Chapter 12 - The Ghost of Little ItalyThe private jet touched down at Teterboro Airport outside New York under a freezing drizzle. The sky was the color of wet slate—the exact shade of Emma’s eyes.
She had refused to stay behind. When Luca told her she was safer in Chicago, she had simply packed her canvas bag, slipped her father’s wrench into her carry-on, and walked up the steps of the Gulfstream behind him.
Waiting on the tarmac were three armored black Cadillacs and six men in black overcoats led by Salvatore Rossi, the oldest and most influential capo in the Romano syndicate.
Salvatore was seventy-two, with silver hair slicked back and eyes that had seen forty years of mob wars. He stepped forward as Luca and Emma descended the staircase.
"Luca," Salvatore greeted, his voice like grinding stones. His gaze flicked past Luca to Emma, taking in her simple jeans, leather boots, and canvas bag. "You brought a civilian to a family tribunal. Is your judgment really that compromised?"
Luca’s expression hardened into ice. "Watch your tongue, Salvatore. She has more courage in her little finger than half the capos sitting at your table."
"Is that courage, or is it liability?" a sharp voice interrupted.
Stepping out from the second Cadillac was Marcus Vance, a sleek, corporate-minded syndicate lawyer who represented the European factions. Marcus adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, eyeing Emma with open disdain. "We are here to discuss a multi-million-dollar security breach caused by a lack of oversight. We don't need a spectator from a greasy spoon diner."
Emma didn't flinch. She stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Luca.
"I've spent fourteen hours a day standing on my feet fixing things that arrogant men broke," Emma said, her voice cutting cleanly through the windy tarmac. "If you think a boardroom full of old men in expensive suits scares me more than a blown gasket in a lightning storm, you're severely mistaken."
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Salvatore Rossi stared at her for three long seconds. Then, a sudden, booming laugh broke from his chest.
"I like her," Salvatore declared, clapping Luca on the shoulder. "She’s got grit. Let’s see if she still has it when the books open."
