2. Carlito

Chapter 2

Carlito

The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the grounds of my villa. The view from my office window is serene—a sprawling backyard lined with hedges cut to geometric precision, the faint hum of a fountain in the distance.

Serene. Controlled. Just the way I like it.

On my desk lies a leather-bound portfolio. Bianca had spoken about Mia Caruso with the kind of enthusiasm that rarely leaves her lips. Talented. Adaptable. Someone even you’ll respect, Daddy.

Respect is earned, not handed out. I learned that the hard way.

I flip the cover open and begin my review. The first project listed is a charity gala, its design sleek and restrained, perfectly balanced between elegance and sophistication. Every detail reflects careful thought.

The second spread showcases a vineyard wedding, its simplicity elevated to art. No unnecessary flourishes, no desperate attempt to impress. Just clean, deliberate choices.

“Interesting,” I murmur, turning the pages.

Bianca’s glowing descriptions painted Mia as extraordinary, but this portfolio shows something even rarer: someone who understands the value of restraint.

I lean back in my chair, my gaze drifting to the far wall where old photographs of past successes hang. My businesses thrive on precision, on control. The gala Bianca has tasked Mia with isn’t just a celebration—it’s a statement. A declaration to our competitors and associates alike that the Marcelli name remains unshakable.

And in my world, perception is as powerful as reality.

My hand brushes the edge of the folder as my thoughts shift to another gala from years ago. One that should have been a triumph but ended in betrayal. A trusted associate sabotaged the event, tarnishing my reputation and fracturing business alliances.

The lessons from that night carved themselves into my bones: trust no one, verify everything.

I turn another page in Mia’s portfolio, studying her notes. They’re thorough, direct, and confident.

Confidence is a double-edged sword. It can drive success or fuel arrogance. I’ll determine which side of that blade Mia falls on when I meet her.

The soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. Leo steps in, his steady presence grounding. “You’ve gone through it?” he asks, nodding toward the portfolio.

“I have,” I reply, closing the folder. “It’s promising.”

Leo’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. “High praise, coming from you.”

“She’ll be tested,” I say, rising from my chair. “Schedule the meeting for tomorrow morning. The Wynn. Private dining room.”

“She’s already received confirmation,” Leo says, his tone amused.

I glance at him, raising a brow. “Good. Let’s see if she lives up to Bianca’s hype.”

Leo chuckles softly, lingering by the door. “She’s got talent. Bianca’s usually right about these things.”

“Talent isn’t enough,” I say, my voice cold. “We’ll see if she has the backbone to match it.”

Leo nods, reading the finality in my tone, and steps out, leaving me alone once more.

The night settles around me, my office bathed in a soft glow from the desk lamp. My focus sharpens. The gala will be perfect, every detail scrutinized. And Mia Caruso?

She’ll either rise to the challenge or crumble under the weight of my expectations.

I stand and move to the window, my reflection faintly visible in the glass as the last light of day gives way to night. The villa is silent, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint rhythm of the fountain outside.

This is how I like it—quiet, controlled. But tonight, my thoughts are anything but.

The name “Mia Caruso” lingers in my mind. Her portfolio revealed someone meticulous and adaptable, traits I value. But paper only tells half the story. People can be deceptive, hiding flaws beneath a polished surface. The gala demands more than technical skill. It demands someone who can thrive under pressure.

I know the type—fragile egos disguised as confidence, all smiles until the cracks show. I’ve worked with enough people to spot them a mile away. But what intrigues me about Mia is the restraint in her work. Restraint speaks to discipline. Discipline suggests someone who can weather a storm.

Bianca’s voice echoes in my mind: “You’ll like her, Daddy. She’s different.”

Different. I’ve heard that before. Promises of loyalty and competence that always came with hidden agendas.

Living in two worlds requires precision. On the surface, I am the polished businessman, a name synonymous with power and success in Las Vegas. Behind closed doors, I wear another mantle—one far more dangerous.

The city bows to its own rhythm, and beneath the neon lights lies the heartbeat of organized crime. I am that rhythm.

Only Leo, my trusted consigliere, knows the truth. He has been my right hand for over a decade, overseeing the delicate balance between my legitimate empire and the darker Mafia one.

