking for other weapons. Then he did the same to each of my men.

“I see,” he said finally. Another of his capos bent over to whisper in his ear. He waved a hand, and the man stepped backward. “That was highly inappropriate.”

I shrugged. “I don’t take well to my things being broken.”