Chapter 19: "The Suite Opposite Mine"
Across the city, Caio sat inside an upscale restaurant booth, one elbow resting against the polished table as he stared darkly at the untouched liquor before him.
The business meeting he had just concluded had been a complete disaster.
The partner had been stubborn. The negotiations had gone nowhere.
And now, this.
"What do you mean she wants to switch rooms?" Caio demanded flatly. "Did I not specifically tell you to place her as far away from me as possible?"
Mrs. Pecora could practically feel the irritation radiating through the phone.
"She stated the request was for security concerns, sir."
"What security concerns?"
"She said that if something dangerous happened to you, it would be... inefficient if she needed to cross several sections of the estate before reaching you."
For ten long seconds, no answer came.
Mrs. Pecora continued counting.
Fifteen.
Thirty.
Finally, Caio spoke again, voice thin with something Mrs. Pecora had never heard before.
"Move her to the suite opposite mine."
Mrs. Pecora withheld a long sigh.
"...Understood, sir."
The line disconnected immediately afterward.
Inside the restaurant, Caio slowly lowered the phone before dragging a hand down his face.
’Just what on earth has happened to her?’
After the chaos of their last encounter, the mere thought of her made his head reel.
Now, she was demanding to be near him.
For "security concerns," she claimed. A perfectly valid point he couldn’t possibly counter.
He looked toward Leo, who stood waiting silently on the side.
"Is there a problem, Boss?" Leo asked carefully.
Caio let out a short exhale.
"There is."
He reached for the drink, took one large sip, then slammed the glass down.
"Prepare the car. We’re returning to the estate."
"Yes, Boss."
Leo had barely turned when a smooth female voice drifted across the restaurant.
"Oh? Leaving so soon, Don Caio?"
Both men turned toward the voice.
Chiara Leone stood a few steps away, a half-empty wine glass dangling loosely from her manicured fingers.
She moved toward their table in slow, elegant strides, before seating herself across from Caio without waiting for permission.
"What a coincidence," she purred, setting the glass down. "Running into you like this."
Chiara Leone wore red lace that evening.
Black fishnet wrapped around her long legs, while diamonds glittered at her throat and fingers whenever she moved.
The outfit had not been chosen accidentally. It had been assembled piece by piece, after nights of unhealthy scrolling through Ariana Lombardi’s social media at three in the morning.
Photos, interviews, paparazzi shots...
Chiara had meticulously dissected every detail of Ariana’s outfit preferences.
Or more specifically: Caio Sartori’s preferences.
Chiara herself would rather choke on her own blood than admit that out loud, of course.
Slowly, effortlessly, she crossed her legs beneath the table, tossing her blonde hair over one shoulder as she leveled him with a knowing gaze.
"You’ve made yourself a very difficult man to find lately, Don Caio," she mused. "I have to wonder... are you truly that busy, or do you simply enjoy the chase?"
Caio’s face had already darkened the moment he saw her approaching. The heavy perfume she wore only made the headache pounding behind his eyes worse.
He leaned farther back in his chair, as though physical distance alone might help.
"I’m busy," he said flatly. "If you need something, contact one of my capos. Now, excuse me."
Chiara had expected the dismissal before she even walked over. Her smile didn’t change. Neither did the sweet, poisonous warmth in her voice.
"Don Caio," she said lightly, "if you think I’m chasing you, you’re terribly mistaken."
A delicate shrug.
"Unlike Ariana Lombardi, I’m not desperate."
Caio’s eyes sharpened instantly.
"I’ve never assumed you were interested in me."
Chiara burst into laughter.
"Fine," she admitted. "Fair enough."
Caio looked exhausted already.
"Get to the point."
The laughter gradually faded from Chiara’s face.
"I’m here on behalf of House Leone," she said, swirling her wine lazily. "House Leone wishes to establish a mutually beneficial relationship with House Sartori."
Without warning, she leaned forward across the table. The movement was subtle, just enough to reveal the soft curve of her cleavage above the lace neckline.
"Are you interested?" she added, eyes gleaming knowingly.
Nearby, Leo silently looked away toward the windows.
Caio didn’t even blink. At this point in life, he’d become almost immune to women weaponizing their bodies around him.
His gaze stayed fixed on her face rather than anywhere lower.
"And how exactly," he asked coolly, "do human traffickers benefit drug manufacturers?"
Chiara smiled wider at the insult.
"I have extensive illicit labor networks. You have product. My people can reach every filthy corner of Borgata without attracting attention."
Caio fell silent.
For the first time since she approached, he actually considered what she was saying.
Chiara noticed the shift instantly.
However, she had heard enough stories about Caio Sartori to understand one thing clearly:
Push too hard, and he disappeared.
So instead of pressing further, Chiara leaned back into her seat, deliberately easing the tension. She reached into her purse, withdrew a cream-colored envelope, and slid it across the table.
"If you’re interested," she said lightly, "you’ll find me there after the event."
She stood to leave — not before offering one long, sultry smile over her shoulder.
Caio watched her disappear into the restaurant crowd before finally glancing at the envelope.
He picked it up. Read it.
His expression sharpened.
"A women’s luncheon?" he scoffed.
Leo stepped closer beside him, voice careful. "The proposal itself is beneficial, Boss."
"More beneficial for us than for them," Caio muttered.
Leo studied him for a moment. "You’re suspicious," he concluded.
"No one offers something beneficial without wanting something worse in return," Caio replied coldly, then stood from the table. "Are we staying here all night?"
"No, Boss."
Caio walked away without touching the invitation again.
Leo, however, lingered behind for half a second longer. Quietly, he slipped the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket before following after the Don.
Across the restaurant, Chiara watched the entire scene unfold from the corner of the lounge.
"Well, well, Caio Sartori," she murmured to herself. "You’re still impossible."
Soft footsteps approached from behind her, followed by her assistant’s voice.
"My lady, there’s a message from Ariana Lombardi’s assistant."
Chiara looked at the man immediately.
"And?"
"She accepted the luncheon invitation."
For one second, Chiara simply stared.
Then, she burst into laughter loud enough to turn nearby heads across the lounge.
"Oh, God!" she wheezed between laughs. "This is going to be fun."
The sound rang bright and manic through the restaurant.
Even her assistant shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Noticing his expression, Chiara covered her mouth, as though suddenly remembering she was supposed to behave like a lady.
"Arrange the press carefully," she instructed lazily. "Reporters. Paparazzi. Every major outlet."
The assistant straightened immediately.
"Yes, my lady."
"Announce the luncheon as a charity event."
"Understood. Anything else?"
Chiara lifted her wine glass slowly.
"How about a tiny incident?"
The assistant hesitated.
"...An incident?"
A vicious little smile spread across Chiara’s lips.
"Someone gets shoved down the stairs," she said lightly. "Ariana Lombardi did it."
The assistant understood immediately.
"I’ll make sure it reaches the front page."
