The Mafia Heiress They Called Dead Weight

"Isabella, just give this organizational restructuring proposal a quick look. It's only a formality anyway."

Vince's voice was smooth and gentle, like an Ivy League professor's.

He pushed a beautifully bound folder toward me and tapped the mahogany table twice, a luxury watch gleaming on his wrist.

The air-conditioning was running, and the conference room reeked of expensive Cuban cigars.

The long table was lined with the family's top capos and managers.

I didn't touch the folder. I just leaned back in my chair and watched him in silence.

Vince had on a perfectly tailored Armani suit, his blond hair combed neatly into place. He looked every inch the Wall Street executive.

When I didn't move, his smile only grew warmer.

"Isabella, don't take this the wrong way. This isn't aimed at you.

"Victoria has turned our logistics business into a global brand, and now we're at a critical point in moving into high tech."

He folded his hands on the table and spoke with polished authority, leaving no room for argument.

"If we want to keep top talent, we have to set up a modern equity incentive system.

"The powers you inherited have sat unused for years. That's a huge obstacle when we need to raise capital and restructure the family business.

"So Victoria and I talked it over. We plan to replace your inheritance rights with a family trust worth a fixed amount."

Victoria sat at the head of the table, holding a long, slim cigarette between her fingers.

She looked up at me with the affectionate pity of an older sister.

"Vince is right, Isabella.

"The world's moving on. The family can't keep clinging to the old ways and settling things with shootouts in the street.

"You barely have anything to do with the business. You only show up at the annual festival to enjoy the show and have a drink."

She slapped a gold coin down on the table, her voice steady and commanding.

"Leave all that tedious management work to us. You can sit back and enjoy being the family's pampered heiress."

I picked up my whiskey and swirled the ice around the glass.

It was good whiskey, but the ice dulled its flavor.

"If I remember right, there was nothing about 'equity incentives' in my father's last words."

My voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly in the quiet conference room.

I was only 18 the year my father died.

He'd started with nothing on the streets of New York and gained control of every dock on the East Coast through blood and fire. It took everything he had.

On his deathbed, he held my hand and said just one thing.

"The kingdom goes to Isabella. Choose whoever you want to run it."

Afterward, Uncle Silvio worried I'd get hurt, so he made his most promising protégé, Victoria, acting Donna.

Victoria was capable. In just over ten years, she'd turned a traditional Mafia operation into a legitimate multinational logistics group.

Everyone praised her hard work and achievements, and slowly forgot who the empire really belonged to.

"Now, Isabella, that's not fair."

Anthony, the head of finance, spoke up from his seat on Vince's left.

He was in his fifties and usually deferential to me. Today, he wore the look of a man about to deliver a lecture.

"Of course we respect the old Don's last words, but that was 20 years ago. Ancient history.

"For more than ten years, the Donna has been the one spending big at political receptions and negotiating with the unions. She's the reason the company is legitimate today.

"You can't sit on the top floor feeding pigeons and expect the biggest share of the profits the rest of us risked our lives to earn."

The president of the dockworkers' union nodded along and chimed in, his tone mild but with a sting in it.

"That's right, Isabella. We all want what's best for the family.

"Mr. Gallo brought the latest management thinking back from Wall Street, and we're all behind it.

"Just think of the guys at the bottom. Sign it, for the greater good."

I glanced around at them.

Every one of them had been pulled off the streets and promoted by my father. Every one of them was now Victoria's handpicked loyalist.

And here they sat in my father's conference room, urging me with a clear conscience to hand over everything.

I set my glass down with a soft clink.

"And if I don't sign?"

Vince's smile didn't falter.

He just let out a long-suffering sigh and took the folder back.

"Isabella, you're as headstrong as ever.

"But that's fine. It's a big decision, after all. Take your time thinking it over."

He stood up and smoothed the hem of his jacket.

"Let's call it a day."

The capos rose one by one. As they passed me, each of them gave me a look of condescending pity.

Like I was some ungrateful parasite.

Victoria was the last to leave. She stopped beside me and patted my shoulder firmly.

"Isabella, don't blame Vince. He's only doing this for your own good.

"Go home and think it over. I'll go explain things to Uncle Silvio myself."