Business meeting

**Benito’s POV**

I watched Zoya storm out, the soft sound of her shoes echoing down the hallway like the final beat of a dying drum.

But I knew she’d come crawling back, she has no choice.

I had already set everything in motion. With nowhere else to turn, she would have no choice but to let me stay in Emilia’s life.

And once that door cracked open, I’d wedge it wide and drag her back where she belonged.

Stubborn as she was, I knew she’d go job hunting tomorrow.

What she didn’t know was that my influence had already poisoned every well. No one would touch her résumé. She was trapped with me, forever.

Today in class I’d caught the way she stared at me when she thought I wasn’t looking: that hungry, furious flicker behind the ice.

She’d played the tough girl on our wedding day, but her eyes still burned for me. I could feel it.

If only I could pry Vittoria away from her. That woman was feeding Zoya’s fire, but I couldn’t touch her.

She answered to my brother, not me. Her loyalty belonged to Vito and Zoya now. Even our old friendship had been scrubbed from the picture.

I stepped back inside the suite and surveyed the wreckage Emilia had left behind.

Globs of melted strawberry ice cream stuck to the marble table, the sweet, cloying scent mixing with the salty crunch of half-eaten popcorn and chocolate smears on the carpet. I grabbed a damp cloth and cleaned it all, the sticky residue clinging to my fingers like guilt I refused to name.

Using our daughter to stay close to Zoya was a shitty move, I knew that, but I loved Emilia with every ruthless beat of my heart.

I wanted her to grow up with a mother and a father under the same roof, not torn between two broken halves.

I stripped off my clothes, the fabric heavy with the day’s mess, and headed for the bathroom.

The cold tile shocked my bare feet; my skin still felt tacky from Emilia’s sticky fingers and the sugary chaos of her snacks.

Hot water pounded against my shoulders, steam rising thick and fragrant with sandalwood soap. I let it scour away the afternoon until every trace of the mess was gone.

When I emerged, towel slung low on my hips, Vera was already lounging on the bed, legs crossed, the silk of her robe slipping off one shoulder.

I’d given her the spare key card weeks ago; she never knocked anymore.

“How did your bonding time with Emilia go?” she asked, her gaze sliding over me like warm honey as I dressed.

“It was fine. Zoya picked her up already.” I shrugged the towel away and reached for my clothes.

I felt Vera’s stare burn into my back, watched the way she bit the inside of her cheek until the skin went white, teeth grinding with barely contained jealousy.

“What did she say?” Vera rose and crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the carpet. Her soft, warm palms glided down my spine, fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle, then drifting lower.

“She wanted me out of Emilia’s life,” I said, catching her wrist just as her hand brushed the front of my dick.

“I told her if she tries to rip me away from my daughter, I’ll sue her into oblivion.” I continued.

“Not today, Vera. I have somewhere to be.” She hadn’t even noticed I was already half-dressed.

“Where are you going?” She stepped back, lips parting in surprise.

I used the space to pull on my suit trousers, the fine wool whispering against my skin, then slid into the crisp white shirt. The fabric still carried the faint scent of the dry-cleaner’s starch. I zipped and buttoned quickly.

“Vito wants me with him for a business transaction.” I handed her my tie.

“Benito,” she purred, knotting the silk with practiced fingers, “Vito finally wants you at the table. See? You don’t need Zoya. Vito’s already noticing you without that bitch’s help.” Her hands smoothed the front of my shirt, pressing the wrinkles flat.

“This is just one step, Vera,” I said, voice low. “I still need Zoya. And today is the last time you call her a bitch.” I didn’t realize how hard I was glaring until she flinched and took a shaky step back, eyes wide and wary.

I snatched my suit jacket from the bed, shrugged it on, then stood in front of the vanity.

The comb glided through my damp hair; the cool gel smelled sharp and clean as I worked it in.

Vera huffed dramatically and flopped back onto the mattress, arms crossed, playing the wounded lover.

I knew it was an act. She’d get over her jealousy the second I gave her attention again.

Hair done, I pocketed my wallet, phone, and the cold weight of my gun.

Walking into a mafia deal unarmed was suicide, felt like stepping onto a battlefield with nothing but your fists.

“Benito, are you seriously leaving me like this?” Vera shot up from the bed, hands planted on her hips, robe gaping open.

“I don’t have time for your little-girl tantrums. I’ve got an important meeting. When you’re ready to go, lock the door behind you.” I strode out, her curses and shouts chasing me down the hall.

I caught one last bitter line, “Why can’t you pamper me the way you used to pamper that bitch?” before the elevator doors slid shut.

I slid into the Porsche. The leather seat hugged my back, still warm from the afternoon sun.

The engine roared to life with a deep, predatory growl. I didn’t need directions; I knew exactly where the meeting was, one of our family’s glittering casinos on the Strip.

Twenty-five minutes later I pulled up. Even from the curb I could hear the casino’s heartbeat: the metallic clatter of slot machines, the low roar of laughter, the desperate cheers and groans of people throwing their lives away.

Some walked out richer; most left lighter by homes, land deeds, and dignity. The air smelled of cigarette smoke, spilled whiskey, and expensive perfume.

I strode through the private wing, my dress shoes clicking sharply against the polished marble. I knocked once, then pushed the heavy door open.

Vito was already seated inside, but he wasn’t alone. Vittoria sat beside him, legs put together, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

*What the hell is that bitch doing here?* I’d expected just me, Vito, and the business partner.

“You’re late, Benito Castellano,” Vito said, voice calm, almost amused.

“Five minutes. The partner isn’t even here yet.” I dropped onto the leather sofa the mahogany table. His stare drilled into me, hard, unblinking, exactly like our late father’s.

“Time is currency in our world, Benito. Five minutes is all it takes for an enemy to put a bullet in every one of us.”

I couldn’t hold his gaze. I looked away, and my eyes landed on Vittoria. She smirked wider, knowing she was untouchable as long as my brother wanted her breathing.

The businessman finally arrived, two heavy briefcases in hand, five armed men fanning out behind him like shadows.

I glanced at Vito. No bodyguards on our side. Just me and Vittoria. If things went south…

Vito rose smoothly and shook the man’s hand. Both of them smiled, but the smiles never reached their eyes.

The air in the room thickened with the metallic scent of tension and the faint, sweet promise of blood money.