Page 80 of Wicked Mafia Mistake
“You must really love her,” I counter, my chin held high.
"You’ve got balls, Sloane. Bold play." Cassius uncrosses his legs and leans forward, his pale eyes pinning me to where I stand. "Especially for a woman sitting in a room with no way out, no weapon, and a contract that currently makes her our property. You sure you want to play that card?"
My eyes go wide but I don’t budge from my position. “Do I have a choice?”
Harlon raises one hand and the room goes quiet.
"Nobody threatens Polaris. Not in this building. Not anywhere." Harlon's voice is low and even and more terrifying than either of his partners because it carries no heat at all. Just certainty.
I hold his gaze.
“Then stop forcing my hand.”
I pause to swallow the fear lodging itself in my throat.
"I never signed that contract. My consent was implied through my father's authority, I get that. But I refuse to be a bystander in my own life. It might work for other families and wives, but not me." My voice is steady. My hands fall still at my sides. "You know what implied consent looks like, Mr. Constantine. You've seen it destroy someone you love."
Nobody speaks for several heartbeats. Harlon stares at the photographs spread across the table and I watch a man whose word is his only currency weigh that word against everything it's supposed to stand for.
His hand releases the glass. He picks up the stack of papers to his right. Holds them in both hands.
"The contract is voided." His voice is quiet and final and carries the weight of a man who just chose his values over his business. "Genesis will not enforce this document."
He tears it in half. The sound of paper splitting fills the room like a verdict.
"Lorenzo Ferraro presented dirty paper to my club. I told him what would happen." He sets the torn halves on the table and looks at Santi. "Find Mr. Ferraro. Bring him to me."
"That won't be necessary." I stand and collect my files. My fingers are steady on the folders. "I'll deliver the message myself."
Harlon's dark eyes hold mine. Whatever he sees in my face makes the corner of his scarred mouth pull by the smallest fraction. Not a smile. An acknowledgment. The recognition of one person who has fought for survival looking at another.
"Be careful, Ms. Whitmore. I don’t recommend you do that."
"This one time, I'm done being careful."
“You’re going to need this.”
Santi stands and from some pocket or holster he hands me a small weapon. “You know how to use this?”
I take the Glock, drop the magazine to check the load, rack the slide to confirm a round in the chamber, and seat the magazine back home. “I’m not your typical princess.”
“Aren’t you going to check the safety?” Santi pins me with a look of arrogance that makes me smile.
“Good one. But Glocks don't have a traditional manual safety. They use a trigger safety system.”
That puts some humor in their eyes and earns me a smirk from all three. I might have made some friends tonight in high places.
“Nice doing business with you, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, can you tell your killers-for-hire out there I’m no longer on the dinner menu. They were eyeing me like I was a full three course dinner when I walked in.”
Harlon, Cassius and Santi all walk me to the elevator.
I step in and hope their faces are not the last friendlies I see tonight.
Lorenzo's River North property sits behind a gated entrance on a street where money and violence share a zip code. The cab drops me at the corner and I walk the last half block in my red heels with the torn contract in my hand and the cold fury in my chest burning steadily.
Two guards are at the gate. Both of the hired muscles have on dark suits, earpieces, and wear the same practiced dry expressions that come with standing in one spot for hours.
But their boredom evaporates when they see me.
