Chapter 4
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"Madam," Marco reported, his voice steady though his eyes glinted dangerously, "our boys picked up Anthony at that south side dive. Vincent's right-hand man was running his mouth to Gambino soldiers, saying a woman-led Rossi Family is doomed to collapse."
I was pruning black tulips when he delivered the news. My scissors snapped shut, severing a perfect bloom right at the stem.
"Where is he now?" I asked without looking up.
"In the basement. Awaiting your judgment."
The basement air hung cold and damp, a single naked bulb casting sickly yellow light over the man bound to a chair. Anthony's eyes widened with terror when I entered. He thrashed against his restraints, making desperate sounds behind his gag.
I circled him slowly, my heels clicking sharply against concrete—each step a deliberate assault on his fraying nerves. With a flick of my wrist, Marco stepped forward and yanked the gag from his mouth.
"Please, Madam! Have mercy!" Anthony burst out, words tumbling over each other. "Vincent put me up to it! It was all his idea!"
I ignored his pathetic babbling and took a folder from Marco, placing it deliberately on the crate before him. Inside: detailed records of his Gambino meetings—dates, locations, and transcripts of his treasonous conversations.
"Anthony," I said softly, my voice carrying the chill of a winter grave, "you weren't just badmouthing me to rivals. You were selling our shipping routes too, weren't you?"
The blood drained from Anthony's face, sweat beading on his forehead. His mouth worked silently like a landed fish gasping for water.
"Vincent is merely an idiot," I said, fixing him with an icy stare. "But you—you're both stupid and greedy. Your blood will remind everyone what betrayal costs in this family."
Without another glance, I turned toward the stairs.
"Marco, call a meeting of all capos for tomorrow morning," I said as I reached the bottom step. "Bring him too. His judgment should be public."
The next morning, the great hall filled once again, but the atmosphere had transformed completely. Gone were the contemptuous glances and calculating stares. Now they kept their eyes lowered, faces taut with tension. From my position in the massive chair at the head of the room, I studied each downturned face, each hiding their own agenda.
Vincent stood among them, face ashen, his gaze darting everywhere except toward me.
"I've gathered you all here today to witness something important," I began. Though I spoke quietly, the hall fell so silent you could hear a breath drawn.
Marco took his cue and hauled Anthony to the center of the room. The man hung limp in his grasp, a broken doll with terror-glazed eyes.
I read each piece of evidence methodically. With every damning detail, Vincent's body gave a small jerk, and the air in the room grew thicker. When I finished, I let my gaze sweep across the assembly.
"According to Rossi Family code, what happens to a rat who sells out his own blood?"
No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe.
"Vincent," I turned my attention to him, watching him flinch like I'd struck him, "this is your man. Anything to say?"
"Isabella… please… he just made a mistake," Vincent croaked, taking a hesitant step forward. "For God's sake, show mercy!"
"I'm not asking for your input." My cold interruption froze him mid-step. "I'm simply keeping you informed."
I turned back to Anthony, whose desperate eyes begged for clemency. All I saw was that severed black tulip.
"Marco," I ordered, my tone as casual as discussing the weather, "carry out the sentence."
"No—!" Vincent's cry tore through the silence.
Too late. Without hesitation, Marco drew his silenced pistol, pressed it to Anthony's forehead, and squeezed the trigger. A soft thud, then silence. Anthony crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around him like spilled wine.
The room stood paralyzed by the swift brutality. A few younger members gasped before quickly stifling the sound behind their hands. Every eye turned to me, filled with newfound terror.
"From this day forward," my voice cut through the silence like a blade, "anyone who defies Rossi Family law or betrays our interests will meet the same end."
I rose, letting my gaze travel across every face before settling on Vincent's bloodless countenance.
"Clean this up." I dropped the words like stones and walked out, leaving behind nothing but silence and the copper scent of blood.
With the rats in my own house exterminated, I could finally focus my attention on the traitorous couple playing paradise.
"Marco, reach out to our contacts at Swiss Union and the Caymans," I instructed from behind my desk. "Freeze every account with Dante's name or fingerprints on it. Not a penny gets through."
"Consider it done, ma'am."
"And dispatch someone to St. Barts to have a chat with the local players," I continued, tracing the tiny island on the map with my fingertip. "Make it clear that Dante Rossi is our most wanted traitor. Anyone who helps him becomes an enemy of the entire Rossi organization."
Days later, under the brilliant Caribbean sun, Dante wrapped his arm around Valentina's waist as they finished lunch at an exclusive beachfront restaurant. With practiced elegance, he handed his black card to the waiter—that small rectangle of plastic representing unlimited wealth.
The waiter swiped it repeatedly before returning with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, sir. Your card has been declined."
Dante frowned, assuming a technical glitch, and offered another card. Same result. Growing annoyed, he pulled out his phone to make a transfer—only to discover every account locked. A chill of foreboding washed over him.
Meanwhile, at their rented beachfront villa, local muscle kicked in the door and began hurling their designer luggage onto the street.
"Get the fuck off this island!" one shouted. "The Rossi Family says you ain't welcome here no more!"
Dante and Valentina returned to find themselves homeless, their possessions ransacked, their cash gone. The truth hit Dante like a physical blow—this was no coincidence. The hunt had begun. For the first time in his life, he tasted real fear.
As darkness fell, they huddled in a seedy motel room. Dante paced like a caged animal before finally snatching up the phone to dial a number he'd sworn he'd never use.
The line connected. A deep, gravelly voice answered: "Dante? You've got some balls calling me."
"Don Luciano," Dante's voice cracked with desperation, "we're in trouble. Isabella—she's taken over the family. She's hunting us down! All my accounts are frozen! For your daughter's sake, please help us!"
Silence stretched across the line. Valentina pressed her ear close to the receiver, her face alight with desperate hope.
Her father's response hit like a bucket of ice water.
"The elegant Mrs. Rossi?" Don Luciano's voice held no warmth, only cold calculation. "Word is she unified the family in a day with an iron fist. A woman who can make the entire Rossi organization kneel isn't someone I'm eager to cross."
"Daddy!" Valentina cried out. "I'm your daughter!"
"Fix your own mess, Dante," Don Luciano continued, ignoring his daughter's pleas. "The moment you two ran off together, you both became dead to the Luciano family. I'm not starting a war with a newly-crowned and pissed-off Godmother Rossi over your stupid romance."
The line went dead.
Dante collapsed to his knees, the phone clattering to the floor. Valentina stood frozen, tears streaming down her once-flawless face.
"He… he cut us off?" she whispered.
Dante looked up at her, raw terror in his eyes. "We're done," he rasped. "We're nothing but strays now."
