A Vulnerable Throne

Valerio slammed the manila folder down on the black leather seat of his armored SUV. The thick paper smacked against the premium upholstery with a sharp crack. "Fuck," he spat, his jaw clenching tight enough to grind bone.

He had just executed Arturo Vance in cold blood and acquired a bank, all to get his hands on this exact file. And for what? He stared at the printed pages spilling out of the folder. Nora Hayes. Twenty-six years old. Parentage: Clara Dalton and Owen Hayes. Profession: struggling realtor and diner waitress. Her credit history was mostly clean, save for issued discharge papers for a foreclosed property. It was nothing. Just a string of ordinary civilian records. There was absolutely nothing in these mundane pages he could use to corner her. No crippling debt to leverage, no hidden secrets to exploit.

"Problem, boss?" Enzo asked, his deep voice rumbling from the driver's seat. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, but shot a brief, calculating glance at Valerio through the rearview mirror.

"This information is utterly useless to me," Valerio muttered. He rubbed his temples, feeling a sharp headache building behind his eyes. He hated dead ends.

"I see," Enzo said slowly, navigating the heavy vehicle through the bustling traffic. "If I may speak freely, Don Valerio, I must admit I didn't understand why you went through the extreme trouble of buying an entire bank. You could have just sent Pietro to do a standard collection. A quiet background check. We would have had her whole life laid out on your desk by morning."

Valerio looked out the tinted window. The skyscrapers of Manhattan blurred past, turning into streaks of steel and glass. "I wanted to see what it would be like to do things the legal way for once," he lied smoothly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Enzo let out a low, breathy chuckle. The sound grated violently on Valerio's nerves. "So, you bought a bank just to peek at Miss Hayes's credit score?" Enzo's lips curled into a mischievous, knowing smirk. "She must have really made an impression on you. I've never seen you go to these lengths for a woman."

Valerio's blood ran cold. The atmosphere inside the SUV shifted instantly, the temperature plummeting. He reached up, slowly pulling his dark sunglasses from his face, and locked eyes with Enzo in the mirror. The raw, unfiltered violence in Valerio's pitch-black gaze made the massive enforcer swallow hard. Enzo gripped the steering wheel, his thick knuckles turning white, suddenly agonizingly aware that he had crossed a dangerous line.

"I bought the bank because I felt like buying a bank," Valerio stated, his voice a low, lethal whisper that left zero room for debate. "It has absolutely nothing to do with that fucking waitress. And if you ever dare to question the motives behind my decisions again, I will put a bullet in the back of your skull right here in this car. Do we understand each other?"

"Understood, Don Valerio," Enzo replied quickly, all traces of humor vanishing from his scarred face. "I apologize. I overstepped."

"Keep your mouth shut and drive," Valerio ordered. He grabbed his encrypted cell phone from his tailored suit jacket and dialed. He needed real answers.

The line rang exactly once before a sharp voice answered. "Yes, Boss."

"Pietro," Valerio said, his tone clipped and demanding. "I need a favor. And I need it done for yesterday. Dig into Nora Hayes. I want everything the bank doesn't know."

***

The heavy iron gates of the Marchesi Mansion loomed ahead.

"We have arrived, sir," Enzo announced, slowing the heavy armored SUV.

Valerio looked at the sprawling fortress. His grandfather, Silvano Marchesi, had purchased this massive plot of land decades ago for a mere eighty thousand dollars. Now, it was an impenetrable stronghold. Thick stone walls surrounded the perimeter. Heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds alongside massive attack dogs.

Enzo pulled up to the fortified security station. "We await your approval," he said.

Valerio pressed the intercom button. "Valerio Marchesi," he stated flatly.

