Their Queenpin (The Ridge MC #6)

Chapter 30Adelina

Chapter Thirty

Adelina

I’d ridden in my father’s limo thousands of times, both with and without him. This time felt different.

Alessio slammed the door in my face, locking me inside. He slipped into the front passenger seat and as soon as the door closed, Marcello pulled away from the curb.

My father sat opposite of me with his legs crossed. His black suit was the same black as the limo’s interior. Old cigar smoke lingered in the leather seats, and no matter how many times they had been cleaned with some lemon-scented treatment, it still reeked.

Tiny waves of amber liquid jiggled in the glass bottles filled with expensive liquor at the small bar. Scotch, probably, but I had no taste for the shit my father liked. It smelled like stinky gym socks.

Pity, though, because I needed a drink to be around my father. However, with the hearing and the gun resting in my lap, I also needed to also keep my head on straight.

“You look nice today,” began my father.

I guessed he had to start somewhere, but the small talk caught me off guard.

“Thank you,” I replied in a clipped tone.

“I thought you would be wearing more elegant heels.”

It was hard to wear formal heels on a bike, so I’d opted for lower, chunkier heels. Riding with Rafe might’ve meant the old truck or the bike, so I’d chosen my attire carefully. Pants and low heels. A safer option than the skirt I’d first considered.

“Did you really get me into this car to talk about my footwear?” I asked.

“I didn’t force you, Adelina,” said my father, that old scolding tone lingering in his voice no matter how much he tried to hide it.

I scoffed.

My father growled, “Don’t, Adelina.”

“Why did you insist on driving me?” I demanded.

My father narrowed his eyes on me, calculating. Was he concocting the best punishment for me? Or possibly the best way to teach me another lesson?

Perhaps he would take me into his infamous bloody room and show me all the ways he tortured people. I had already seen it as a child. The fear had always been deep in my belly that he would tie me up and take a knife to my skin, cutting me where it hurt the most. The way he had with all the men he tortured for the Mafia.

“Look, I don’t want to be part in your Mafia business,” I said to my father. “I never wanted to be. Even now, I don’t. And I certainly don’t want my husband involved, either.”

My father said, “Mr. Tate is the one who brought the deal to the table.”

“Sas,” I corrected him. “And trust me, I’ll be having words with him about that.”

“And you believe he’ll listen to these... words?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, there’s obviously no way I can control him. But once hears me out, I would put money on him backing me—until death do us part, remember?” I smirked at him.

Also, I had Graff and Rafe. If my words didn’t work, perhaps my other men could talk Sas out of getting in bed with La Famiglia. Graff, especially.

My father arched an eyebrow at me. “Are you telling me you have no interest in going after the Rojas brothers?”

That shot a hole straight through my gut, but I didn’t twitch. Instead, I drummed my fingers on the purse in my lap, working to keep my expression entirely neutral. “I personally don’t.”

“But the MC does.”

I wouldn’t feign innocence in this. “There isn’t anyone in the MC who wants a war with the cartel.”

The words out in the wild, I snapped my mouth shut. It was more than I should’ve revealed.

He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t give off any signal to tip me off as to what he game he was working now. But his words challenged me. “You think there will be a war?”

“Don’t play with me, Father,” I snapped.

“I’m not playing, Adelina.” He spread his hands and re-clasped them in his lap, twirling the ring on his right pinky finger. “Testing you, yes. But not playing.”

“Don’t do that either,” I said too quickly, but then I narrowed my eyes. There was more that he wasn’t saying. Things like why he would bring up the Rojas brothers that I should probably try to ferret out. But I really wanted no more of the conversation.

We both stayed silent as the limo pulled to a stop at an intersection. I kept my eyes fixated on his, refusing to look away or give him more information until I understood what he already knew. Whatever came next, he wasn’t getting the better of me now. Not like he’d done the last time I’d ridden in his limo.

The time he’d sold me off like chattel.

Remember that, Adelina, I told myself. Never forget the lengths this man will go to to get what he wants.

“It’s funny, Daughter, how you think you’ve cornered the market of keeping tabs on our rivals. I’ll admit, though, your hacker is good. What’s his name?”

I raised a brow at him. If he truly didn’t know, which I suspected was a farce, I wouldn’t say.

He waved his hand as though dismissing the thought and continued, “The Rojas brothers—nay, the whole Medellín Cartel is working the MC hard. After all, weren’t they why the jewel heist became a thing?”

I scrutinized him like he scrutinized me, my eyes a reflection of his. Caterina had our mother’s eyes—a hazel that picked up the colors of whatever outfit she wore. I’d often envied her of those eyes rather than my brown so deep they almost appeared black.

I caught my reflection in the tinted windows, seeing my father mirrored back to me. “You wanted to be in on it too.”

“I’m an entrepreneur,” he said simply. “And I’ve had my eyes on the New York market for a long time.”

I laughed. “Always looking for the next move in business.”

“You know that about me, Adelina. You’ve always known.”

“Which is why I’m getting fine with the fact that I’m not under your wing anymore.”

