The Mafia DON Was Offered Three Sisters, but He Chose

Vanessa’s confident smile faltered for only a fraction of a second when Victor asked about leverage ratios.

She recovered quickly, smoothing the skirt of her designer dress.

"I believe a ratio of two to one is generally acceptable for commercial real estate in the current market," she answered smoothly, reciting a phrase she had likely memorized from an introductory finance textbook.

Victor’s expression remained perfectly unreadable.

He did not correct her, nor did he point out that in his specific corner of the commercial shipping world, a two-to-one ratio would result in bankruptcy within six months.

He simply nodded and accepted a delicate porcelain teacup from Isabelle.

As she leaned forward to pour the Earl Grey tea, Victor noticed the frayed stitching on the cuff of her cream-colored sleeve.

It was a tiny detail, but men in Victor’s profession survived by noticing things others ignored.

He also noticed the faint smudge of ink on the side of her right index finger.

It was the specific kind of smudge left behind by someone who spent hours gripping a fountain pen or balancing heavy ledgers by hand.

"Thank you, Isabelle," Victor said quietly.

Isabelle’s warm brown eyes flicked up to meet his cold gray ones for a fleeting moment.

"You're welcome, Mr. Romano," she replied softly, stepping back into the shadows near the sideboard.

Patricia immediately clapped her hands together, determined to redirect his attention to the daughters she actually considered valuable.

"Victor, Clare has been studying Italian for months," Patricia announced proudly.

"She has always felt such a deep connection to your family's heritage."

Clare smiled demurely and offered a carefully rehearsed greeting in flawless, textbook Italian.

Victor listened patiently.

He spoke six languages fluently, a necessity when negotiating international shipping contracts and laundering money through offshore accounts.

Clare's Italian was perfectly pronounced, but entirely devoid of soul.

"Your accent is very precise, Clare," Victor commented dryly.

He took a sip of his tea and looked directly at Patricia.

"I appreciate your hospitality today, Mrs. Morgan."

"However, my time is incredibly limited."

"I am currently looking for a partner who understands the complexities of my business."

"Someone who can manage a massive household, handle sensitive information discretely, and navigate difficult financial realities."

Patricia leaned forward eagerly, practically vibrating with ambition.

"Both of my daughters are exceptionally well-equipped for such a demanding role, Victor."

"Vanessa has her MBA, and Clare is a master of social diplomacy."

Victor set his teacup down on the silver saucer with a soft click.

"I am sure they are," he agreed politely.

He reached into his tailored coat pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper.

He placed it deliberately on the center of the mahogany coffee table.

It was a photocopy of a recently renegotiated vendor contract for the Morgan estate.

"Can either of them explain how the household maintenance budget was reduced by eighteen percent in a single quarter without compromising the structural integrity of this property?" Victor asked.

Vanessa and Clare stared blankly at the complex financial document.

Patricia’s elegant face paled slightly.

"I handle all the major financial decisions for this family," Patricia lied smoothly.

Victor looked past the three women and locked his gaze on the quiet, plus-size woman standing by the wall.