Neither Bianca nor Mia has any inkling of the other half of my life, and it’s better that way. The less they know about my underworld dealings, the safer they remain.

The door opens behind me, and Leo enters, carrying a glass of scotch. He sets it down on the table with his usual efficiency, his expression calm and unreadable.

“She’s confirmed for tomorrow,” he says, his voice low but firm. “The Wynn, private dining room. Ten o’clock sharp.”

I nod, my gaze still on the horizon. “Good. Let’s see if she can hold her ground.”

Leo lingers for a moment, his eyes sharp. “You’re putting a lot of weight on this gala.”

I turn to face him, my expression unchanging. “Because it carries weight. The right partnerships. The right perception. It’s not just a party, Leo. It’s strategy.”

He nods, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “And Mia Caruso? Do you think she can handle it?”

“We’ll find out,” I reply evenly, taking the glass of scotch and swirling it absently. “Her work shows promise, but promise isn’t enough.”

Leo smirks faintly. “You always test people harder than anyone else does.”

“That’s because I trust no one,” I say without hesitation. “Trust is a losing game.”

Leo nods, his gaze steady. “Fair enough. But Bianca has an eye for talent. If she says Mia can handle it, she probably can.”

“Probably isn’t good enough,” I counter, the edge in my voice unmistakable.

He doesn’t press further, stepping back toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

As he leaves, the quiet of the room wraps around me once more. I glance at the clock—time is always slipping away, every second bringing tomorrow closer.

I pick up Mia’s portfolio one last time, studying the details with a critical eye. Her work is polished, yes, but I’ll find out if she has what it takes to face me head-on.

And if she doesn’t, I won’t hesitate to cut her loose.

The thought lingers as I return to my desk. Mia is a potential asset, but I’ve learned not to grow attached to potential. Potential is unproven. Potential can betray you.

I pick up my pen and make a few notes in the margins of her portfolio. Questions I’ll ask her. Challenges I’ll present. It’s not about catching her off guard—it’s about testing her response under pressure.

Pressure reveals the truth.

The phone on my desk buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at the caller ID—an associate handling security for the gala.

“Everything is on schedule,” the voice on the other end assures me. “Possible vendors have been vetted. Preliminary security plans have been drawn up.”

“And the guest list?” I ask, my tone clipped.

“Reviewed and cleared,” the associate replies. “The Marcelos will be attending.”

Of course, they will. My biggest rivals in business—and in the unspoken game that runs beneath it. Their presence is both a challenge and an opportunity.

“Good,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Make sure nothing is overlooked. One misstep could cost us.”

“Understood.”

I hang up and lean back in my chair, running a hand over my jaw. The Marcelos attending raises the stakes of this gala. Every detail must be perfect—not just for appearances but to solidify my position as the best.

It’s not just a celebration. It’s a chessboard, and every move matters.

My thoughts shift back to Mia. Bianca’s faith in her is unwavering, but Bianca has the luxury of optimism. I don’t. Optimism doesn’t win wars.

I close the portfolio and rise, moving to the large windows overlooking the villa’s grounds. The night is still, the stars faint against the glow of the city in the distance.

“She’ll rise to the occasion,” I murmur aloud, testing the words. But I’m not convinced.

---

The next morning comes quickly, and the villa is alive with quiet efficiency. Leo greets me in the kitchen, a coffee already waiting on the counter.

“Mia’s meeting is confirmed for ten o’clock at The Wynn,” he says without preamble.

I nod, taking the coffee. “And security?”

“Already cleared,” Leo replies. “It’s a private dining room. Discreet.”

I take a sip, the bitter heat sharpening my focus. “Good. Let’s see how she handles this first test.”

Leo raises a brow. “First test?”

I smirk faintly. “Everyone gets tested, Leo. Miss Caruso is no different.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I almost feel bad for her.”

“Don’t,” I say, setting the cup down. “She’s chosen this path. If she can’t handle it, she’s in the wrong business.”

As I prepare for the day, the thought of meeting her sharpens my curiosity. Bianca’s words echo in my mind— She’s different.

By the end of tomorrow, I’ll know if that difference is real.