My father painted on a small, rare smile. “You need me still, even though you’re fighting it.”

“You need us as much as we need you,” I threw back at him, but I’d walked right into his trap.

“Which makes you one of the MC. Neck deep.”

“I don’t have the kind of connections you do. The MC doesn’t have that far of reach, either.” I was only an old lady.

Like Melanie and Maddie.

Not a bunny but definitely a whore for my men.

But then there was Bou. Pregnant Bou. The First Lady in the club, who was strong enough to bring a baby into this world.

Could I be someone like Bou someday? Prove my usefulness.

“You have all the right connections,” said my father. “You have been strategically placed.”

“By you,” I snapped, baring my teeth. I didn’t care if I looked like a rabid dog.

“More than me,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “As if that matters when you’re the one calling the shots.”

“Fine, Adelina,” he said with a huff. “You see through my facade.”

“I have seen through it for a long time,” I said. “But it was never as close to me as it is now.”

“Oh, it always was, mia figlia.”

I gritted my teeth at the familiar, no longer wanting his little Italian terms of endearment.

“The difference now is that you are no longer pretending to be one of the carefree Mafia daughters. You’re no longer acting like you belong in a mall, shopping for frivolous things like your mother. You don’t want the charity event planning or the champagne brunches Neomi loves so much, do you?”

Fuck! He had me pinned like a voodoo doll.

“Bullshit!” I spat, but it lacked the venom I wanted to spray at him.

He ignored my language this time.

“You are no longer hiding. You have grown into a smart businesswoman, Adelina.” he said, his tone changing, taking on that note of approval I had spent my childhood chasing. He studied me now, his eyes sharp and calculating, but more lurked behind them—something close to pride.

I studied him back because the compliment didn’t resonate. It wasn’t right. Or genuine. But there was something about the way he looked at me, like he was assessing his work. The satisfaction in his eyes made my stomach churn.

“Look at you,” he continued, his voice quiet, thoughtful. “Not the little girl hiding in the shadows of men, afraid to get her hands dirty. No. You’ve stepped into the game and put yourself on the board. You’ve become ruthless, Adelina, like me. That’s what it takes to survive in this world.”

An uncomfortable heat rose in my chest. I hated that word— ruthless . It was everything I had never wanted to be. All the cold, calculating nature of my father that allowed him to use his family as pawns.

But here I was, back in his limo, dealing with Mafia business, a gun in reach, trying to protect the men I loved. Part of me knew he was right. I had changed and stepped into his world, and now I was playing a role I never believed I would.

He leaned back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, a rare expression that held no mockery, no condescension.

He looked pleased. “You know, I think you’re more like me than you’d like to admit. It’s not a bad thing. You’re strong. Decisive. You understand that sacrifices have to be made, and you’re willing to do what it takes.”

I had to clench my jaw to keep myself from snapping at him. He wanted me to see the world through his lens—to see power and control as the only things worth having. He wanted me to become his successor in spirit, if not in title.

“You think I want to be like you?” I asked, my voice low, dangerous. My fingers twitched on top of my purse.

He shrugged, as if the answer didn’t matter. “Whether you want it or not, it’s what you’re becoming. Learning the rules. Stepping into the arena. You, my daughter, are not only surviving—you’re fighting. And you’re winning.”

A chill run through me.

Winning? I wasn’t winning. I was clawing my way through a nightmare, barely managing to keep everyone I loved alive.

But to him, that was victory. To him, ruthlessness, manipulation, and power were everything. And he was proud of me for it. That I had learned to use people, to maneuver them like pieces on a chessboard.

At twenty-two, I had gone through more shit than other girls—no, women my age. The girls I had gone to college with were still playing at entry-level corporate jobs, getting ready to spend their lives in a grind that only benefitted the narcissists at the top.

But I faced an entirely different kind of narcissist right now. One whose blood flowed through my veins too.

Was this what made me a woman ? Because I no longer looked for my father’s approval. Nor did I fear his rejection. My younger sister needed both, but she would’ve had a rude awakening when she finally made it through college—assuming our dear old dad had similar intentions for her in the back of his mind.

I turned my gaze away, staring out the window at the cityscape passing by. The courthouse rose in the distance, its gray facade looming. A reminder of where we were heading. A reminder of Sas.

With a deep breath, I turned back to him, my eyes hard.

“You’re wrong, you know,” I said. “I’m not doing this for power. And I’m sure as shit not doing it to win.”

He arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Define the word win, Adelina.”

“I’m doing this because I have people I love. And I will do whatever it takes to protect them.”

“So, to you, that’s winning.” He shrugged.

“No, Father. That’s what makes me different from you.”

He smiled again, and it made the hair on my neck rise.

The limo slowed, and he glanced out.

“We’re here. But before you go, Adelina,” he said, “consider this. Love is to be used. It’s like any other tool in this world, whether you like it or not.”

When the wheels stopped, energy to move thrummed through me. Without another word, I pushed the door open and stepped out, my low heels clicking on the pavement.

I didn’t look back. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Ahead, at the top of the steps, Melanie, in her business coat and pencil skirt, waved me over.