Julian POV
I stood at the massive arched window of the top-floor office, staring down at the main hall. The sky over the East River was bleeding into a pale, sickly gray. Down below, Athena moved among the cots. She wasn't offering comfort to the bleeding remnants of the Valenzuela family; she was taking inventory. Cold. Efficient.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. This sixteen-year-old girl, and the blood-spattered ledger she had brought me, were either the steps to my throne or a shortcut to my grave. I had wagered the last of the Morgan family's chips on the hope that she wasn't a trap. I took a sip of my whiskey, but the amber liquid tasted like ash and water. Every minute Leo was gone sanded down my nerves.
The heavy oak door behind me creaked open. My mother, Eleonora, stepped into the office. She wore the same black mourning dress she hadn't taken off since my father's funeral, a walking shadow of grief and iron-fisted control. Her dark eyes bypassed me entirely, locking onto the girl on the fermentation floor below.
"So this is her," my mother said, her voice devoid of warmth. "The ghost who will win you the crown?"
Before I could answer, Eleonora swept past me, descending the iron staircase. I followed close behind, the tension in my jaw tightening. The moment my mother reached the floor, the murmurs of the wounded died. She stopped in front of Athena and switched to rapid, biting Sicilian.
*"Chi è il tuo padrone, ragazzina? Da quale buco sei strisciata fuori?"* (Who is your master, little girl? What hole did you crawl out of?)
Athena didn't flinch. A chilling, polite smile touched her lips as she replied in flawless, aristocratic Sicilian. *"Il mio unico padrone è la vendetta, Signora Morgan. E sono strisciata fuori dallo stesso inferno che ha inghiottito suo marito."* (My only master is vengeance, Mrs. Morgan. And I crawled out of the same hell that swallowed your husband.)
The air between the two women turned to ice. It was a silent war for dominance, and my mother was not used to being challenged.
The heavy metal doors of the distillery suddenly groaned open. Leo strode in, bringing the sharp, salty stench of the docks with him. He ignored my mother's piercing glare and walked straight to me.
"He's a Rat, sir," Leo reported, his voice low but carrying enough weight to shatter the tension. "On Kirkland's payroll for two years. He controls the night shift cargo manifests."
A dizzying rush of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. The ledger was real. The girl was real. I saw my mother pale out of the corner of my eye; she hadn't expected the gamble to pay off.
I met Leo's gaze. "Clean it up. Make it look like a union dispute."
"Consider it done, Boss," Leo nodded, turning on his heel.
Eleonora stepped forward, her hands clenching her silver rosary. "Julian, you must be cautious. Our traditions dictate that we do not let outsiders—"
"Mother," I interrupted, my voice quiet but laced with the absolute authority of a Don. "I appreciate your concern. But from now on, Miss Wise is my chief strategist. Her plans are my commands."
Shock rippled across her face, quickly masked by a storm of dark fury. I didn't wait for her rebuttal. I turned my back on her—a dangerous first—and walked across the floor to where Athena was leaning against a stack of burlap malt sacks. She watched me approach, her expression unreadable, as if she had calculated this exact outcome hours ago.
I pulled the coded leather ledger from my coat pocket and dropped it onto the barrel beside her.
"Pick the next target," I told her. "We move before sunrise tomorrow."
