Chapter 5 - The New Foundation
By evening, the Romano estate felt entirely different.
The ghost of Isabella Vance had been scrubbed clean from the rooms. Her clothes, her cosmetics, and her portrait in the East Gallery had been packed into heavy wooden crates and shipped back to her father’s estate in Chicago before the sun set.
Allessandro stood on the stone balcony outside his second-floor study, holding a glass of scotch, watching the city lights of Federal Hill flicker to life across the valley.
The autumn wind was brisk, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and coming rain.
For ten years, he had believed that power meant building walls high enough to keep enemies out. He had believed that trust was a luxury a mafia boss could never afford, that everyone around him had a price, and that safety was just an illusion maintained by guns and guards.
He had been wrong.
The strongest shield in his house hadn't been a wall of armed men or a sophisticated security system. It had been a six-year-old girl holding a cloth doll with a button eye, standing in the quiet morning light, brave enough to whisper the truth when everyone else was waiting for him to fall.
A soft knock sounded at the study door.
“Enter,” Allessandro said without turning around.
Marco stepped into the room, holding a thick manila envelope bearing the stamp of the Romano legal division.
“Boss,” Marco said respectfully. “The transfer papers for Grace and Emma Parker are finalized. They’ve already started packing their things for the new house. The movers arrive at dawn.”
“Good,” Allessandro murmured, taking a slow sip of his scotch. “And the Vance family?”
“Her father called three hours ago,” Marco reported, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “He apologized for his daughter’s actions, confirmed the shipping alliance will proceed under our terms, and assured you that Isabella has been sent away to a private estate in the Swiss Alps indefinitely. She won't be returning to Federal Hill.”
Allessandro nodded once.
“Let her freeze in the mountains,” he said coldly. “The debt is settled.”
Marco turned to leave, then paused at the door. “By the way, Boss... the wedding invitations that were supposed to go out next week? What do you want us to do with them?”
Allessandro looked back out over the glittering expanse of the city, watching the church bells in the valley ring out across the night.
“Burn them,” Allessandro said quietly. “And tell the kitchens to prepare a real celebration tomorrow. We aren't celebrating a wedding.”
“What are we celebrating, Boss?” Marco asked, tilting his head.
May you like
Allessandro smiled—a rare, genuine expression that reached his eyes for the first time in years.
“We are celebrating the fact that honesty still exists in this world,” Allessandro replied, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “And that the most dangerous person in this house is no longer wearing a diamond ring.”
