She Married The Mafia Heir I Married The Next Don Chapter 08
Separate Battles
We leave our wedding reception before midnight.
My mother cries when she kisses Bianca goodbye after the photographs.
When she kisses me, she tells me not to make things difficult.
“For either family, Mara.”
“I heard you.”
Nico is waiting by the car.
He opens the door.
I get in without looking back.
His house is smaller than my father’s.
Older, too.
There’s a crack in the stone beside the front steps and a light that flickers above the entrance.
Inside, the staff stand in a loose line.
Some look curious.
Some look worried.
One woman looks at my dress, then at my shoes.
I know that glance.
This time, I remember her face.
After the introductions, Nico takes me to his study.
There are folders on the desk.
No champagne.
No flowers.
I put my bouquet on a chair.
He loosens his tie.
“Most of the staff were appointed while I was away.”
“By your father?”
“Or my brother.”
“Who can you trust?”
“Salvatore.”
The older man standing near the door nods.
“And the others?”
“That’s what I need to know.”
I look at the personnel list.
“Do I have to ask before I replace someone?”
“No. But I’ll need to know why.”
“You will.”
Nico pushes another folder across the desk.
“These are the businesses.”
There aren’t many pages.
A small warehouse.
A trucking company with too many vehicles out of service.
Two commercial properties that cost more to maintain than they earn.
I read the first set of figures.
Then the next.
“This is all?”
“All I control.”
“And the money?”
He points to the last page.
I look at the balance.
Then at him.
“You could have told me how bad it was before the wedding.”
“You could have asked.”
For a moment, we just look at each other.
Then I laugh.
He almost does.
I close the folder.
“All right.”
“That’s your response?”
“We knew neither of us was getting an easy marriage.”
I pull the papers closer.
“The money my father sent is enough to start. The warehouse has room we aren’t using. The trucking company is paying for repairs without getting the trucks back.”
“You’ve looked at two pages.”
“I grew up in a garage. I know what an invoice looks like when nobody expects the customer to check it.”
Nico glances at Salvatore.
The old man’s mouth twitches.
“I’ll have the records brought in,” he says.
I turn back to the staff list.
“Tomorrow, I start here.”
“And after that?”
“Your businesses.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Don’t reverse my decisions because someone complains that I was rude.”
He considers that.
“If you’re right, I won’t.”
“If I’m wrong?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Privately.”
His eyes meet mine.
“Privately.”
I hold out my hand for a pen.
Salvatore brings one.
That is how we spend our wedding night.
By morning, I have three lists.
Who controls the household money.
Who has keys.
Who reports to someone outside the house.
Salvatore knows more than the files say.
But I don’t dismiss people because he dislikes them.
We compare supply orders with deliveries.
We check wages against the staff roster.
We ask why one contractor has been paid three times for work nobody can show me.
By the afternoon, two managers are sitting across from me.
One says the arrangement predates my arrival.
“I’m sure it does.”
“It was approved by the family.”
“Then you won’t mind if I send them the records.”
He stops speaking.
The other manager starts crying.
I ask where the missing money went.
Neither stays.
I send the documented discrepancies to the family office with a short note.
I’ve dismissed both managers. The attached records explain why.
The next morning, everyone arrives on time.
That doesn’t mean they like me.
I don’t need them to.
I need to know whether the work is being done.
I meet the rest of the staff one by one.
I tell them what their jobs are.
What they’ll be paid.
Who to come to if something is wrong.
Then I make sure those things happen.
Nico comes home that evening and finds me at the dining table with the warehouse plans.
Salvatore speaks to him quietly.
Nico listens.
Then he sits across from me.
“Busy day.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve had two calls.”
“Only two?”
“One called you difficult.”
“What did you say?”
“That she should have kept better records.”
I look up.
He looks back.
For a moment, something warmer than agreement passes between us.
Then I slide the plans toward him.
“The warehouse is half empty, but you’re still paying to heat all of it. We can divide the space and take smaller customers.”
“Lower margins.”
“Faster turnover. Less dependence on one client.”
He studies the page.
“And the trucks?”
“I want an independent mechanic to inspect them before we pay another repair bill.”
“Do you know one?”
“Yes.”
“Someone you trust?”
“Someone who once let me take my wages in advance so I could keep the electricity on.”
Nico nods.
“Call him.”
It doesn’t happen in a week.
There are delays.
One tenant refuses new terms.
A truck I hoped to save costs more to repair than it’s worth.
I make mistakes.
Nico points them out.
I hate it every time.
Then I check the numbers.
Sometimes he’s right.
Sometimes I am.
We keep working.
My father’s contribution gives us enough room to survive the first changes.
After that, money begins coming back in.
Slowly.
But it comes.
Nico takes the assignments Alessandro doesn’t want.
Problems with suppliers.
Disputes between men nobody important wants to listen to.
Work that looks small until it goes wrong.
He comes home late.
I stay up.
We meet in the study.
He tells me who is angry.
I tell him what we can afford.
We stop wasting time pretending those are separate subjects.
One night, he mentions Bianca.
“Two doctors have been to their house this week.”
I look up.
“Is she ill?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or pregnant.”
“Possibly.”
A child would give Alessandro another way to present his future as settled.
I set down my pen.
“I can ask.”
“Without causing trouble?”
“I can ask quietly.”
Rosa still knows people in my parents’ house.
Some are willing to talk.
Some need a reason.
I don’t ask them to do anything dangerous.
I pay for their time.
I remember their names.
And when someone tells me a useful thing, I don’t pretend I discovered it myself.
The rumors about Bianca remain rumors.
Other information proves more useful.
Who has started visiting my father.
Which meetings Alessandro attends without the Don.
Which supplier is suddenly charging more while his payments arrive faster.
Nico listens when I speak.
I listen when he tells me I’ve misunderstood something.
We argue.
We make changes.
We try again.
One evening, he finds me asleep over a stack of invoices.
I wake when he moves the lamp away from my face.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Did the meeting go well?”
“It went well enough.”
I start to sit up.
He puts the closed folder beside me.
“It can wait until morning.”
I look at him.
He leaves the decision there.
After a moment, I stand.
We don’t talk about love.
We talk about money.
People.
Mistakes we can survive and mistakes we can’t.
But when I hear his car outside, I stop listening for bad news.
I start wanting to tell him what happened.
For now, that is enough.