Sal’s office reeked of cigar smoke and ambition. My father leaned forward at the desk, fingers steepled, eyes dark with calculation. Gio stood near the window, arms crossed tight like his job was holding up the skyline of Brooklyn. Sal, ever the strategist, paced slowly—his shoes made that soft tap on the old wood that told me he was about to dismantle someone’s life or build an empire. Sometimes both.
“We can’t stall any longer,” Sal said. “You’ve got to step up, Luca. This wedding—it’s more than ceremony now. It’s momentum.”
I nodded, though my stomach twisted. GreenLee’s name still rang in my head, heavy and electric. She’d said she wasn’t the hiding type, but I didn’t expect her to crash this meeting—especially not the way she did.
The door flung open.
GreenLee strode in like she o
