Free Web NovelChapter 5: "Recalculation Required"
House Moretti’s cleaners moved through the room with quiet efficiency.
Among the Ten Houses, they had a specific reputation: they handle what others preferred not to see — bodies, blood, anything that needed to disappear.
One by one, the unconscious attackers were lifted and dragged toward the service corridors. The dead body was cleaned, leaving the room as polished and cold as if the violence had never happened.
The Summit did not end.
In Borgata, violence was merely an impolite interruption to the business of power.
Gian Lombardi remained standing at the head of the table with both hands braced against the polished mahogany surface.
He felt older than he had an hour ago.
However, when he looked at his daughter — pale, slightly trembling, but undeniably the one turning the situation around — something in him straightened.
"The security of this neutral ground has been compromised," Gian stated, his voice carrying steadily through the chamber. "I move for a postponement of the dissolution vote. We must address the breach before we discuss the redistribution of territory."
A low murmur rippled across the table.
Some of the Dons considered the proposal seriously. Others already looked openly insulted by the suggestion alone.
Armando Ombra leaned slightly forward, his sharp eyes fixed calmly on Gian.
"The breach is a separate matter, Don Gian. The fact remains: House Lombardi is insolvent. The debt remains, and your House cannot pay."
Near the head of the table, Aren had just accepted a fresh cupcake from a servant whose hands were still not entirely steady.
She studied the frosting for a brief moment.
’Different color.’
’Possibly lemon.’
She took a small bite, then tilted her head.
"How much is the debt?"
Armando turned toward her slowly, his expression caught somewhere between disdain and newfound wariness.
"Five hundred million, Lady Ariana," he said flatly. "A sum your family hasn’t seen in years."
The silence that followed belonged in a museum.
Aren’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. In her mind, five hundred million sounded like an impossible mountain of cupcakes.
Before anyone else could speak—
"I will settle the debt."
The voice was cold, decisive, and came from halfway down the table.
Caio Sartori leaned back in his chair, blue eyes fixed directly upon Aren.
"House Sartori will cover the Lombardi arrears," he said evenly. "In full. Today."
Gian’s head snapped toward Caio instantly, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
"And the price, Don Caio?"
Caio didn’t hesitate.
"Ariana Lombardi."
He held Gian’s gaze without blinking.
"She becomes mine. Under my roof. Under my protection. My terms."
The social temperature of the room plummeted thirty degrees.
Gian’s knuckles whitened violently against the mahogany.
"Explain yours, Sartori."
Caio didn’t explain.
He didn’t need to.
In Borgata’s underworld, a woman traded to settle a debt was not a partner, and certainly not an employee. She became property, wrapped in prettier language.
But before Caio could double down, a hand lifted lazily into the air.
Languid.
Amused.
And perfectly manicured.
"Oh, let’s not be greedy, Caio. It’s such a bore."
Jeremiah Castellano stepped forward from behind his father’s chair, pale teal eyes fixed openly upon Aren, his fascination no longer remotely concealed.
"I’m interested as well," he added with a bright, playful smile. "I’ve never seen a performance quite like that one. I suggest we divide."
"I am also interested in Miss Lombardi."
The third voice was quiet, clipped, and entirely devoid of Jeremiah’s charm.
Isidore Accardi still hadn’t looked up from the report in his hands. He stood with perfect posture, finishing a note before he spoke again.
"House Accardi will match any offer," he said plainly. "And exceed it."
The room instantly spiraled into shock.
The other Dons immediately exchanged glances of pure bewilderment.
Just yesterday, they had all considered Ariana Lombardi a walking corpse. Now, three of the most dangerous men in Borgata were competing for her.
Caio’s expression darkened most of all.
Jeremiah’s casual use of his first name without any title was already an insult in itself, but what truly angered him was the sudden competition.
Even Isidore Accardi, who was never the sort to interfere in such matters, was throwing his weight around.
Still, Caio knew the protocol. If an agreement formed at the Summit, the Houses were obligated to respect one another’s interests.
"I will trade the exclusive northern supply routes to House Accardi and the Castellanos," Caio stated firmly. "If you both step back now."
Jeremiah laughed softly.
"Routes are boring, Caio," he replied, waving one elegant hand dismissively. "I’ll offer ten percent of the Castellano Clubs’ annual casino earnings to whoever stays out of my way."
Isidore didn’t speak.
He took a small slip of paper, wrote a number with a larger string of zeros, and slid it silently toward Gian Lombardi.
Gian took a glance.
Cold sweat trickled down his spine despite himself.
At the center of it all, Aren sat very still.
She watched the exchange with growing confusion, her attention drifting briefly to the cupcake in her hands.
’Is this truly lemon?’
Her brow furrowed slightly.
’Or is it mint?’
She was increasingly confident it might contain mint.
Meanwhile, the discussion around her escalated steadily toward open hostility.
Voices sharpened. ƒгeewebnovёl.com
Offers increased.
Threats became less carefully veiled.
Aren blinked slowly as her attention returned to the three men pointing fingers at each other over the table.
’Why are they... arguing?’
In her previous life, when three high-ranking officials argued over a person, it usually concerned a high-level security contract, or a transfer of personnel.
Her conclusion formed quickly:
’They want to hire me, but they’re going to start a war over the contract details.’
Aren disliked conflict intensely. In her experience, a team that couldn’t agree was a team that died very quickly.
"Excuse me," she said shyly.
The effect was immediate.
Three voices stopped simultaneously.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward her all at once.
Aren felt it immediately — the collective weight of their stares. Her shoulders lowered, and when she spoke again, her voice grew even shier.
"I would prefer..." she began carefully, "to... um, discuss terms individually, if that is acceptable."
Her gaze moved from Caio, to Jeremiah, to Isidore.
"I... would like to understand what each of you requires. Perhaps... if we speak one-on-one, we may discover a way for me to assist everyone without... um... all this shouting."
The three men stared at her.
Caio’s jaw locked tightly shut in a silent snarl.
’Who the hell is this?’
Jeremiah’s smile widened until it looked radiant enough to brighten the entire building.
’Absolutely stunning.’
Across the table, Isidore’s pen stilled for the first time in over an hour.
’Recalculation required.’
The tension in the room snapped, replaced by a humming anticipation.
At the head of the table, Gian Lombardi looked at his daughter, and for the first time in years, an expression crossed his face that his enemies didn’t recognize.
It was hope.
Gian’s voice rang out then, with a strength it hadn’t possessed in a decade.
"The Summit is adjourned."
Every eye in the room turned toward him.
"My daughter, Lady Ariana, will consult with her... suitors... individually."
Aren nodded politely to the room, pleased with the efficient discussion, then leaned over to Gian.
The prospect of calling this man "Father" still felt strange on her tongue, as she had never had one in her first life. She pivoted to her habitual politeness instead.
"Excuse me... I’m sorry," she whispered softly. "Would it be acceptable if I spoke with them tomorrow instead? I’m very tired, and I think I’d like some tea."
