Mafia's African Rose

Alexio

The meeting room buzzed with subdued chatter as the final documents were laid out on the mahogany table. The scent of cigars and freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, a signature of my dealings. Around me sat a mix of familiar faces and fresh ones, all vying for a slice of the Russo empire. The men in suits spoke in low tones, waiting for me to signal the start.

Ciara sat to my right, flipping through her copy of the agreement. Her manicured fingers tapped the pages lightly, a calculated show of boredom, but I didn't miss the way her eyes darted toward me every few seconds. She'd been trying to bond with me lately, always finding excuses to linger in my presence, It irritated me.

"This is the final offer," I said, my voice sharp enough to silence the room. "You either take it or we walk away. The Russo name doesn't chase crumbs."

One of the younger men across the table cleared his throat nervously. "Mr. Russo, we'll take the terms as they are. The—uh—logistics will be handled within 48 hours."

I leaned back in my chair, nodding once. "Good. Then we're done here."

Ciara took that as her cue. She leaned forward, a dazzling smile on her lips. "Gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation. I'll oversee the finer details and ensure everything runs smoothly."

The men filed out of the room, leaving Ciara and me alone. She closed the folder in front of her and turned to me, her expression softening.

"I've been trying to get to know you better, but you keep shutting me out."

I narrowed my eyes, my patience already wearing thin. "Because there's nothing to know, Ciara. You're here to seal a deal  and play your part. That's all. Don't get any ideas."

Her smile faltered for a brief moment, but she quickly masked it with a laugh. "You don't always have to be so cold, you know. We're going to be married soon. We should at least try to get along."

"Married?" I repeated, my voice like ice. "This is a contract, not a love story. You'd do well to remember that."

Ciara's face hardened, but she didn't press further. She stood, smoothing down her dress, and left the room without another word.

Once I was alone, I exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Ciara was becoming more of a nuisance than I had anticipated. She didn't understand the line between necessity and sentiment—and I had no intention of explaining it to her.

My mind drifted, as it often did, to Angel.

I hated seeing her hurt. It pained me more than anything I had ever endured—even more than when I first learned of my mother's atrocities. That had been a betrayal of blood, a scar I thought nothing could surpass. But this... this was different.

Seeing Angel broken, her shoulders slumped, her eyes dull with the weight of my actions—it was unbearable. And what made it worse? I was the reason behind it.

I could still see her face in my mind, the way her lips trembled when I walked in with Ciara. Her walls had gone up so quickly, shielding the raw vulnerability she had dared to show me. I had crushed it without a second thought, all in the name of duty.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, pacing my study.

I had been trained to make hard decisions, to prioritize power over emotion. A man in my position couldn't afford to be weak. Yet here I was, letting her haunt my every thought, my every move.

The door creaked open, and Leon stepped inside, his ever-watchful gaze settling on me. "Boss, we've got updates from the docks. The Germans are quiet for now, but I don't trust it."