I didn't know where they were keeping Camilla.
No matter how hard I've tried to coax that information out of my husband the night before, even so far as getting down on my knees in the shower, sucking him off, he still wouldn't budge. Alex was as stubborn as he was disciplined. Especially when it came to my protection.
All shall be revealed in due time, he had said. He couldn't tell me yet. Nor he could release her into my custody. At least not until he was certain that Camilla wouldn't say a word about our involvement to anyone.
Somehow, he even believed that he could pull her to our side through Sergio. Though I doubted that deeply, some part of me hoped that she would. So I simply made him promise that he wouldn't hurt her.
Arturo was on edge as he sat in my grandfather's chair in the meeting room, listening to the reports delivered by some of our underbosses. The sight of him there felt wrong, presumptuous, but I kept my silence. I was sat beside him, a quiet reminder of my position as heir, while Dario's chair remained conspicuously empty.
Which was funny. I would've expected Dante to claim his brother's seat today, in a spectacular fashion. Bright and early. But apparently, I've misjudged him.
That didn't mean he was off the hook.
"Now that most matters have been settled," Arturo said, drawing me out of my thoughts. He turned toward me, his expression tight. "Where is my daughter?"
"What do you mean, zio?" I replied mildly. Uncle. I had always called him that ever since I could remember. That was how close he was, to my grandfather.
"You were with her last night," he said. "At one of our clubs. And yet, she hasn't returned."
"Hasn't she?" I asked, carefully inflecting concern.
His eyes narrowed.
"She left before I did," I continued smoothly. "I had some business to attend to. By the time I made it back, it was almost dawn. I hadn't bothered to check, assuming that she would've already been asleep, in her room. As usual. Have you checked?"
"I know my Camilla," Arturo said, his voice sharpening. "She isn't this irresponsible. She didn't come home last night. And she definitely, wasn't in her room."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"What are you insinuating, zio?" I asked, no longer bothering to soften the edge in my voice. "That I kidnapped my oldest friend? That I killed her?"
His lips thinned. The morning light catching through his gray hair, which was pulled back neatly, his beard framing a face that suddenly looked carved from something colder. More calculating. The kind of man who had learned long ago, how to wear patience like a weapon.
"Whatever it is," he said evenly, "I will find out." His cold gaze locked onto mine. "Ricci blood or not, I expect more from you, Isolda."
"From me?" I echoed, incredulous. "I came here first thing, after everything, for my grandfather. For this family. When I should've gone straight to New York to claim my position."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his expression.
"Ah. New York." He leaned back, elbows settling on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled. Too relaxed. Too deliberate. "Then I assume you've heard about Signor Dante Bianchi?"
The name landed between us like a challenge.
"I met him last night," I said, the words clipped.
"Good." One corner of his mouth lifted, pleased. "Then you already know that your late fiancé, Signor Dario Bianchi, was his twin brother. He left a will." Arturo paused, savoring it. "Everything he owned, including his assets, territories, position, was bequeathed to Signor Dante."
"I'm aware," I replied coolly.
"Excellent," he said. "Then you'll also understand why it is in our best interest that you follow through with your grandfather's wishes and secure New York. And the most efficient way to do that—" his gaze sharpened "—is through marriage. Surely you agree."
I swallowed the surge of fury and kept my voice measured. "Under different circumstances, perhaps. But so soon after his twin brother's death?" I tilted my head. "What do you think the media will make of that? Aren't you concerned that they'll start asking whether Dante, or I, had a hand in Dario's death?"
I leaned back slightly, mirroring his posture. "This isn't your era, zio. We have social media now. Public perception spreads faster than bullets, and it kills just as effectively."
"And yet," he said mildly, his gaze never leaving mine, "you still haven't found his killer."
I smiled. Just barely.
"I have," I said. "It was Barinov. Though we're still finding a way to capture him."
I didn't mean to throw my husband under the bus like that, but he could handle it. It was true, anyway. Regardless, check-fucking-mate, bitch.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered across Arturo's face. Surprise, calculation, irritation, then it was gone. Replaced by composure so smooth, it might have been carved into his face.
"So you've done your duty, after all," he said at last. "Good."
That was it. No outrage. No demand for proof. No concern over the implications of accusing a man as dangerous as Alexandre Barinov. Odd.
He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the armrests of my grandfather's chair once more. "New York is still priority," he continued calmly. "Your grandfather made his wishes clear. That territory belongs to you, and you will secure it."
"I just said—"
"I don't care how," he cut in sharply. "By marriage. By blood. By fire if necessary." His eyes hardened. "Dante is an anomaly. He wasn't raised with our ways. You are a Ricci. And you will obey Lorenzo Ricci's will."
The room had gone utterly silent. No one dared to breathe.
Arturo stood, straightening his jacket before picking up his cane. "This meeting is adjourned."
He didn't even wait for acknowledgement. He simply walked out, leaving the weight of his command hanging in the air. Heavy and suffocating, unavoidable.
And as I remained seated beside my grandfather's empty chair, one truth settled cold and certain in my chest. New York was no longer a negotiation. It was a demand.