Chapter 9 - The Syndicate Invitation
The invitation arrived the following morning in a black, wax-sealed envelope. It was the annual East Coast Syndicate Summit, a massive, neutral-ground gala where the city’s elite criminals, politicians, and businessmen gathered to flaunt their wealth and whisper their threats.
Luca tossed the heavy envelope onto the breakfast table.
“Julian will be there,” Luca said, his tone turning dangerously flat. “He has to show his face to prove to the other families that he isn't completely drowning.”
My stomach plummeted. I dropped my fork, my appetite instantly vanishing. The thought of seeing my brother’s face made my hands tremble involuntarily.
“You don’t have to go,” Luca said instantly, noticing my sudden panic. He stepped around the table and placed a grounding hand on my shoulder. “I can go alone. Or we can skip it entirely. I don't give a damn about their politics.”
I stared at the black envelope. If I hid, Julian won. He would believe I was broken, cowering in Luca’s shadow, exactly where he had left me. I looked up at my husband, seeing the fierce, unyielding support in his dark eyes.
“No,” I said, my voice steadying as I drew from his strength. “I want to go. I want him to see me.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Luca’s face. “That’s my queen.”
That afternoon, a team of high-end designers arrived at the estate. I expected Luca to choose something conservative, something to hide my scars like my father had always demanded. Instead, he handed the lead designer a blank check.
May you like
“Make her look like a weapon,” Luca ordered. “And do not hide a single thing unless she explicitly asks you to.”
When I stepped in front of the mirror that evening, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.
