Chapter 7 - The Confirmation of the Ledger
The legal finality of the Vail conflict came in the middle of July, during a closed-door meeting at the Bellandi family offices in the Old Ward.
Mara had been asked to bring the private dining accounts for the past three seasons to verify the entertainment expenses that Arthur Vail’s companies had claimed against the Bellandi shipping subsidiaries. She sat at the long mahogany board table, surrounded by six lawyers in dark gray suits who looked like they hadn't seen the sun since 2012.
Nico sat at the head of the table, his chair slightly higher than the others, his fingers turning a single gold fountain pen over and over on his blotter.
“The receipts are fraudulent, Mr. Bellandi,” the senior attorney said, sliding a document toward Nico. “Arthur Vail has been overcharging your transport lines by twelve percent for five years, using a shell company registered in Delaware to funnel the cash into his daughter’s personal accounts in Zurich. Bianca Vail wasn't just a fiancée; she was an expense line.”
Nico didn't look at the paper. He looked at Mara, who was quietly stacking her inventory ledgers into her leather bag. “Did you know about the Delaware accounts, Mara?”
“I knew the wine deliveries from their distributors were always listed as 'mismatched cargo,' sir,” Mara said, not looking up from her bags. “And I knew Bianca Vail never used her own credit card when she brought her friends from the country club into the private suites. She always signed your mother’s name to the voucher.”
Nico set the gold pen down. He looked at his lawyers. “Leave the files. Clear the room.”
The six men in gray suits disappeared within thirty seconds, their shoes silent against the thick green rug.
Mara stood up, her bag over her shoulder, ready to return to Bellafior. “The lunch service starts in twenty minutes, Mr. Bellandi. Mr. Pell needs me to sign for the white truffles.”
Nico stood up and walked around the table until he stood directly in front of her. He reached out, his large, scarred hand catching the strap of her bag and gently lifting it from her shoulder. He set the bag on the mahogany table.
“The truffles can wait, Mara,” he said.
“I don't like to be late, Nico,” she said, using his first name for the first time since she had walked into his building.
Nico’s eyes softened, a sudden, dark warmth replacing the iron stillness that usually defined his features. He reached out, his fingers sliding into the loose hairs at the nape of her neck, his thumb lifting her chin until she had to look straight into his dark green eyes.
“My mother wants to know if you’ve found a dress for the Assumption feast next month,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly whisper that made her throat tighten. “She says the church in the Ward is very traditional. She says the woman who sits in the front pew next to her needs to wear something that matches the family colors.”
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Mara felt her heart give a sudden, violent lurch against her ribs—a sensation that felt entirely different from the professional caution she had practiced for thirteen years. “The front pew is for the family, Nico.”
“I know,” he whispered, his face moving closer until she could feel the heat of his breath against her lips. “That’s why I’m asking.”
