"You can try," I said.
I adjusted my grip on the leather handle of my suitcase. With my free hand, I reached into the breast pocket of my blazer. I pulled out my heavy Montblanc fountain pen and slammed it down onto the mahogany console table beside the doorway. The gold nib bit into the polished wood, leaving a deep, permanent scratch.
"The trust agreement from twenty years ago requires exactly one signature," I told Dante, locking my eyes on his. "Mine. I am the sole signatory of the entire estate. No banker in this city will touch those funds without this exact pen in my hand."
Dante stared at the pen, his face draining of color. "You forged the original documents."
"I structured them," I corrected. "I protected my assets from a husband who thought he could replace me the day after our wedding. You signed the papers without reading the clauses. That is your failure, not my forgery."
"I will have the lawyers tear that trust apart," Dante threatened, though his voice lacked its usual booming confidence.
"Pay them with what?" I asked. "Your accounts are frozen. Your credit is dead. You cannot even afford the gas to drive to their offices."
Footsteps slapped frantically against the marble floor. Isabella scurried down the hall, her silk slippers sliding wildly on the slick surface. She clutched a matte-black credit card in her fist, waving it like a distress flag.
"Dante!" she shrieked, completely ignoring the gun Marcello still held on her lover. "The salon just called! My card declined for the standing appointment. They told me the account does not exist!"
"Not now, Isabella," Dante barked, his eyes never leaving my face.
"But they canceled my facial!" Isabella whined, stomping her foot. "The manager laughed at me on the phone. Me! The Madrina! Fix this immediately, Dante. I refuse to be humiliated by the hired help."
Before Dante could answer, heavy footsteps pounded up the grand staircase. Leo stormed into the corridor. His face flushed a deep, ugly crimson, completely devoid of the smug arrogance he wore at the dinner table last night.
"What did you do?" Leo shouted, pointing directly at me.
"I packed a bag," I replied smoothly.
"The dealership just loaded my custom Ferrari back onto the flatbed!" Leo yelled, his voice cracking. "The driver said the wire transfer bounced! My friends were standing right there recording the delivery! I looked like a joke!"
"Then they got a very entertaining video," I said.
"Fix it!" Leo demanded. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ceremonial silver key fob the dealer had given him, and threw it onto the floor between us. "Call the bank and authorize the payment right now."
I stared at the boy I carried for nine months. The son who tore my body apart during labor, only to pledge his absolute loyalty to a woman whining about a canceled facial.
"Or what?" I asked, tilting my head. "You will complain to your real mother?"
"I will have the capos drag you back here!" Leo threatened. "They answer to me now!"
"The capos answer to the payroll," I corrected him. "And the payroll account vanished at three this morning. By noon, those loyal men will realize their direct deposits did not clear. How much respect do you think they will show the new harbor boss when he cannot even pay their salaries?"
Leo's face paled. He glanced at Dante, seeking reassurance.
Dante refused to look at him.
"Call the bank, Caterina," Dante ordered, his voice dropping an octave. "Do not do this to the boy on his first day."
"He is a man today," I reminded Dante, throwing his own words from last night back in his face. "He speaks his own mind. Let him solve his own problems."
"Call the bank!" Leo screamed, stepping closer. "That car is mine! I need to arrive in that car to show the capos I am in charge!"
"You are unemployed," I said softly. "The harbor operations run on my money. And my money just left the building."
Isabella gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Leo, do not let her speak to you this way. You are the heir."
"Heir to what?" I asked, shifting my gaze to Isabella. "Dante's massive gambling debts? The empty shell companies I spent two decades keeping afloat? You wanted to be his mother, Isabella. You wanted the title. Well, congratulations. You can pay for his sports cars now."
"Dante, do something!" Isabella cried out, tugging on his sleeve. "She is ruining everything! Tell her to give the money back!"
"Shut up, Isabella," Dante hissed. He turned back to me, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Caterina, let us discuss this rationally. You are angry. I understand. We can negotiate."
"I am not angry," I said. "I am finished."
"You cannot just walk away from the syndicate!" Leo shouted. "You owe us!"
"I owe you nothing," I countered. "I bought your clothes. I paid your tutors. I funded the bribes that kept your father out of federal prison. And last night, you knelt on a Persian rug and told the entire family I was just a signature on a contract."
"You are!" Leo spat. "Isabella is the heart of this family!"
"Then let her pump the blood," I said.
I stepped forward. My shoe connected with the silver key fob resting on the marble. I kicked the keys straight across the floor. They skidded over the polished stone, caught the lip of the hearth, and tumbled directly into the roaring fireplace.
The flames swallowed the silver instantly, the plastic casing melting with a sharp hiss.
Leo stared at the fire, his mouth hanging open. "Are you insane?"
"I am cutting my losses," I said.
"You vindictive bitch!" Leo roared.
He lunged. His hands hooked into claws, aiming straight for my throat.
He didn't make it halfway.
Marcello moved. My bodyguard didn't just step in the way. He planted his custom leather shoe directly into Leo's chest. The impact sounded like a cracking whip.
Leo flew backward. He crashed hard into the velvet sofa against the wall, flipping over the armrest and landing in a tangled heap of limbs on the floor.
"Leo!" Isabella screamed, rushing over to him. She dropped to her knees, pawing at his face. "My baby! Are you hurt? Someone call a doctor!"
Leo groaned, clutching his ribs, unable to catch his breath.
"You lay a hand on my son?" Dante shouted, his eyes wide with fury.
"He lunged at the Boss," Marcello stated, his voice completely flat. "Next time, I break his collarbone."
I looked down at the pathetic display. Isabella crying over a grown man throwing a temper tantrum. Dante shaking with impotent rage. This was the family I had bled for.
"Keep the house, Dante," I said, grabbing my suitcase handle. "The bank takes it on Friday anyway. Enjoy the dark."
I turned my back on them and walked toward the grand staircase.
A sharp, metallic rasp echoed behind me.
"Turn around, Caterina."
Dante's voice held a lethal, terrifying calm. It lacked the frantic yelling from a moment ago.
I stopped.
"Drop the gun, Dante," Marcello ordered.
I glanced over my shoulder. Dante stood rigid, a silver revolver leveled dead at my spine. Right beside him, Marcello had shifted his stance, the black barrel of his Glock pressed flush against Dante's neck.
Nobody breathed.
