His Kryptonite

Chapter 1

Laila's POV

"Laila," my father's voice interrupts my train of thought, dragging me away from my laptop.

"Yes, Papà?"

"Come with me to the conference room. Mike Rizzuto and I have a meeting, and I want you there."

His words catch me off guard, and I can't help but feel a spark of surprise in my eyes. Did he really just invite me to join a meeting with the mob boss?

"Hurry up!" Papà urges, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he witnesses my obvious excitement.

Gasping, I flash a quick smile, hastily grabbing my laptop and tablet before following him. With each step Papà takes, I have to take three to keep up. At five foot six, I'm not exactly petite, but surrounded by my towering family members, I can't help but feel small.

"Take a seat here," he instructs, pointing to the farthest chair at the long rectangular table. "Take notes and remain quiet."

I nod, feeling a surge of exhilaration as I finally get a chance to be involved in the family business. It's a twisted kind of thrill, considering our ties to the Cosa Nostra. But this is the life I was born into. Unlike many girls in our world, forced into arranged marriages for protection or alliances, my father has always encouraged me to use my intelligence. Now, at twenty-five, I'm a successful financial lawyer. Single, but street smart.

I know I'll eventually have to marry within the Cosa Nostra, but I aspire to find a man who appreciates my ambition, someone who isn't enthralled by violence. Though I grew up in this environment, I've always been sheltered from the brutality. My father, the organization's most influential financial lawyer, is connected to the intellectual side of this life. He's the mastermind behind the intricate money laundering schemes, and that's what truly excites me.

I sense a certain tension in the air as assistants come and go from the conference room, ensuring that everything looks impeccable. The room is adorned with an extravagant spread of delicious food and a variety of top-shelf alcohol, beautifully displayed in a glass cabinet. Clearly, Mr. Rizzuto's formidable reputation precedes him. As the acting boss of the organization and the son of the incarcerated Vito Rizzuto, Michael has never crossed paths with me. My father, in his attempt to shield me from this world, has managed to maintain a relatively normal life for me—until now.

Through the glass doors, I catch a glimpse of Michael confidently striding toward the room, his presence radiating an air of darkness and danger. There's no doubt in my mind that this man has taken lives; it's evident in every aspect of his demeanor. He exudes an intimidating aura, which explains why those around him seem so tense and on edge.

Nevertheless, my father appears calm as he stands up, extending a welcoming handshake. Michael acknowledges my father with a simple mention of his name, his voice resonating with a deep timbre that fills the room. His presence is undeniable, and as he enters the conference room, a mixture of cologne and tobacco fills the air, leaving an unforgettable impression. Renato, the consigliere, is also present, but Michael's sheer presence almost overshadows his attendance.

It takes him a moment longer to notice my presence, his piercing brown eyes fixating on me, narrowing slightly. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard.

"My daughter, Laila Scorsese," my father introduces, sensing Michael's menacing gaze on me. "You haven't met her before. She just graduated from law school, and I'm introducing her to the family business."

Michael continues to stare for a few more seconds before breaking eye contact and settling into his chair. The others follow suit, as if he were the leader and everyone else dutifully followed his lead.