Four Orphan Girls Raised To Be The Mafia Heir’s Wife. And I Only Wanted His Empire. Chapter 08
The Painting
“Let her finish.”
One voice. Low. Unhurried. From the head of the table.
Edward Kain. The old Don. Alistair’s father.
He’s supposed to be retired. Supposed to be in Europe, buying paintings, drinking wine, letting his son play king. He never comes to these things anymore.
But tonight he’s here. And when he speaks, the room doesn’t just go quiet. It freezes. Two hundred people turn to stone because the man who built this empire just opened his mouth.
His eyes move from me to Alistair. I see it. A flicker of something cold. Disappointment. Not aimed at me.
“A family that only listens to one voice is a family that’s already rotting from the inside.”
He sets down his glass.
“The girl’s proposal will be discussed at a closed council tomorrow. No objections.”
Done. Final. The old Don has spoken.
Alistair can’t fight it. Can’t argue. Can’t even look angry in front of these people, because showing weakness to other families is worse than losing face.
He stands there, jaw clenched, fists white, while I walk off that stage with my back straight and my heart slamming behind my ribs.
I just publicly challenged the heir of the Kain family and walked away breathing. Everyone in that room knows why. The old Don protected me. And in this world, that means something. That means I belong to him now, in a way that makes me untouchable to everyone else.
After the gala, Edward calls me to his private study. Just the two of us. No guards inside the door, which in itself is a statement.
He pours me a whiskey. Himself. His own hands. In this family, that gesture means more than most people’s words.
“You’ve got nerve, girl. More than my son.”
He slides the glass toward me.
“Your project moves forward. I’m giving you a team. Your own people. Your own territory. You answer to me. Only me.”
He means it literally. My own crew. My own budget. My own protected space inside the Kain operation where Alistair cannot reach me without going through his father first.
I’m not an assistant anymore. I’m a player.
I move out of the annex that week. Into a place Edward arranges. Secure building. Doorman who reports to his people. A lock only I control. For the first time in my life, Victoria cannot walk in while I sleep.
It’s not freedom. Not yet. I’m still inside the cage. But now I have a corner of it that’s mine.
Edward pushes me hard in the weeks that follow. Every decision I make, he picks apart. Every deal I bring to the table, he finds the hole I missed. Every person I trust, he tells me why I shouldn’t.
He’s testing me the way you test a blade. Grinding it sharper and sharper until it can cut without resistance.
He’s brilliant. Ruthless in his standards. And there’s something in his eyes when he looks at me. Something I can’t name.
Until I see the painting.
It hangs in his study, behind his desk. A woman in a white shirt and jeans, standing next to the bronze bull on Wall Street. Short hair. Sharp eyes. Confidence that doesn’t ask for permission.
She looks like me.
I ask who she is.
He’s quiet for a long time. When he speaks, his voice sounds far away. Like he’s talking to someone who left the room twenty years ago.
“Eleanor. Someone I loved before any of this.”
He stares at the painting.
“She had what you have. The mind. The instinct. We were going to build something real together.”
His hand tightens on his glass.
“Then I married Victoria. For the alliance. Eleanor was gone the same week. Never looked back.”
I stare at the painting. At her face. At mine reflected in the glass over it.
I understand now.
Good. Let him see a ghost. Let him pour twenty years of regret into sharpening me.
As long as his resources flow, as long as his protection holds, as long as I keep climbing, he can see whoever he wants when he looks at my face.
A useful ghost is more dangerous than a forgotten girl.
I finish the whiskey and go back to work.