Page 71 of Caterina
I've spent my whole life trying to fit into the family as it is. As it has always been.
Tradition, Adrian called it. And that’s what it has always been.
A set of unwritten rules that I was never supposed to question, only learn to navigate.
The men handle the threats, the women manage the homes and the children, and the social power. The men are the shields, the women are the heart. That's the story. That's the lie.
And I've been living in the space between the two.
I have a degree in business, but I've been running the family's legitimate operations as if I were managing a normal corporation. I've been focused on profits, on logistics, on efficiency. I've been good at it. Exceptional, even. But I've been thinking like a CEO, not a don's daughter.
And it's not enough.
It's never been enough.
Because in this world, in my world, information is more valuable than money. And power isn't about who has the most authority; it's about who knows the most.
And right now, I know nothing.
I look at him, and this time I see him as something entirely new.
An opportunity.
"Teach me," I say, the words coming out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
His expression doesn't change, but I can feel the shift in him again, the slight tensing of his shoulders.
"That's not my job," he says.
"I know," I say, my voice steady now, the fear and the exhaustion receding, replaced by a sense of purpose so sharp it's almost painful. "But you're here. And you see things. You know things. And you're not afraid to say them. And I need that."
I take a step closer to him, until we're almost touching, the space between us charged with an energy that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with something entirely new and unexplainable.
"I don't want to be a liability anymore, Adrian," I say, my voice low and intense. "I don't want to be the person they have to protect. I want to be the person they can rely on. The person they can trust to get things done. To handle things they can't."
He looks at me for a long moment, and in his eyes I see a flicker of something that looks like respect. Or at least, consideration.
"And what do you think they're going to do when they find out you're building your own network?" he asks, his voice a low counterpoint to mine. "You think your father is going to be pleased when he realizes you're going around him? You think your brothers are going to thank you for showing them up?"
"I don't care," I say, and I realize with a shock that it's true. "I don't care if they're pleased. I don't care if they're grateful. I care if they're safe. I care if my family is safe. And if this is what it takes, then this is what I'll do."
I hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth in my words, the depth of my conviction.
"I'm not asking for your permission, Adrian," I say. "I'm asking for your help."
He studies my face, a long, silent assessment. The night air seems to hold its breath. The only sounds are the distant hum of the city and the frantic beating of my own heart.
Then, he gives a single, almost imperceptible nod.
"Okay," he says.
And that's it.
One word.
But it's everything.
It's the beginning of something new. Something dangerous. Something that could change everything.
