What the hell am I supposed to wear to a mafia meeting? I don't even know what kind of meeting it is. Who's going to be there? The underbosses? The department heads? Or is it just one person? Is it a conference call, or in-person?

I have no idea.

I feel weird wearing something neat and professional, considering I haven't showered yet and I don't have time to do my hair or makeup, but I don't want to look like a slob either.

A t-shirt dress! That's perfect!

I dig through my things, searching for some cotton between the organza and silk. I don't wear them often, but I must've brought at least one. They're so convenient for times like these—quick trips to the grocery store, running errands, going to the beach, and attending mafia meetings.

I finally find the dress beneath a pile of shoes, but there's no way I can wear it. It looks like it's been trampled on by elephants. I left it out too long.

"Are you done yet?" Jordan calls through the door.

"Almost!" I respond, desperately trying to find something else to wear.

"Can you hurry up? The meeting started ten minutes ago!"

"I'm coming!" I groan. I quickly jump into the bathroom, running a hand through my hair and examining my face. I don't look too bad. There's still some leftover foundation on my face and mascara on my lashes. I rub the smudged eyeliner away and run some balm over my lips. I look messy, but it's fine.

This outfit will have to do, too. I'm still in Sainte's clothes, but this shirt could easily be a dress. I grab a belt off the floor, pulling it around my waist. It makes it a little shorter, but it's longer than a dress I'd wear on a night out.

I don't know what Sainte's going to think of this, though. He's definitely going to recognise his own shirt, but he only gave me five minutes notice and in that time, I had to pee, eat breakfast, take Advil and make myself look decent. There's only so much I can do.

"Sofie! Let's go!" Jordan calls, but this time, I'm ready.

"Alright!" I pull the door open, a smile on my face. "Let's go."

Jordan leads me down the stairs to the first floor of the bourse, just like he has been for the past few days. This time, we don't go to the dining room, the training room, or the kitchen. We head to a room in the front of the house, near the front door. Jordan places a finger over his lips, motioning for me to stay silent. He pushes open the door and ushers me inside.

It's a kind of meeting room, with a large projector-like screen at the front, but it's switched off. There's no table, and the chairs are turned to face the screen.

The room is overflowing. All the seats are taken, and many people are standing in the back, leaning against walls. Jordan and I can't even get out of the doorway.

A few heads turn to us as we enter, but my eyes are focused on Sainte. He stands at the front of the room, speaking about the finances of the family. His eyes meet mine briefly but then drift down my body. I can't help but smile.

He looks good up there—so commanding. As long as he's not commanding me, it's hot as fuck.

"De Luca," Sainte looks at one of his men in the front. "Clear your seat."

"What?" he protests.

"I said clear your seat!" he booms. The man gets out of his chair, a scowl on his face. He joins the rest of us leaning against the wall. "Miss Delfino?"

"Hmm?" I look up at the mention of my name.

"Have a seat please, Miss Delfino," Sainte motions to the empty chair.

"Oh, no, that's okay," I wave him off. "He can have it."

"Miss Delfino," he shoots me a pointed look. "I would like you to take a seat here, please."

"Ah," I nod my head, an amused smile pulling at my lips. This is his way of being nice to me while still maintaining his threatening mob-boss persona. "Thanks, boss."

I mouth an apology to the other man, but he's already looking down at me, laughing about something with the man beside him. And I'm not the only one whos noticed.

"Is there a problem, De Luca?" Sainte scowls at him.

"No, boss. Apologies," De Luca glances down.

"That's what I thought," he shifts his attention back to the rest of the room. "Now before we continue, I would like to inform you that Miss Delfino will be living in this compound for the foreseeable future. You may recognise her as the daughter of Bernado Delfino and I expect each of you to show her the utmost respect. Any misbehaviour will not be tolerated."

"Is that what happened with David Rossi?" someone asks.

"It is indeed. You may notice he is no longer part of the security team. He has been transferred to the transportation department following an incident involving Miss Delfino. Take that as a warning. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards our guest. Understood?"

"Yes, boss," the men call out.

"Now, as I was saying, the changes to your payment will be implemented by the end of next week. Men in the north-west division will have a significantly higher compensation following last months incident at the Canadian border. Thankfully no lives were lost, nor was and product sacrificed. That is a tremendous achievement on their part and they will be compensated accordingly," Sainte says. "I will be absent from Tuesday's family dinner. Cirigliano will be assigning four of you to accompany me to Rome this weekend. Makris and De Luca are on board. The flight leaves at 9 am tomorrow."

Wait, what? Sainte is going to Rome tomorrow? Am I going with him? I must be, right? Jordan is going and he's my bodyguard. Why else would he be going?

I want to raise my hand and ask him, but it feels a little inappropriate. It's more of a private matter.