I always assumed he would stay up on that pedestal forever.
But now, staring at his threadbare bag,
I wasn't so sure.
The steward's seal passed into his hands.
He straightened his spine and swept an arm toward the carved beams and painted pillars I had built for the compound:
"Rosewood and gilded dragons! This kind of gaudy excess is exactly why the operation has gone to ruin! Tear it all down within three days!
"Replace every piece with marble panels, hand-carved with the Castellano crest, to reflect the dignity befitting a Don's household!"
I swallowed hard.
Swapping everything for marble would cost ten times what the rosewood and gold had.
The house steward winced:
"Sir, we don't have enough in the accounts for that."
"How can the Castellano family not have enough!"
Emilio Ferraro's brows drew together like a blade. He adjusted his glasses with his index and middle finger, that precise, professorial gesture he always made before saying something he believed was brilliant.
"Sir, the treasury has always been managed by the son-in-law. Everything was under his control."
"Ha."
Emilio's expression shifted to one of grim understanding: