Chapter 7
Declan Rourke had promised seven men positions under Luca.
Not official roles.
Influence.
Gianni would oversee waterfront disputes.
Samuel would regain control of club security.
Anthony would chair an elder group.
Others would recover privileges I had removed.
Again.
This was not a coup built from soldiers.
It was nostalgia organized into appointments.
Rafe found the list through one of the toasting guests.
Not because he hacked anything.
Because Darren Bell panicked and brought it voluntarily.
Smart man.
The list had three stages.
ARTHUR RETIRES.
LUCA ASSUMES FAMILY CHAIR.
MARRIAGE CONSOLIDATES BRANCHES.
Then a fourth line.
VALERIA TRANSITIONS TO EXECUTIVE ROLE.
I laughed.
Luca did not.
“What does that mean?”
Darren looked embarrassed.
“They said you’d keep handling the money and outside operations.”
Of course.
I would do the work.
My son would hold legitimacy.
Rourkes would hold the relationships.
A perfect arrangement for everyone except the woman currently leading the organization.
“Did Luca know?”
Darren hesitated.
Luca answered himself.
“Not that wording.”
Important.
“What did you know?”
“They said you were tired.”
I stared.
“Did I look tired?”
He almost smiled despite himself.
“No.”
“Then why believe them?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because I wanted it true.”
There.
Again.
Not deception alone.
Participation.
Declan entered later under guard.
He looked at the list and shrugged.
“You can’t be shocked.”
“I’m rarely shocked.”
I sat across from him.
“Mostly disappointed by repetition.”
He smiled.
“Your father took Rourke out of the house. Your son put us back.”
“My son invited Camille.”
“Same thing.”
No.
That belief was the entire problem.
Marriage does not transfer family sovereignty.
Love does not create command.
Declan disagreed.
He believed marriage had always been political.
Sometimes it was.
That did not mean mine would remain so.
“What did Camille get?”
For the first time, he hesitated.
Interesting.
“What did you promise your sister?”
“Position.”
“Which?”
Silence.
Luca looked at him.
Declan finally said:
“Hostess of the Founder’s Table.”
Camille stared.
Hostess.
Not co-leader.
Not partner.
Decoration.
The same role she had accused me of giving Luca.
She looked at her brother.
“You said I would have a seat.”
“You would.”
“Doing what?”
Declan said nothing.
May you like
Camille understood.
The Rourke men had used her ambition exactly the way she used Luca’s.
