6. The meeting
1352 Words
Sarah was getting dressed in a rush, the loud clang of the bell reverberating through the room like an alarm in her skull. Her heart was pounding, and she didn’t know if it was from the urgency of the bell or the residual heat of that awkward bathroom encounter. Maybe both.
She had already slipped into a snug black tank top and the cargo jeans Ray had laid out for her. They fit perfectly, hugging her waist just right. Her hair was down now—brushed and behaving—and her boots were laced up tightly. She was moving fast, determined not to fall behind whatever mafia schedule they had planned.
Finally, she picked up the oversized shirt he’d left for her to wear over the outfit. She held it up, inspecting the back. And then her eyes landed on the embroidered name in dark red thread:
"RAY VALERIO"
Her chest dropped.
What the hell?
There was no way she was going to wear that. People already stared at her like she didn’t belong. Now she was supposed to walk around with his name on her back? That was a recipe for hate and mockery. She threw the shirt onto the bed. The tank top and cargo combo was fine. She looked great, and if anyone had a problem, that was theirs to carry.
Just as she stepped out of the room, the door creaked—and there he was.
Again.
Ray stood at her doorway like he had materialized from the shadows, arms crossed, scanning her from head to toe. His eyes paused—right at her chest.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed.
"Where's the shirt I got you?" he asked, voice calm but disapproving.
"It's inside," she said, shrugging casually. "I can't wear it. It has your name on it."
"And that's why you're walking around with your n*****s on display?"
She blinked.
Excuse me?
Instant regret flashed in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
"My n*****s?" she asked, hands on her hips, brows raised. "Interesting. I didn’t realize they belonged to you."
He didn’t reply. Instead, he brushed past her, grabbed the shirt from the bed, and came back. Before she could protest, he pulled it over her head, tugging it down with unceremonious force.
“Let’s go,” he muttered and dragged her down the hall.
"You're a caveman," she grumbled, struggling to adjust the shirt on her way.
He didn’t respond.
Ray pushed open a tall, grand wooden door and stepped into a massive hall. The moment they entered, the bell stopped ringing and every head turned in their direction. Men in suits. Men in tactical gear. Some sat, some stood. All watched.
Sarah stiffened beside him. Ray didn't let go of her hand.
"Son, come forward," Mr. Valerio said from the stage.
Ray walked ahead, dragging her behind him like a leashless dog. Sarah's boots echoed against the marble floor, and her breath quickened. She tried to steady herself, but her hands were sweating.
“Luca, get a chair,” Ray ordered, and Luca nodded quickly.
"And who is this?" Marcus Conklin’s voice cut through the tension like a whip.
Sarah recognized the name. Ray’s rival. Co-owner's son. A spoiled sociopath in a designer suit.
Ray said nothing.
Mr. Conklin spoke next, adjusting in his seat with smug authority. “My son asked you a question.”
“I don’t owe your son an explanation,” Ray replied lazily.
Sarah gulped.
Her hand felt like it was going to slip from his, but he held firm. She looked around—at the rows of silent, intimidating men. Mafia bosses. Killers. Mercenaries.
Then Mr. Valerio spoke again. “Son, who is she?”
Ray turned just slightly, gaze sharp. “She’s my assistant. Sarah…” He paused. “Sarah Finn.”
Finn? Her brows furrowed slightly. That wasn’t her last name. Why had he changed it? Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, but she wisely said nothing. She wasn’t about to make a scene in front of people who looked like they buried bodies for fun.
“Well then,” Mr. Valerio said, a tight smile on his face. “Welcome to the clan, Sarah.”
There was a chorus of muted greetings. Some sincere. Some forced. Some just eye-rolls.
“Kaia,” Mr. Valerio gestured, “she will sit with you.”
But Ray interrupted immediately. “She sits with me.”
Mr. Valerio looked like he wanted to protest, but Ray's stare was firm. Luca arrived just in time with an extra chair—not as grand as the ones on stage, but better than the basic ones below.
“Son…” his father warned.
“You know better,” Ray replied, already guiding Sarah to sit beside him. “And you know I don’t give a damn.”
He sat next to her and gave his father a small smile. “Shall we begin?”
Sarah sat stiffly, heart pounding, eyes low.
Ray’s rebellion wasn’t just against his father—it was against the whole damn table. And somehow, she’d been brought along for the ride.
The meeting began. Discussions of black market shipments, turf expansions, a weapons deal in Chicago. Sarah tuned most of it out. It was too much. Too dark. Too fast.
Her fingers played with the hem of the shirt unconsciously.
Finally, the general meeting ended. There was mention of a private "Cacos" circle—some kind of inner-circle affair. Ray stood without looking at her.
“I’ll meet you at the house,” he said, walking away before she could reply.
“Jerk,” she muttered.
She was left to find her way alone.
When she stepped out of the hall, murmurs began.
Groups of people standing around, whispering, talking just loud enough for her to hear.
“She lives with him.”
“She’s his assistant?”
“Why her? Why not me?”
“I heard he’s training her personally.”
Sarah blinked. What? Where were they getting these stories from?
Then it hit her.
The shirt.
Ray’s name stitched on her back. Of course they’d assume things. That combined with the fact he brought her to the stage. Sat her beside him. Called her his assistant. Didn’t explain anything.
This wasn’t a mistake.
This was planned.
She kept walking, head high, though her cheeks burned with shame and confusion.
She headed toward the diner, ignoring the whispers and sideways glances. She needed food. Something to energize her before she trained.
Not that she even knew what training meant in the first place she was just going along with it because of Rufus, speaking of Rufus she saw him walking towards her she was still scared of it but he was once her dog
"Ruf Ruf" she called and everyone turned to her she didn't care she bent down to run his head and he let out a satisfied growl
"she could even touch Rufus too"
"what else could she do?" Another whispering broke out she walked to the diner together with Rufus
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Back at circle meeting
Ray clenched his jaws he wasn't even listening to anything they were saying
Why did he do that? Why did he say she was his assistant? Why did he refuse to let her sit with Kaia? Why did he bring her to that meeting in the first place?
Because he didn’t want anyone else near her. That’s why.
Because the thought of Macus looking at her again made his blood boil.
He ran a hand through his hair, then over his face.
“She’s not mine,” he muttered to himself. “She’s not mine.”
But the problem was—she felt like she was.
He thought about her in that shower. Her small, flushed face. Her confident attempt to strip in front of him. Her hips. Her back. Her—
He growled lowly "son I hope you're listening" Mr valerio ask he looked as his father and walked out of the room f**k this meeting anyways
“She’s going to drive me insane.”
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- Writer
