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She leans down to give me a wink, and then goes over the details again, even though we've discussed them a thousand times. "The meeting's set for Valentino's as usual." Valentino's is an upscaleItalian restaurant downtown that caters exclusively to the elite of Chicago's underworld. I've held countless meetings there. "I'll ride with the security convoy. We'll sweep the place beforehand, cover all entrances and exits. Any problems won't be problems by the time you get in there."
I nod, glimpsing her shoulder holster and the way her suit jacket drapes just so to conceal the weapon. Lyssa enjoys killing, and she's exceptionally good at it. "Let's hope your skills aren't required."
She shrugs. "You know me, always itching for a little action." With a sly grin, she shuts the door.
As the car glides through the wrought-iron gates toward downtown Chicago, I focus on controlling my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Pulse steady. Nerves ice. The mannerisms of power must come naturally, or the perception of authority crumbles.
I cannot allow even a shred of weakness, not with so much at stake.
And I absolutely cannot afford to think of Aurora. I've made every effort to avoid her for the last few days in preparation for this meeting, even though Lyssa tells me she's making good progress in her training.
No. The last thing I need right now is that soft little warmth in my belly that I get when I think about Aurora.
The city skyline grows closer as we close in on downtown, and we eventually descend into the underground valet area of Valentino's.
Lyssa accompanies me in the elevator, and steps out first at the restaurant, scanning for threats before nodding me through. My security team fans out, establishing a perimeter around the place. I saunter into the dim, elegant interior of the restaurant.
The maître d' straightens, recognition glinting in his eyes. "Ms. Imperioli, so good to see you." For a long time I never used my surname. But tonight it feels right. It feels right to hear my real name, a name that I am still proud of, said in that deferential tone. "Please, come this way."
At Valentino's, an environment of privacy and discretion is paramount. I follow the maître d' through the near-empty dining room, heading for one of the private back rooms. It's still early, the evening crowd yet to arrive, but I glimpse two broad-shouldered figures seated at a table in a secluded alcove room. My brother, Nero, and our father, Zepp—Giuseppe really, but everyone calls him Zepp.
I quickly master the spike of anger their silhouettes evoke. Now is not the time for passion. A cool head and cutting intellect are my most potent weapons.
The maître d' pauses at the alcove entrance. "Your guests have been awaiting your arrival. Please let me know if you require anything further."
As he retreats, I school my expression to cold neutrality. With a final steeling breath, I step around the corner into the alcove.
Showtime.
Nero and my father look up at my entrance, their faces like thunderclouds. I read their anger, their disapproval, their grudging respect in the tense lines around their mouths, the flat stares.
Good. Let them churn.
"Hadria," Nero greets me first, biting off the word. "So good of you to finally join us."
I arch an eyebrow. "Business never starts without me, little brother." Pulling out the chair opposite them both, I seat myself, back straight, never breaking eye contact. The power play of making them wait was petty, sure—but effective. Especially on Nero, who is an impatient hothead. Tonight, I want my father to truly understand what a weakness Nero's hot temper really is.
As for Papa, he remains silent, bushy eyebrows drawn down as he observes me. An alpha wolf, sizing me up.
After an interminable silence, Nero speaks again. "I believe you know why we asked to meet."
"As a matter of fact, I don't," I reply tonelessly. "Unless Papa finally plans to admit he made a mistake all those years ago when he named you his heir?"
Nero's face mottles, restraint splintering already. "You took what is mine." He spits the words.
I can't resist prodding the wound. "Took what, dear brother? Your masculinity?" I signal the watching waiter for a drink. "I thought that shriveled prune was lost long ago."
Before Nero can combust, Papa slams a fist on the table, making the silverware jump, and Nero, too. But not me. "Enough." His voice is grave thunder. "This has to stop, Hadria."
I smile without humor, leaning back casually in my seat as I accept the red wine from the waiter. I take a slow sip, and when I meet my father's glower again, my face is a mask of innocence. "You'll have to forgive me. I was unaware there was anythingserious to discuss, except for my rightful claim to the Imperioli Family."
Zepp shakes his head. "That's what it's about for you, eh? The same, endless tantrum you had as a teenager."
"If you still think Nero will be an effective successor to you, Papa, then you must have developed dementia since we last met."
He stabs a finger at me. "You show me respect, girl," he growls. "My decision was final. I cannot leave the Family to a woman; the idea is absurd. And in any case, you deserted us long ago."
"No," I say. "Youturned your back onme. And I'm here tonight for your apology."
