Laila's POV
"Laila," my father's voice interrupts my train of thought, dragging me away from my laptop.
"Yes, Papà?"
"Come with me to the conference room. Mike Rizzuto and I have a meeting, and I want you there."
His words catch me off guard, and I can't help but feel a spark of surprise in my eyes. Did he really just invite me to join a meeting with the mob boss?
"Hurry up!" Papà urges, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he witnesses my obvious excitement.
Gasping, I flash a quick smile, hastily grabbing my laptop and tablet before following him. With each step Papà takes, I have to take three to keep up. At five foot six, I'm not exactly petite, but surrounded by my towering family members, I can't help but feel small.
"Take a seat here," he instructs, pointing to the farthest chair at the long rectangular table. "Take notes and remain quiet."
I nod, feeling a surge of exhilaration as I finally get a chance to be involved in the family business. It's a twisted kind of thrill, considering our ties to the Cosa Nostra. But this is the life I was born into. Unlike many girls in our world, forced into arranged marriages for protection or alliances, my father has always encouraged me to use my intelligence. Now, at twenty-five, I'm a successful financial lawyer. Single, but street smart.
I know I'll eventually have to marry within the Cosa Nostra, but I aspire to find a man who appreciates my ambition, someone who isn't enthralled by violence. Though I grew up in this environment, I've always been sheltered from the brutality. My father, the organization's most influential financial lawyer, is connected to the intellectual side of this life. He's the mastermind behind the intricate money laundering schemes, and that's what truly excites me.
I sense a certain tension in the air as assistants come and go from the conference room, ensuring that everything looks impeccable. The room is adorned with an extravagant spread of delicious food and a variety of top-shelf alcohol, beautifully displayed in a glass cabinet. Clearly, Mr. Rizzuto's formidable reputation precedes him. As the acting boss of the organization and the son of the incarcerated Vito Rizzuto, Michael has never crossed paths with me. My father, in his attempt to shield me from this world, has managed to maintain a relatively normal life for me—until now.
Through the glass doors, I catch a glimpse of Michael confidently striding toward the room, his presence radiating an air of darkness and danger. There's no doubt in my mind that this man has taken lives; it's evident in every aspect of his demeanor. He exudes an intimidating aura, which explains why those around him seem so tense and on edge.
Nevertheless, my father appears calm as he stands up, extending a welcoming handshake. Michael acknowledges my father with a simple mention of his name, his voice resonating with a deep timbre that fills the room. His presence is undeniable, and as he enters the conference room, a mixture of cologne and tobacco fills the air, leaving an unforgettable impression. Renato, the consigliere, is also present, but Michael's sheer presence almost overshadows his attendance.
It takes him a moment longer to notice my presence, his piercing brown eyes fixating on me, narrowing slightly. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard.
"My daughter, Laila Scorsese," my father introduces, sensing Michael's menacing gaze on me. "You haven't met her before. She just graduated from law school, and I'm introducing her to the family business."
Michael continues to stare for a few more seconds before breaking eye contact and settling into his chair. The others follow suit, as if he were the leader and everyone else dutifully followed his lead.
I remain silent, obeying my father's instructions. When he says to stay quiet, he means it.
As the meeting begins, I diligently take notes, observing that Michael is a man of few words. It's primarily my papà and Renato who engage in most of the conversation, while Michael simply offers agreement, disagreement, or chooses from the options presented to him.
Every now and then, his gaze lands on me, and each time, I meet his stare, hoping to discern some understanding or purpose behind it. Yet, his eyes remain devoid of warmth or emotion. Strangely enough, he doesn't leave a lasting impression on me. Perhaps it's because I know so little about his history. However, despite his authoritative and cold demeanor, I can't help but see nothing more than a young man in his early thirties, managing his family's business. Call me naive, but that's how I perceive him. After all, we are simply conducting business with him, so why should I be frightened? I'm intrigued, yes, but not scared.
Besides, the discussions we have here are so carefully veiled that even if someone were to overhear, even the FBI, everything would appear completely legitimate. Maybe this clouds my judgment as well. He looks just like any other client our firm would handle, seeking astute management of their vast fortunes. I'm sure there are other types of meetings happening here, but my father would never risk exposing me to sensitive information that could put me in danger if I were to be interrogated.
Once again, Michael steals a glance in my direction, and this time, I respond with a smile and a nod. Frankly, I have no clue what he expects from these fleeting looks. However, my attempt to be friendly only seems to further irritate him, as his expression darkens even more. My heart skips a beat. This man is difficult to decipher, hard to crack open. Not once since his arrival has he shown a hint of a smile, while Papà exudes enthusiasm and Renato reciprocates the energy. Michael listens, but it's evident he's juggling other matters, frequently tapping away on his cellphone.
