Chapter 62: Threats
Carmen
"What do you have?" she asked, her shoulders straight and squared, her calm gaze steady in a way that suggested she had done this too many times to count. Experience sat on her like a second skin. It also helped that she was probably three times my age, and wore that fact like quiet armor.
"Your father’s business?" she added, tilting her head just slightly.
The question pulled a frown from me before I could stop it.
"No. Not that," I said quickly, sharper than I intended. I forced myself to relax my jaw, to smooth out the reaction. "An agreement. You want a territory—I can help you get one."
I held her gaze as I spoke, fixing my eyes on her face like I could anchor the moment there. And that was when it hit me—that familiar, unwelcome gut realization that always came too late and too clear.
I knew.
I knew she wasn’t going to help me.
Not really.
Oh, she would pretend. She would smile, nod, maybe even extend a hand in the beginning. But loyalty? The kind I needed—the kind that held under pressure, under blood, under betrayal—that wasn’t something I would ever get from her. Not from any of them.
Her lips curved into a soft smile, the lines on her smooth but slightly wrinkled face deepening just enough to show age without weakening her. But behind that smile, I could see it—the calculation.
To her, I wasn’t a partner.
I was an opportunity.
The heir to a fractured territory. A weak link. Something to exploit.
I let out a slow breath, heavy and controlled, just as she began to speak again, filling the silence I had deliberately let stretch.
"You want us to help you," she said smoothly, folding one leg over the other, "you’re going to have to give more than that."
Her tone was polite. Too polite.
"There’s still the question of your billion-dollar debt to Nico."
The words landed like a blade.
Behind me, I heard Vanessa gasp—sharp, involuntary. She had been quiet up until now, sitting still, trying to make herself small, invisible. That sound betrayed her.
Carmen’s eyes flicked past me for half a second, acknowledging it, then returned to me.
"...How can we serve you when you belong to another?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost sympathetic—but not quite.
I was already tired.
Tired of the conversation. Tired of the posturing. Tired of realizing, piece by piece, just how badly I had miscalculated everything.
I folded my hands together, pressing my fingers tight, grounding myself in the small pressure. The mistake was clearer now than ever—staying in my father’s shadow while Nico built something of his own.
He hadn’t waited.
He hadn’t hesitated.
And now I was here—with nothing.
No power base. No leverage. Nothing that wasn’t already slipping through my fingers.
Whatever I could still claim...was in Bianca’s hands.
"What do you want?" I asked suddenly, cutting through the polite dance she seemed determined to continue. My voice was flat, edged with impatience. "Just say it."
Time wasn’t on my side. It never was. The guards outside would eventually start asking questions. Trying on dresses didn’t take this long.
Carmen didn’t seem offended. If anything, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly, like she appreciated the shift.
"I am simply one of the heads," she said, adjusting the sleeve of her outfit with deliberate precision. "The final decision will be discussed collectively."
A pause.
"But from you, we’ve already decided...a piece of the northern territory would be fine."
I nodded once.
Of course.
Nothing less.
"How much?" I asked, my voice steady now. Controlled. Because this—this was the real conversation.
Whatever number she gave me would tell me everything I needed to know.
About them.
About my position.
About how desperate I looked.
"Fifty percent," she said.
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No softening.
"Fifty percent," she repeated, then leaned forward slightly, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "You have no allies. We would be taking on the bulk of the work. Shielding you from Nico isn’t a joke."
Her gaze sharpened, just a fraction.
"Moreover, a little birdy informed us that the territory isn’t completely in your hands. Something about...another half?"
There it was.
Information.
Not everything—but enough.
Bianca.
She wouldn’t have said much. She was too careful for that. But even crumbs, in the right hands, could become leverage.
"Still," Carmen continued, sitting back again, her tone shifting into something almost gracious, "we would be willing to come down to forty percent."
Her smile widened slightly.
"This is the best you can get."
It didn’t need to be said.
I rubbed my forehead, closing my eyes for a moment. Just a moment. Long enough to breathe. Long enough to keep my expression from cracking.
This was a disaster.
The meeting shouldn’t have happened.
The fact that they felt bold enough—comfortable enough—to ask for that much told me everything. They didn’t see me as a partner.
They saw me as prey.
"I’ll think about it," I said finally, opening my eyes and pushing myself to my feet.
Vanessa stood up immediately, almost too quickly, like she had been waiting for the signal.
"I’ll be in touch," I added, my tone neutral.
I hadn’t touched the tea.
I wasn’t stupid.
"I’ll see myself out."
I turned, walking toward the door. Each step felt heavier than it should have, like the room itself was trying to hold me in place.
My hand had barely touched the handle when Carmen spoke again.
"We are your only real chance," she said.
I felt Vanessa step closer behind me, her presence tense, almost pushing me forward.
"You are outmanned, outgunned, and weak," Carmen continued, lifting her cup with effortless elegance. "That’s our final offer."
I nodded once, without turning back.
And then I walked out.
The door clicked shut behind me.
The silence lasted less than a second.
"You brought me to a mafia meeting?" Vanessa snapped, her voice low but sharp enough to cut. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path, her eyes blazing. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? She knows my face now."
Her hands trembled slightly, though she tried to hide it.
"My mother did everything to keep me away from this...this bloodiness."
I said nothing at first. Just watched her.
"How dare you?" she continued, her voice tightening. "To think I believed you were better than our father... than Nico—"
"I’m not better," I cut in, shaking my head.
The words came easily.
Too easily.
"Just weaker."
I met her gaze fully, letting her see it—the truth of it. Cold. Unfiltered.
Because if I had the power Nico had...if I had the men, the reach, the control—
I wouldn’t be better.
I’d be worse.
"I have a billion-dollar debt on my head," I continued, my voice dropping, hardening. "And there’s more you don’t know. More than you ever will."
Her glare didn’t fade, but something in it shifted.
Uncertainty.
"Don’t test me," I added quietly.
She held my gaze, standing her ground, but I could see it now—that thin crack in her confidence. That flicker of fear she didn’t want to admit.
And that fear...fed something darker in me.
I took a step back, just enough to put space between us.
Then I spoke.
"I might be weak," I said slowly, "but I still have contacts."
Her expression tightened.
"If you tell Nico anything about what you just heard..." I continued, my voice turning cold—colder than I had ever heard it before, even from myself, "...your mother will be dead before the day is over."
The words hung between us.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Vanessa flinched.
Just once.
But it was enough.