In seconds, the huge iron gates groaned open, granting them access to the vast 4.5-acre estate. Enzo navigated the driveway, passing the private tennis courts, the manicured golf greens, and the detached spa. The main house stood like a white marble monument against the gray sky. It was over twenty-five thousand square feet of sheer, refined luxury, boasting a sprawling outdoor swimming pool, wooden terraces, stone-carved fireplaces, and a massive ballroom. It even housed a twenty-four-foot waterfall indoor pool. It was a short twenty-five-minute drive from New York City, yet it felt like a separate kingdom. To Valerio, it wasn't just an estate. It was the place he was born, grew up, and the absolute last place he had seen his father happy before the rival families took his life.

Enzo parked the SUV in its assigned spot alongside fifteen other luxury vehicles owned by the Marchesi clan. Valerio stepped out, adjusting his suit jacket. His heavy, purposeful footsteps echoed against the cobblestone as he walked toward the grand double doors of the main house.

Rosalba Marchesi was waiting for him at the top of the sweeping marble staircase. The current matriarch of the family possessed an intimidating beauty that defied her age. She looked closer to forty-five than a woman nearing sixty. Her thick black hair framed her sharp features, and her piercing green eyes tracked her son's every move. She wore a high-collared black mourning dress, a constant reminder of the grief that hung over their family. Right now, her open arms and wide smile tried to disguise the pain.

"Mamma," Valerio said, wrapping his arms around her.

Rosalba squeezed him tightly, then pulled back. Her hands moved to his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "Arturo Vance," she said softly, lightly patting his cheek.

"He got what he deserved," Valerio replied smoothly. "He was the one who—"

"I know," Rosalba interrupted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She stepped back, a dark satisfaction glinting in her green eyes. "I only wish I could have been there to see the face of that cascittuni when you took his pathetic life."

"I would have enjoyed sharing the moment with you, but I had more pressing matters to handle," Valerio said, moving past her into the massive, high-ceilinged reception room.

"Like acquiring his bank?" Rosalba asked, her tone instantly shifting from supportive to critical. She raised an eyebrow.

"Papa always wanted a foothold in the financial sector," Valerio noted casually. He walked straight toward the massive carved wooden bar sitting in the corner of the room. He grabbed a crystal decanter and began pouring two glasses of amber whiskey.

Rosalba crossed her arms over her chest and followed him. Valerio turned, offering her one of the glasses. She took it, but her expression remained stern. "You shouldn't have done that, Valerio."

"Why not?" Valerio countered, downing his whiskey in one burning gulp. "It's exactly what Dad would do."

"No. It isn't," Rosalba shot back. "Your father would not have legally purchased the bank of a man he just executed. Your father filled half the plots in Greenwood Cemetery with his enemies, and he never acquired their property immediately afterward to leave a paper trail. In fact, your father would have consulted with Aldo before making this decision."

Aldo Ferrara. The family's Consigliere. Since his father's tragic death, Valerio had not yet made the definitive decision whether to keep the old man in that vital position or to switch him out. He had briefly considered putting Enzo in the role, but after Enzo's loose tongue today, Valerio firmly decided to review that option.

"Making a move like this without council is leaving a huge target on your back," Rosalba continued, stepping closer. "And you cannot afford to become a target right now. You are too vulnerable."

Valerio grabbed the decanter and poured himself another heavy sip. "Vulnerable. Nice word for saying that I am a single man, childless, and that my condition causes the total extinction of our family should I catch a bullet." He took a slow sip. "I know exactly what this lecture is about, Mamma. You're just pissed because I missed the Vivaldi's gala last night. You were planning to corner me and force me to return with their daughter, Caterina."

Rosalba threw her hands up in exasperation. "I never understood why you dropped la povera piccola cosa. Caterina Vivaldi is a stunning woman. She was raised in terra nostra. She is educated, she handles her family's legitimate businesses, and she is a pure girl who follows the strict principles of our family."

Valerio let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh.

"What?" Rosalba snapped. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing," Valerio said, leaning against the wooden bar and staring directly into his mother's eyes. "I'm agreeing with you. Caterina has many excellent qualities, Mamma. Including how she performs in bed."

