business deal

**Vito’s POV**

The private room smelled of expensive cigarettes and alcohol, the room was private enough that it blocked sound from coming and going out.

I sat at the head of the long mahogany table, one ankle crossed over my knee, watching the door like a wolf who already knew the rabbit was late.

Vittoria lounged in the chair to my right, her posture relaxed but I could tell she was also waiting for Benito to show up late.

I insisted on bringing her here because she was skilled, more skilled than my dimwit of a brother.

The knock we were both waiting for came, one sharp sound.

The door swung open and Benito strode in, suit immaculate, hair gelled back, the faint scent of his expensive cologne cutting through the room’s heavier aromas.

Five minutes late, not enough to call him out in front of an outsider, but enough for me to note it.

“You’re late, Benito Castellano,” I said, voice even.

“Five minutes,” he answered, dropping into the seat opposite me. “The partner isn’t even here yet.”

I let my gaze lock on his. Same dark eyes as our father’s, same stubborn tilt to the jaw, but the hunger behind them was all Benito. “Time is currency in our world. Five minutes is all it takes for an enemy to put a bullet in every one of us.”

He broke first, looking away. His stare landed on Vittoria.

Before Benito could spit whatever retort was brewing behind his teeth, the door opened again.

The businessman, Marco Rossi, entered flanked by five of his own.

Two heavy aluminum briefcases swung at his sides, their latches glinting under the recessed lights.

His men fanned out behind him, hands loose but never far from their jackets.

I rose smoothly, no bodyguards at my back except the two people already in the room. I preferred it that way.

“Vito,” Rossi said, extending his hand. His palm was dry, his grip firm but not crushing. A calculated smile stretched across his face, mirroring mine.

“Marco. Good to see you.”

We shook hands. He placed the two briefcases on the table with a thud.

I gestured for him to sit. Benito stayed quiet, exactly as I’d instructed earlier.

I want him to observe, to learn and he shouldn't speak unless I told him to. I wanted to see if he could manage it tonight.

Vittoria leaned forward slightly, her fingers laced together on her thighs.

Rossi snapped open the first briefcase. Stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills gleamed under the lights, vacuum-sealed and banded.

The second contained neatly labeled documents: shipping manifests, warehouse keys, and the digital codes for three offshore accounts. Everything we’d negotiated last month.

“The shipment clears customs in forty-eight hours,” Rossi said, sliding the papers toward me. “Twenty crates of the new hardware, clean serials, untraceable. Your cut of the Miami route is already wired. The rest is here in cash, as agreed.”

I flipped through the manifests, the paper gliding between my fingers.

The numbers checked out. I could smell the ink, the faint plastic tang of the money bands.

This deal would triple our reach on the East Coast and finally push the Volkov crew out of the ports they’d been bleeding us on for two years.

Benito’s eyes flicked to the cash, then to me. I saw the calculation running behind them,the way he was already measuring how much of this success he could claim later.

I let him look, let him know that this could all be his if he wants it. When he proves that he was ready for it.

“Vittoria,” I said without looking up, “verify the codes.”

She stood up quickly, sliding the laptop from the side table and typing in the sequences.

The soft click of keys filled the brief silence. A green confirmation bar glowed on the screen. She gave me one nod.

“Clean,” she murmured.

Rossi’s smile tightened. “Then we have a deal?”

I closed the briefcase lid with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.

“We have a deal,” I confirmed. “But the terms stay the same. Any leak, any delay, any double-cross and your family’s name gets added to the list my father started. Understood?”

Rossi’s throat bobbed once. “Understood.”

I stood, he stood too, shook again, same dry palms, same cold smiles. His men shifted, relieved the tension hadn’t snapped.

As Rossi and his escort filed out, the heavy door sealing behind them, I finally turned to my brother.

“You kept your mouth shut, this is how it's going to be.” I picked up one of the sealed stacks and tossed it across the table to him.

It landed with a heavy slap. “That’s your cut for tonight. Consider it a test run.”

Benito caught it, fingers closing around the money like it was already his birthright. Vittoria watched him the way a cat watches a mouse that thinks it’s clever.

I know they friendship they once had was no more and that's because of the dumb thing he did to Zoya.

I snapped the second briefcase shut and handed it to her. “Get this to the vault. Double the guard rotation on the port for the next week.”

She rose, carrying the briefcase and walked out, the door clicked shut again, leaving just the two of us.

I poured two fingers of whiskey into a crystal glass and slid it toward him. The amber liquid caught the light, swirling like liquid gold.

“Next time you’re late,” I said quietly, “I won’t be this polite in front of outsiders. And Benito?”

He looked up, glass halfway to his lips. Done with the meeting and everything work related, I decided to pry into his life.

"How is your plan going with trying to make Zoya crawl back to you?" I asked.

"It's going fine, I just used our daughter to trap her, I threatened her that I'll take her to court if she takes Emilia away from me." He raised his chest, feeling proud of himself.

I almost laughed but I decided not to, I can't laugh, I want him to continue doing what he's doing, pushing Zoya to me.

The ice in my glass clinked once as I lifted it. I took a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep in my chest, and watched my little brother leaned into his seat proudly, legs crossed, trying to copy.