The Mafia Boss Told Her to Take Off Her Husband’s Ring, but Her Answer Changed Who Owed Whom

Marco’s thugs shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting toward their boss.

"The bronze statues sitting in your private vault right now," I said, stepping right up to the edge of Marco's table. "They were taken from a private chapel outside Florence in 2018. They are flagged on the INTERPOL red-notice registry. If you try to sell them through any broker in North America, federal agents will raid this club in forty-eight hours."

Marco’s face turned bright red. "You're bluffing, you little bitch!"

"I don't bluff about provenance," I replied coldly. "I wrote the authentication report that caught the thief six years ago. I know the serial numbers carved into the base of the left pedestal."

Roman let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms as he looked down at Marco.

"It seems my companion knows more about your inventory than you do, Marco," Roman mocked smoothly. "Which means if she decides to send an email to her contacts at the Art Loss Register, your entire laundering operation goes up in smoke."

Marco slammed his fist onto the table, his chair scraping back as he stood up. "You come into my house and threaten me?!"

Roman’s guards instantly pulled their weapons, the sharp clicks of submachine guns echoing through the social club. Roman’s gray eyes turned into shards of ice.

"She didn't threaten you, Marco," Roman said, his voice dropping into a deadly, low rumble. "She informed you. Touch another window at Harlow Restoration, and I won't just destroy your business. I will personally feed you to the harbor."

Marco swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Roman's guns and my cold, unyielding glare.