Chapter 4

A dead silence fell over the room again. Nico stood up, his tall frame blocking the dim light. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink.

"I'm in," he said, turning around. "But I'm telling you now, you have to be completely honest with me, even about the ugliest, most shameful debts."

"And you have to be mentally prepared. Once you tear each other apart in front of the council, the bond between you and your brother will be severed."

"He stopped being my brother the moment he sent that summons."

"Good. Then let's talk tactics. His strategist is Juliana, the Valenti boss's daughter and their most vicious Chief Legal Counsel."

"She's an Ivy League graduate and an expert at exploiting legal loopholes to destroy people. She's definitely concocted a perfect story to package your brother as an 'innocent lamb, stranded abroad, whose inheritance was usurped by his sister.'"

"Innocent lamb?" I almost laughed out loud.

"A guy who thrives in European high society, with a mafia heiress and top lawyer for a fiancée, is suing his sister who runs a shakedown racket in the slums. What kind of lamb is that?"

"At the hearing, who you are is a performance."

"They will paint you as a power-hungry, territory-hoarding, heartless sister."

"Then I'll just have to show them the truth."

Nico tapped the stack of financial records. "This is the first step. But it's not nearly enough. The arbitration meeting is next Wednesday. We only have five days."

He pulled out a sheet of black stationery and quickly wrote a few lines with a fountain pen.

"First, transcribe all the recordings, especially the parts where he asks for money and promises to pay it back. Put it all in black and white. Second, contact the family's old-timers and get at least two written testimonies. Third, talk to the neighborhood contacts and merchants. Get a joint statement that you've been the one protecting this territory alone for the past six years. Fourth, we need to rip off that glamorous facade he's built in Europe."

"How do we do the fourth one?" I asked. "He's half a world away."

Nico tossed the pen down and looked at me with a half-smile. "Maeve, he's a guy who loves vanity, right?"

"Right."

"Guys like that can't help but show off."

It was late when I left.

I walked down the dilapidated street with the heavy backpack, passing the cheap strip clubs with their red lights and the smoky pool halls.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Leo.

"Maeve, Juliana said if you're willing to settle this privately, we'll only take eighty percent of the territory. The remaining two streets are yours for retirement. That's the biggest concession he's willing to make."

I stopped at the mouth of a dark alley that reeked of stale piss and cheap weed. Inside, a few drug dealers were counting their money, their laughter loud and wild.

I typed with one hand: "Save it. See you at the council."

Sent.

Almost instantly, his call came through. I stared at his flashing name on the screen for three seconds and declined it.

He called again. I declined again.

The third time it rang, I answered but said nothing.

"Maeve!" Leo's voice was uncontrollably agitated. "Why do you keep hanging up on me? Is there no room for us to even talk?"

"Talk about what?"

"About… finding a graceful way to end this," he said, his voice rising. "Maeve, I know you've worked hard watching over those shitty streets, but do you think it's been easy for me out here? Do you have any idea how many asses I've had to kiss just to break into those top circles? Now that I'm finally back with the Valenti family's resources, shouldn't I get back what's mine?"

"And what, exactly, do you think is yours?"

There was a pause on the other end. "All of Dad's businesses. But Juliana said, considering you've put in some effort, we can leave you two streets."

"Put in some effort?" I could barely believe the words. "Leo, do you really think that what you've been squandering for the past six years was just the empty shell Dad left behind?"

"What else?" A flicker of panic in his voice. "I know you fronted some pocket money for me. That's small change. I'll pay you back when I'm married. We're talking about the Conti family inheritance now. This is about the rules!"

"Fine. Then let's talk about the rules, face to face, at the council meeting."

"Maeve!" he screamed. "Do you have to drag this to the council? Do you know how ruthless Juliana is? Do you know how embarrassing this will be for the family? Can your shithole bar withstand the Valenti family's retaliation?"

"So, now you're worried about me?" I shot back.

"I…" he faltered.

"Leo," I looked up at the black night sky. "Do you remember the night Dad was buried? The rivals came for us, and you said you were scared of dying. What did I tell you when I stood in front of the door?"

The other end of the line went dead silent.

"I said, as long as I'm here, no one can touch you," I said, my voice low. "I kept my promise. What about you?"

I hung up without hesitation.

Standing at the mouth of the dark alley, the streetlights stretched my shadow long.

I took out another phone and opened Leo's social media account. I had followed him when he went abroad just to make sure he was safe, but the content became too painful to look at, so I stopped.

The account was still active. His profile picture was an artsy shot of him in front of some prestigious art school, complete with a vintage filter. The latest post was from yesterday, a nine-photo grid.

First photo: The one he sent me to gloat, in the private club, with Juliana's hand on his thigh. Second photo: The top-floor suite of a luxury hotel owned by the Valenti family, overlooking all of New Roma. Third photo: A close-up of truffles and caviar. Fourth photo: Him and Juliana in the fitting room of a high-end clothing store, surrounded by piles of luxury shopping bags. Fifth photo: A picture of him clinking glasses with the heirs of several rival families at an underground casino. …

I opened each picture, took a screenshot, and saved it. Then I scrolled frantically through his past posts.

At first, it was complaints about bad coffee and humid weather. Later, it became yacht parties, Milan Fashion Week, and ski trips in the Alps. In the last year, it was almost exclusively ambiguous photos with various daughters of powerful families.

I screenshotted every single one.

Then I logged into an underground forum and typed in his name. Sure enough, he had a popular thread there, with the ironic title: "A Man's Awakening: How I Found Redemption in Europe."

In the post, he painted himself as a headstrong guy who couldn't stand his family's violence, forced to work his way through school alone in Europe.

"…The shadow of my family was suffocating. To pursue true art, I fled that dark home. In my hardest times, I worked three jobs a day and still went to the studio at night. But I knew, only by relying on myself could I wash away the stain on my name…"

The replies were all praise.

"So inspiring! A true survivor rising from the ashes!"

"This is the model of an independent man!"

I looked at the words and screenshotted the entire post.

By the time I was done, I had been standing in the alley for half an hour. Two streets over was my place, a cramped attic apartment on the second floor of the tavern.

It was a steamer in the summer and an icebox in the winter. A hard bed, a paint-chipped desk, and a safe for guns and cash. This was my entire life for the past six years.

I threw my backpack on the desk, opened my old laptop, put on my headphones, and started transcribing the recordings. The night grew deeper, occasionally pierced by the sound of sirens and the crash of drunks downstairs.

At two in the morning, my phone pinged.

Leo's latest update was a highly suggestive photo:

In the dim light, a pair of high heels and a man's tie were scattered on a wool carpet.

The location tag was the Valenti family's core luxury residential area.

I looked at it for a long time, then closed the webpage with a blank expression and continued typing.

By the time dawn broke, all the recordings were transcribed. Seventy-four pages. Each one filled with his deadly lies and my reckless promises to pay.

I printed them out and stapled them together tightly. On the cover, I wrote a single line: A Record of Leo Conti's Demands.