"I'm going to get the contract," Papà announces, rising from his chair.
At the same time, Renato stands up and says, "I need to use the restroom."
Well, that leaves Michael and me alone in the conference room, and suddenly, I'm unsure if I like the idea. He doesn't seem to harbor much fondness for me, and I can't understand why.
Papà glances back at me before leaving the room and says, in his protective tone, "Stay put." Should I be worried?
The silence in the room becomes increasingly stifling, and I find myself itching to break it. After all, I am a lawyer, and talking is what I do best. Plus, if I want to be involved in significant cases, shouldn't I strive to be on the boss's good side, earning his trust and showcasing my intelligence? Papà would undoubtedly advise me to keep my mouth shut, but I can't resist.
"So, how's it going?" I ask casually, though the death stare I receive immediately fills me with regret. Another wave of silence engulfs us as our eyes remain locked. "A man of few words, I see. I understand. We don't have to talk."
I quickly avert my gaze to my laptop, praying that this embarrassing moment will soon fade away.
"Don't get smart with me," he warns, his voice resonating with a deep and menacing tone.
"I'm naturally smart, it's just who I am," I respond, attempting to maintain a lighthearted tone that clearly does not amuse him. "No? Okay then." I return my attention to my laptop.
"You shouldn't be here," he states firmly.
Ah, there it is. He doesn't appreciate the presence of an unfamiliar face in his business affairs. You would think he would trust my father's judgment, considering our longstanding business relationship with the Rizzutos spanning over two decades—a family legacy. Perhaps that's why my father had no hesitation in bringing me into the fold.
"But here I am..." I reply, raising my eyebrows and pursing my lips.
His frown deepens, and he squints at me. "Are you defying me?"
"Whoa, let's not escalate things so quickly. I assure you, I'm not defying anyone. Remember, I'm smart, not foolish."
Each response I give seems to only irritate him further. Maybe it's best if I heed my father's advice and stay quiet, just as he instructed.
Michael continues to stare at me, and I can feel his gaze like a laser beam on my forehead, even without looking. I meet his gaze and remark jokingly, "Are we playing a staring contest that I wasn't aware of?"
Suddenly, he rises from his chair and a lump forms in my throat as he begins to approach me. Oh goodness, I'm going to die. I really should have listened to my father's warning.
In survival mode, I quickly stand up from my chair and take several steps back, putting some distance between us. "Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot here," I say, retreating further as he continues to advance towards me. However, this time, instead of locking eyes with mine, he gives me a once-over, and I feel my petite frame freeze in front of his towering presence. What have I done? He's going to crush me.
Unbeknownst to me, I continue to back away until my back collides with the wall. Great, now I'm trapped, and he keeps coming towards me. What is he going to do? He can't simply kill me here without at least discussing it with my father, right? Right?
He stops right in front of me, his eyes piercingly cold, his gaze penetrating my soul, while I remain utterly perplexed by his intentions.
"Are you going to kill me?" I finally muster the courage to ask. "At least, I'm a good Catholic. I'll probably go to heaven. Though I would appreciate the chance to confess a few more sins, so maybe you could reconsider until I get the chance. I was planning to attend church this Sunday."
"Shut. Up."
"Ok." And so, I do as he commands, falling silent at last.
He stands before me, and I steel myself for... I'm not even sure what. What have I done wrong, other than be kind? He regards me with a look of utter disgust, as if I were a repulsive cockroach.
Thankfully, Renato enters the conference room, diffusing the increasingly uncomfortable tension between Michael and me. Michael gives me one final scrutinizing gaze before returning to his seat, under Renato's curious watch. Finally, I can breathe.
Knowing better than to linger in the room, I quickly gather my laptop and iPad, making my way around the rectangular table, deliberately keeping my distance from Michael. "It was a very productive meeting, but unfortunately, I must excuse myself. I have another engagement. I hope you all have a wonderful rest of the day. Okay, ciao, gentlemen," I say bowing out.
I leave the conference room, almost gliding through the door, and hasten to the office Papà assigned to me.
What a brute Michael is. I fail to understand the pleasure he derives from intimidating others like this. Nevertheless, if I want to establish a relationship with the organization, I must find a way to navigate his temperament, to get on his good side, and understand his modus operandi. Despite Michael's reaction, I believed I was being amiable and charming, much like Papà. Perhaps it was all in my imagination. Nonetheless, I won't shy away from a challenge.