Caterina POV:

I arrived at the heavily fortified hotel two hours early.

The Commission summit was the most important event in the underworld calendar, and I treated it like a battlefield. My battlefield.

I meticulously checked all my secure interpretation equipment in the soundproof booth overlooking the main conference hall.

My professionalism was my armor.

Bianca appeared at the door of the booth, her eyes puffy.

She wore a pale pink dress, trying to project an image of innocence.

"Can we just talk for a minute?"

I didn't even look up from the console. "I'm working," I said.

She lingered for a moment before scurrying away.

From my elevated position, I watched them all file in-the Dons, the Underbosses, the Consiglieri.

Jared took his seat at the main table, looking every bit the powerful mafioso. A slight stiffness in his shoulder was the only sign of his recent 'heroism.'

The summit began.

I slipped into my professional persona, becoming a seamless extension of the technology around me.

My mind became a conduit, my voice a neutral instrument.

Sicilian. Russian. English. The words flowed through me, flawless and precise.

I was invisible, yet essential.

During the first recess, the Dons of the Chicago and New York Families approached me, their faces etched with respect.

"Incredible work, Ms. Quinn," the Chicago Don said, his voice a gravelly rumble.

"Your skill is unmatched."

Just then, Jared materialized at my side, a proprietary smile on his face.

"She's the best," he said, attempting to place a hand on the small of my back.

"My wife," he added.

I sidestepped the touch with a grace born of years of practice.

"Thank you, Don Moretti," I said, addressing the Chicago boss directly while completely ignoring Jared.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for the next session."

I walked away, leaving Jared standing there, his hand awkwardly suspended mid-air.

In the hallway, I saw Rocco Walsh conferring with his head of security.

He saw me and gave a curt nod.

I approached him.

"Don Walsh," I said quietly.

"A hypothetical question, if I may."

His steel-grey eyes fixed on me.

"Go on."

"Hypothetically," I began, "if someone on your crew jeopardized a critical operation and the lives of your soldiers for purely personal reasons... how would you handle it?"

His expression didn't change, but his eyes grew colder, harder.

"On my crew?" he said, his voice flat and final.

"They'd be permanently removed."

I nodded slowly.

"I understand."

Back in my booth for the afternoon session, I felt a new sense of clarity.

During a lull in the proceedings, a Don from a neutral territory-a man I knew to be a close associate of Giuliano Wilson-keyed his microphone.

"Ms. Quinn," he said, his voice echoing through the silent hall.

"A question for you. Of all your professional principles, which one are you most proud of?"

Caterina POV:

I looked out over the silent hall, at the assembled ranks of the most dangerous men in the country.

My eyes found Jared's.

He was smiling, confident, the perfect picture of an Underboss secure in his position.

The Don from the neutral territory waited for my answer.

"Ms. Quinn? Your proudest professional principle?"

I keyed the microphone.

My voice was clear, steady, and carried to every corner of the room-the same voice I used to translate death sentences.

"My professional principle is composure," I said. "The ability to calmly deliver the order to 'rescue the asset,' knowing my own husband was abandoning me to die for her."

Jared's smile froze on his face, the perfect picture of an Underboss secure in his position now shattering. It was like watching a statue crack.

A thick, heavy silence fell over the room.

It was absolute.

No one coughed.

No one shifted in their seat.

It was the predatory quiet of sharks who had just smelled blood in the water.

After what felt like an eternity, the summit chairman cleared his throat and moved on to the next point of business.

But the damage was done.

The bomb had gone off.

When the session was finally dismissed, I was packing up my equipment when Jared, face a mask of fury, stormed into the booth.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, his voice a low, venomous whisper that barely cut through the buzzing in my ears.

I looked up at him, my expression a carefully constructed blank slate.

"I've never been more sane."

He took a step toward me, his hand raised as if to grab me, when suddenly, two men in dark suits filled the doorway.

They were built like brick walls, Rocco Walsh's soldiers.

They just stood there, blocking Jared's path-a silent, immovable threat.

Jared froze, his eyes darting from them to me.

Rocco himself appeared behind them.

He nodded once at me.

"Ms. Quinn."

Without another word, he escorted me out of the booth and down a private hallway to a secluded lounge.

"Well done," he said, once the door was closed.

I took a breath, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off, leaving a tremor in my hands.

"Was that too reckless?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He looked at me, his steel-grey eyes unblinking, unwavering.

"You were defending your honor. In our world, Caterina, there is nothing more important."

A sharp knock came at the door.

One of Rocco's men opened it, revealing Jared, his face flushed with raw rage.

"I need to speak with my wife," he demanded.

Rocco didn't even turn around.

"No," he said, his voice flat, final. "Her security is my responsibility for the duration of this summit. You are not to approach her again."

The soldier closed the door firmly in Jared's face.

A moment later, Bianca appeared, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

She tried to push past the guard.

"Caterina, please..." she pleaded, her voice thick with tears.

Rocco moved with surprising speed, physically blocking the doorway with his own body.

He was an immovable mountain she could not bypass.

I walked to the door and looked down at her.

"Associate Brooks," I said, my voice cold as ice, every word a deliberate chip of frost. "If you interfere with Commission business again, I will have you removed from the premises."

She flinched as if I'd physically slapped her.

Rocco shut the door firmly.

He turned back to me, a flicker of disgust crossing his steel-grey eyes.

"She's a nuisance," he stated.

"Yes," I agreed, meeting his gaze.

"Excessive tolerance, I've found, only invites further disrespect."

Caterina POV:

At the formal dinner that evening, I could feel the weight of every gaze in the room. I was no longer the invisible interpreter; I was a player on the board. The looks were a mixture of shock, calculation, and, from some, a surprising amount of respect.

The wife of the Chicago Don, a formidable matriarch named Lena Moretti, approached me. Her diamonds glittered, but her eyes were sharper.

"Ms. Quinn," she said, her voice low and appreciative. "That was a masterclass in professionalism and courage today. Your husband is a fool. He doesn't know how to value a true asset."

Before I could reply, Jared cornered me near the terrace doors, his face a tight mask of civility.

"Kathy, we need to talk."

"We have nothing to say to each other, Jared."

"You're going to ruin our future," he hissed, his grip tightening on my elbow.

I pulled my arm away. "My future does not depend on you," I stated, my voice dangerously quiet.

"What did you expect?" I asked, my voice laced with ice. "Did you expect me to continue playing the part of the devoted wife after you left me for dead?"

He lost his temper, his voice rising slightly. "You're making a scene."

"I am merely stating facts," I replied calmly.

"It's your one-sided interpretation!" he sneered.

I slowly pulled my phone from my clutch, the polished surface cool against my fingertips. My thumb hovered over the screen. "Do you want to hear the other side? I have it right here."

His face went white, the blood draining from it so fast I thought he might faint.

Just then, Bianca materialized beside us, a vision in a pale pink dress clearly meant to convey fragility. Her eyes, however, held a calculated innocence as she feigned ignorance. "Jared? Is everything okay? Caterina, what you said today... it felt a little inappropriate, don't you think?"

I looked her dead in the eye, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Tell me, Bianca, when is the right time to speak the truth? Should I have waited until your coward got me killed?"

She recoiled, speechless.

A large, warm hand settled firmly on the small of my back. It was Rocco. "Ms. Quinn," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble that effortlessly cut through the lingering tension. "A guest wishes to speak with you."

He guided me away, his touch firm and undeniably possessive. As he led me across the grand ballroom, I didn't look back-not even once. With a sudden, profoundly liberating clarity, I realized Jared and Bianca were no longer my problem. They were, quite simply, beneath my contempt.