More surprises await in the next chapter.

-9-

Three weeks after the ink dried on the divorce decree, the sprawling Moretti estate in Greenwich, Connecticut—once a symbol of unassailable mafia wealth—stood silent and half-abandoned behind ten-foot iron security gates.

I sat in the sunlit conservatory of the main manor, sipping Earl Grey tea while sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass panes, warming the imported lemon trees that lined the stone terrace.

Nico was three weeks old now, sleeping soundly in a custom bassinet beside my chair. He had grown stronger, his little fists no longer clenched in perpetual fury, his breathing deep and peaceful.

The heavy oak doors of the conservatory clicked open.

Elena walked in, carrying a thick stack of mail and a secure tablet displaying our daily portfolio metrics.

“The transition of the municipal trust is officially complete,” Elena announced, dropping the tablet onto the glass coffee table with a triumphant smile. “Every single zoning board member, police captain, and municipal judge who was previously on the Moretti payroll has officially transitioned their loyalty to our new real estate holding corporation. You are officially the most influential landlord in New York, Serena.”

“Good,” I murmured, taking a sip of tea. “And the federal audit?”

“Completely cleared of any personal liability,” Elena said, pulling up a chair. “Marcus Vance reviewed the final filings this morning. Because we separated your personal assets from the syndicate accounts before filing the divorce, the government views you as a whistle-blowing victim rather than an accomplice.”

I nodded slowly, looking out over the manicured lawns of the Greenwich estate. Everything was in place. The empire was secured, my son was safe, and the men who had built their lives on violence and intimidation were currently tearing themselves apart in the ruins of their own underworld.

Suddenly, the security tablet on the table buzzed violently. A red alert banner flashed across the screen:

“PERIMETER BREACH - GATE 3 - MANUAL OVERRIDE DETECTED.”

Elena sprang to her feet instantly, her eyes widening. “What? That’s impossible. Gate 3 requires biometric clearance and a rotating military-grade cipher!”

“Someone bypassed it,” I said calmly, setting my teacup down on the saucer without the slightest tremor in my hand. I stood up, walked over to the wall-mounted security monitor, and tapped the live feed from the front gate cameras.

The screen flickered, displaying the heavy iron gates of Greenwich Manor.

Standing outside in the rain—completely alone, soaking wet, and shivering in an expensive, ruined designer coat—was Bianca Romano.

She didn't look like the arrogant mistress who had sipped wine in a white villa in Sicily. Her hair was plastered to her face, her makeup was entirely washed away by the storm, and her eyes were wide with a frantic, animalistic terror.

“She’s alone?” Elena asked, staring at the monitor in disbelief. “Where are her bodyguards? Where is Dante?”

“They abandoned her,” I said quietly, watching Bianca raise her hands and bang weakly against the iron bars of the gate. “Mateo took the forty million in slush funds, Dante fled to Europe, and Bianca was left holding the bag when the federal warrants were issued for the Romano family yesterday morning.”

“Are you going to let her in?” Elena asked, her voice tight with suspicion. “Serena, she’s dangerous. She might be desperate enough to try something stupid.”