88If You Shout One More Time, the Waitress Warned the Mafia Boss—His Response Changed Everything

"I brought the audit reports," I said, my voice remarkably steady despite the cold sweat breaking out along my spine.

Alessandro gestured for Victor to leave. Victor gave me a long, calculating look as he passed me in the doorway, closing the heavy mahogany door softly behind him.

The study was quiet, lit only by a single desk lamp and the warm light from the fireplace. Alessandro set his glass down and gestured to the leather chair across from him.

"Sit."

I walked over, but I didn't sit. I set the red-flagged binder on his desk.

"You have three vendors overcharging you for estate maintenance," I said, pointing to the top page. "The catering service has been billing you for high-grade prime beef while delivering commercial-grade cuts for six months. And your private security contractor is charging you for twelve guards per shift when there are only eight on the perimeter."

Alessandro didn't look at the paper. He looked at me.

"You heard what Victor and I were discussing," he said quietly.

"I heard," I admitted.

"And you're not running for the exit?"

"Mr. Romano," I said, resting my fingertips on his desk. "I worked in a diner in the worst neighborhood in the city for six years. I've seen men get stabbed over forty dollars in the parking lot. I am not blind to how the world works. But I didn't come here to manage your street war. I came here to manage your estate."

"My estate and my street war are the same thing, Clara," Alessandro said, standing up and leaning over the desk toward me. "The money that pays for your mother's oxygen comes from those shipping lanes."

"Then protect your shipping lanes," I said coldly. "But don't expect me to pretend I don't see the blood on the cash."

Alessandro stared at me. A slow, dark intensity filled his eyes. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't throw a cup. Instead, he reached out, his warm, strong hand coming to rest over mine where it lay on the wooden desk.

His skin was hot against my cold fingers. A sharp, electric shock ran up my arm, making my breath hitch in my throat.

"You are a remarkably difficult woman, Clara Mercer," Alessandro murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand.

"I am an efficient woman, Mr. Romano," I corrected, my voice trembling slightly from the proximity of his body. "And if you want me to keep saving you thousands of dollars on catering and security, you should let go of my hand."

Alessandro didn't let go immediately. He held my hand for three long seconds, his gaze holding mine captive in the dim light of the study, before slowly drawing his hand back.

"Cancel the catering contract," Alessandro commanded softly, sitting back down in his chair. "Fire the security firm. Hire replacements you approve of."