Rosalba's eyes widened in sheer horror. "Oh, Madonna mia," she gasped, shaking her head in utter disgust. "Please do not tell me you dumped her because you slept with her. You need to stop sleeping with our friends' daughters, Valerio, or you won't marry any."

"The real question is, who hasn't slept with Caterina Vivaldi?" Valerio shot back, his tone dripping with disdain. "By the way, Mamma, that's not what stopped me from marrying her in the first place."

"No? That's great, so that means you consider her—"

"Fucking Caterina isn't the problem," Valerio interrupted bluntly. "I enjoy her body. She takes my cock exactly how I want her to. She spreads her legs the second I tell her to, and the sex is great. But that is the problem."

"Do you have to speak about women like an animal?" Rosalba hissed, her face flushing red with indignation. "Didn't your father teach you that you shouldn't discuss your intimacies to other people?"

"But you're my mother," Valerio argued coolly.

"And I am someone else," Rosalba retorted sharply. "Anyway, what exactly stopped you from marrying Caterina?"

"She possesses absolutely no spine," Valerio said, his expression turning thoughtful. "She agrees with every word I say. She cowers when I raise my voice. She doesn't challenge me. Papa said that one of the main things that attracted him to you was that you challenged him from the beginning."

"You shouldn't listen to your father's loving advice," Rosalba said, raising her arms in defeat. "Look where it got him."

"It led my father to marry the lady, pray tell," Valerio reminded her, raising an eyebrow.

Rosalba sighed, her anger deflating slightly. "In any case, no daughter of our friends will challenge you for who you are. In fact, no woman will ever be able to confront you, Don Valerio Marchesi, my son. So, I recommend you forget about what your father said and get married soon. Or else we will indeed disappear from the face of the earth."

Valerio set his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. "As you wish, Mamma. But it won't be Caterina. That I can assure you. Even if I have to buy one."

Rosalba shot him a furious, crossed look, ready to tear into him again.

"Don Valerio," a male voice called out from the doorway.

Valerio looked past his mother. Pietro stood at the entrance to the main room, dressed in a sharp suit, clutching a thin folder.

"Come in, Pietro," Valerio commanded, feeling his mother's burning gaze on him. "I need to attend to Pietro, Mamma. Do you need anything else?"

Rosalba straightened her posture, her green eyes flashing. "Just marry and make your offspring, Valerio." She turned on her heel and marched toward the exit.

"Lady Marchesi," Pietro murmured respectfully, lowering his head slightly as the matriarch swept past him. Once she was gone, the investigator glared at him as he held up a thin folder toward his boss. "Here is what you asked for."

Valerio snatched the folder from Pietro’s hands. He didn't waste time walking to his private office; he simply leaned against the heavy mahogany bar and began to read the documents handed to him by the red-haired man right there.

Lord Marchesi took a deep breath, reading practically the same things he had in the bank report. Waitress shifts. Real estate listings. A clean criminal record. He was fully prepared to lecture his employee for bringing him garbage, when the last page caught his attention.

He stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.

His dark eyes locked onto a separate profile attached to Nora's background check. A secondary subject.

Valerio read the name at the top of the page.

"Caleb Hayes..." Valerio whispered into the quiet room.

He read the details underneath. Illegal poker rings. Large quantities of heroin. Probation clauses. Mandatory rehabilitation clinics. A pathetic, degenerate brother who was currently swimming in deep legal trouble and securely under the thumb of the state. A massive, glaring liability.

A slow, dark smile spread across Valerio’s face. It was a terrifying expression, fueled entirely by the sinister thrill of the hunt. He had been desperately looking for a crack in Nora Hayes’s armor, and Pietro had just handed him a sledgehammer. She wasn't just a defiant waitress anymore. She was a desperate sister. She had a weak point. And desperate people could be bought, manipulated, and completely owned.

He closed the folder, the triumphant smile still playing on his lips.

Valerio faced his investigator. "Pietro."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Ask Enzo to come to the office," Valerio ordered, his voice vibrating with ominous anticipation. "I have an assignment for him."