The Mafia Princess Is Back

Manhattan. The sixty-eighth floor of Morati Capital's headquarters.

The conference room at the end of the hallway had frosted glass doors, and the silhouettes of several people were barely visible inside.

"I said four hundred million, through a private channel. No risk review!" Nick's voice was so cold and hard that it sounded foreign to me.

Three years ago, he had been a college kid who blushed when he asked me for pocket money. Now every syllable he spoke had a venomous, metallic bite.

"Sir, Lockwood is nothing but a shell company. You can't do this for that woman..."

"Shut up!" Nick's roar slammed against the glass walls. "Elizabeth is the only person who's been truly good to me these past three years! Who are you to question her?"

Elizabeth. The name drove into my eardrums like a needle.

In the three years I'd been gone, the cousin who used to copy my every move had somehow gained enough influence to make my brother this stupid and stubborn.

Good thing I came back in time.

I pushed the door open. Nick sat at the head of the long table, his shirt collar loosened, dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in three days.

He held a pen poised just above the contract's signature line.

Without a word, I marched over and snatched the contract.

"Four hundred million for a fifty-one percent stake in Lockwood Port Holdings." I scoffed, grabbed his ear, and twisted it hard. "Nick Costa, three years on Wall Street and all you've learned is how to be a sucker?"

In that instant, everyone in the room froze as if a hand had closed around their throats.

Nick looked up in fury, his pupils contracting sharply. The pen slipped from his fingers, bounced once on the glass tabletop, and rolled to the floor.

I ignored him and tapped the third clause. "A legitimate port company routing payments to an offshore trust?"

I glanced at Nick. "What? Afraid someone might actually trace where your money is going?"

His expression shifted from initial shock to something I had never seen before. A near-savage darkness settled over his features.

I didn't bother with him and moved on to clause seven.

"The closing condition requires the target company to own at least three cargo vessels of ten thousand tons or above. Do you even know how many ships Lockwood actually has behind those spotless financials? I'll tell you. Zero."

I slammed the contract onto the table, the sound cracking through the room like a slap. "Four hundred million dollars for a shell company's mailing address. Nick, are you running a charity, or laundering money for the enemy?"

Everyone sat as if nailed to their chairs, their eyes darting between me and Nick.

"Get out," I told the six executives.

Nobody moved.

"Get out." This time, it was Nick who said it.

His voice was low, but every word sounded like it had been ground through clenched teeth.

The six executives practically launched from their seats. Chairs scraped across the floor with a harsh screech as they scrambled out the door.

The moment the door shut, Nick rose from his chair.

"Come on, Nicky!" I grabbed him by the collar, yanked him aside, and sat down in his place. "Explain why you were about to sign that contract."

But there was no trace of joy in Nick's eyes, only fury packed so tight it was about to explode.

"Who gave you permission to show up here with her face?"