Fire And Silk

Sofia's POV

"Miss Romano, they're waiting for you in the conference room," my assistant Sarah whispers, her hand nervously adjusting her Hermès scarf.

I don't bother looking up from the financial reports spread across my desk. "Let them wait."

"But... they're the heads of the Five Families."Now I do look up, arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "And I'm Vincent Romano's daughter. They can damn well wait until I finish reviewing these numbers."

The truth is, I finished analyzing the reports ten minutes ago. But Dad taught me well – never let them think their time is more valuable than yours. Even if they're the most powerful crime bosses in the Eastern Seaboard.

"At least they can't say I didn't inherit my father's flair for dramatic timing," I mutter, finally standing and smoothing down my Chanel suit. Black, of course. I've been wearing black since Dad's funeral three months ago.

Uncle Tommy appears in my doorway, his massive frame filling the space. Despite being Dad's enforcer for thirty years, he still looks at me like I'm the little girl who used to ride on his shoulders.

"They're getting antsy, Sofia," he says, his Brooklyn accent thick with concern. "Old men don't like taking orders from a thirty-two-year-old woman."

I walk over to my private bar and pour two fingers of scotch. "Then they're really not going to like what comes next."

"Sofi..." Tommy's voice carries a warning. "Don't do anything rash."

I down the scotch in one smooth motion. "Rash? Like someone putting two bullets in my father's chest during his morning jog? Or like the Petrov family trying to take over our dock operations the day after his funeral?"

"We handled Petrov."

"No, Uncle Tommy. *I* handled Petrov." I step closer to him, keeping my voice low. "Just like I'm about to handle this little coup attempt. Did you really think I wouldn't find out about the meeting they had in the Caymans last week?"

His face goes pale. "How did you—"

"I'm my father's daughter. I have eyes and ears everywhere." I check my reflection in the window, adjusting my blood-red lipstick. "And unlike dear old Dad, I don't believe in giving traitors second chances."

"They're not all against you," Tommy says quickly. "Salvatore and Martinez still support your leadership."

"Two out of five." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Not great odds."

"Better than none."

I walk to my wall safe and enter the code, removing a small leather folder. Inside are documents that would make even hardened criminals lose sleep.

"What's that?" Tommy asks.

"Insurance." I tuck the folder under my arm. "Dad kept files on everyone. The kind of files that make federal indictments look like parking tickets. He called it his doomsday protocol."

"Jesus, Sofia. Using those... there's no coming back from that kind of move."

I pause at my office door, thinking of Dad's last words to me in the hospital: *"The game is changing, piccola. The old ways are dying. Sometimes you have to burn everything down to build something stronger."*

"They're the ones who made this personal, Tommy. They're the ones who decided a woman couldn't run this organization." I check my watch – fifteen minutes late now. Perfect. "Time to show them exactly what Vincent Romano's little girl is capable of."

"And if they don't fall in line?"

I give him my sweetest smile, the one Dad said made me look just like my mother right before she shot her first husband. "Then I hope you've kept your disposal skills sharp, Uncle Tommy. Because by sunset, we're either going to be toasting to a new era of cooperation..." I pat the folder under my arm, "or we're going to need a lot of quicklime and shovels."

The walk to the conference room feels like a gauntlet, but I keep my pace unhurried. Every guard, every administrator, every cleaner we pass straightens up, their eyes following me with a mixture of fear and fascination. They've been waiting to see if I'm strong enough to hold what Dad built. They're about to find out.

At the massive double doors, I pause. Behind them sit the men who think they can take everything from me, who believe a woman has no place in their world of blood and money.

"Ready?" Tommy asks.

I hand him the empty scotch glass. "Remember what Dad always said?"

"Never let them see you sweat."

"No." I push open the doors. "Make them sweat first."

The room falls silent as I enter, five pairs of eyes turning to watch me. The air is thick with expensive cologne and poorly concealed contempt. I let the silence stretch, walking to my father's old seat at the head of the table.

Game on, gentlemen. Let's see who taught their little girl better – your fathers, or mine.