Page 57 of Wicked Mafia Mistake
I lead Lorenzo down the corridor, past three closed meeting rooms, and into Room Four at the end of the hall. Small by design. Dark wood walls, a table with four chairs, one overhead light. No windows. One door. The ventilation swallows sound. Nothing said in this room reaches the hallway.
I take the chair at the head of the table. Lorenzo sits across from me and places a slim leather briefcase with gold hardware on the surface.
He snaps the lock and pulls out a document, placing it on the table between us. He slides it forward with two fingers.
My mouth turns down as I consider the papers pushed in my direction. "What is this?" My gaze hits his face as I wait for his answer.
He shifts in his seat and pegs me with an arrogant arch to his brow like he believes I should bow in front of him because of his last name.
Fucking idiot. I hate explaining how we work here. You want to make a deal, come in, pay the club dues and we make it happen. Have a problem with someone not respecting your legitimate contract, pay us and we make sure the other party steps back in line.
Pretty straightforward.
"This is a marriage contract. Fully executed. Harrison Whitmore's signature on page three alongside my own." His voice is smooth, each word placed with precision. He's detail oriented and it shows. I can appreciate that.
"The terms are straightforward. Harrison's daughter, Sloane Whitmore, is to marry me within the calendar month. The contract resolves twelve million in outstanding obligations between the Whitmore and Ferraro families, with additional terms governing asset transfer and territorial alignment."
I pick up the document. Three pages, heavyweight cream paper, clean typesetting. Harrison Whitmore's signature sits at the bottom of page three in blue ink, steady and legible. Lorenzo's signature beside it in black. The terms are detailed but not unusual for this world. Financial obligations resolved through a marriage alliance. Asset protection clauses. Dissolution termsthat favor the Ferraro family by a margin wide enough to notice but not wide enough to challenge.
I read every word. Every clause. Every line of fine print. My father never saw the cuffs coming. I refuse to pay twice for the same mistake. Details are my life's work and right now every detail in this contract has my full attention.
The contract is frustratingly clean. No obvious coercion language. No illegality on its face. Two signatures from two parties with the legal capacity to sign. On paper, this is a legitimate business arrangement between consenting adults. This contract will never see the inside of a normal courtroom. That is why Club Genesis exists. A contract like this only lives in our world, where enforcement comes from men with guns, not judges with gavels. And in our world, crisp white paper doesn't mean clean hands.
Every contract that has crossed this desk carries a story behind the signatures that the ink doesn't tell, and the story sitting across from me right now has a grin that puts a sour taste in my mouth.
"When was this signed?" I set the document down and fold my hands on the table.
"A week or so ago." Lorenzo crosses one leg over the other and leans back in his chair, comfortable, at ease, as if he believes he's already won and is simply waiting for me to catch up. "Harrison approached my father eighteen months prior to discuss the alliance. The engagement was formalized six months ago. The marriage contract was signed once terms were finalized."
"What do you need from Genesis?" I keep my voice level, professional. Whatever my gut is telling me, my businessrequires neutrality and this man came through the proper channels and paid handsomely to sit across the table from me.
"Enforcement of delivery." Lorenzo uncrosses his legs and leans forward, his elbows on the table, his manicured fingers laced in front of him. "Sloane Whitmore has entered into a separate arrangement with a man named Massimo Santoro despite this contract being in place. The Red Letter Syndicate's legal counsel." He pauses to let the name land. "That arrangement is fraudulent. Designed to circumvent the existing contract between our families. I need Genesis to enforce the original terms of this contract and ensure delivery of the bride within the agreed timeframe."
Delivery of the bride.He says it the way a man discusses a shipping manifest. Cargo to be moved from one location to another.
The door opens behind me. Santi and Cassius enter. Santi takes the chair to my left, bringing the scent of coffee. Cassius takes my right, settling into the chair loose-limbed and easy. He could be napping or calculating the fastest way to put Lorenzo through the table. With Cassius, both are equally probable.
Santi’s jaw is tight and his dark eyes hold mine with an intensity that confirms what I already know.
I hold his gaze long enough to acknowledge the message, then turn back to Lorenzo.
"Massimo Santoro is known to us. His organization has been an ally of Genesis for over a decade." I let the weight of that statement settle into the other man’s head for a minute. "You're asking me to enforce a contract against a man whose family has honored every agreement they've ever made with this club."
"I'm asking you to enforce a legitimate contract. That is what you do, correct?" Lorenzo's smile tightens at the edges. "Whatever relationship Genesis has with the Syndicate is separate from the legal terms on that paper. The contract is valid. Harrison Whitmore signed it freely. The terms are clear."
Freely.Another word that tastes wrong.
Cassius raises his gaze to me like he knows the acid in my gut is churning. His eyes narrow.
Same, brother.
"And the daughter? Did she agree to this?"
A flicker crosses Ferraro’s face. It’s brief and uncontrolled. The mask of decency slips for a split second, but long enough for me to see the devil behind it. But just as quickly, he pushes it back in place with a smile.
"The contract is between the heads of both families. Sloane's consent is implied through her father's authority. You know how this works for men like us. In our world."
Implied.A woman who agreed willingly doesn't require a team of paid enforcers to deliver her to the altar. I've sat across from enough men who traffic in implied consent to know what that word really means.
