Chapter 10
1983words
I announced an extravagant celebration at our magnificent Lakeside Estate. This wasn't just marking an anniversary—it was my true coronation, a display of dominance for the entire underworld to witness.
Invitations went out to every family head in our alliance, plus those who'd once hesitated but now couldn't afford to stand against me. They'd come—partly to share in the winner's circle, but mostly because they feared what refusing might cost them.
The estate grounds were manicured to perfection, with white roses and black tulips creating a striking contrast against emerald lawns. Champagne towers caught the light like liquid gold, while Michelin-starred chefs flown in from Paris prepared a feast for the history books. Every detail screamed one thing: power.
My capos circulated among the guests, their faces glowing with genuine pride. My leadership had brought them wealth and respect beyond their wildest dreams. The Rossi Family's resurgence was their personal triumph too.
In the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers turned night to day. I wore a black velvet gown from Milan's finest atelier, its hem adorned with diamonds arranged like constellations that caught the light with every step.
The heads of Chicago's crime families lined up to toast me, each offering more elaborate praise than the last.
"Donna Isabella, your brilliance has captivated all of Chicago," gushed an old capo who'd once sworn brotherhood with Dante. Now he bowed lower than the meekest servant. "The Rossis will reach heights never before imagined under your guidance."
"Madam, you're like a rare black pearl that makes all others seem dull by comparison," said a young East Coast heir, his eyes burning with barely concealed desire. "Any man would consider it life's greatest honor to stand beside a woman like you."
I smiled and raised my glass, touching it to each of theirs in turn. I spoke little, but my eyes conveyed everything: I value your loyalty, I recognize your ambition, and I hold all the cards.
Marco stood nearby in the shadows, his normally granite features softened by the faintest hint of pride. He watched me like a guardian admiring his life's work finally achieving perfection. This man who'd seen me at my lowest now witnessed my ascension to true power.
As the celebration reached its crescendo, I ascended the stage. The room fell instantly silent, hundreds of eyes fixed on me—filled with reverence, admiration, and undisguised envy.
I took the microphone, my voice ringing clear and commanding throughout the vast hall.
"Thank you all for joining me to celebrate the rebirth of the Rossi Family."
"In just one year, through the support of our allies and the dedication of every family member, the Rossi organization has increased its holdings by fifty percent. Our territory now stretches beyond Illinois into Indiana and Wisconsin."
Gasps and spontaneous applause erupted from the crowd. Such growth was unheard of—borderline miraculous in their world.
I raised my champagne flute, the golden liquid catching the light. My gaze swept across the assembly before turning toward the darkness beyond the windows.
"To our future," I said. "And to our past…" A cold smile played across my lips. "To the downfall of traitors and the triumph of the faithful!"
"Glory!" The crowd roared back, their voices nearly shaking the chandeliers.
……
Meanwhile, in a squalid, sweltering Mexican border town…
A woman's shriek cut through the stagnant air of a crumbling apartment.
"Where's the money? You worthless piece of shit! You can't even scrape together rent money! That fat bastard landlord is going to throw us into the street!" Valentina's hair hung in greasy strands around her face, her once-beautiful features ravaged by cheap liquor and constant despair. Deep lines cut from her eyes like claw marks. She screamed at the man huddled in the corner, her voice as shrill as a wounded animal.
Dante sat motionless on a mildewed mattress, staring at his open palms. These hands—once adorned with monogrammed cufflinks, once signing million-dollar contracts—were now cut and filthy from digging through garbage for anything worth selling.
"You've got the nerve to just sit there like a zombie?" Valentina snatched an empty bottle and smashed it against the wall, sending glass flying. "Remember what you promised me? That Isabella was just some dumb bitch we could easily fool? That we'd live like royalty once we had her money? Look at us now—we're living worse than fucking stray dogs!"
"Shut up…" Dante finally spoke, his voice a rasp like sandpaper on wood.
"YOU telling ME to shut up?!" Valentina's laugh was a high, brittle sound that could crack glass. "The great Dante Rossi—former don, now dumpster-diving trash who can't pay rent! You know what that hooker down the hall told me today? She said I was worse off than her because at least she can still turn a trick!"
"I SAID SHUT UP!" Dante lurched to his feet, eyes red-rimmed and wild. "This is all YOUR fault, you fucking whore! If you hadn't pushed me to fake my death, if you hadn't begged me to run away with you, I'd still be running the Rossi Family!"
"I forced you?" Valentina's eyes widened in disbelief. "Who was it that whispered in my ear how bored he was with his ice-queen wife? Who promised me paradise if I ran away with him? Now you're rewriting history?"
"¡BANG! ¡BANG! ¡BANG!" The landlord's fist hammered the flimsy door. "¡Pinches gringos! Pay now or get out! I'm waiting right here, and if you try to skip out, I'll have my cousins break your fucking legs!"
Dante collapsed back onto the mattress, head buried in his hands.
"I called her…" he mumbled, voice thick with despair. "Last month. Found the new number for the estate. I thought… maybe she might…"
"And?" Valentina sneered. "Did she answer?"
Dante said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
"Marco answered, didn't he?" Valentina laughed suddenly, a harsh, broken sound. "What did he say? 'Mrs. Rossi is unavailable'? Or maybe 'Wrong number'?"
Dante's fingers dug into his scalp, knuckles white with pressure.
"He said… under Madam's leadership, the Rossi assets have doubled. He said… she's now the most powerful woman in Chicago…"
"HA!" Valentina's laughter turned to tears. "Your 'stupid little wife,' your 'helpless canary'—she's the fucking queen of Chicago! While the mighty Dante Rossi digs through garbage for dinner! Brilliant plan, genius!"
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!" Dante roared, lurching to his feet and smashing his fist into the crumbling wall. "It's all your fault! If it weren't for you… if it weren't for you…"
"ME?!" Valentina's voice rose to a screech. "Stop lying to yourself! You were just a greedy bastard who wanted her money and my pussy! Now you've lost both, so you need someone to blame!"
They faced each other, eyes burning with venomous hatred.
Once passionate lovers, now they'd gladly tear out each other's throats.
Valentina's lips twisted in a smile more devastating than tears.
"You know what's truly ironic?" she said softly. "We handed everything to Isabella on a silver platter. Our betrayal crowned her queen. And us? We're lower than strays."
In a Chicago mansion, champagne bubbles danced amid laughter as spotlights gleamed on a queen's gown.
In a Mexican slum, two broken souls hurled curses at each other as darkness swallowed them whole.
Hours after the last guest departed, I stood alone on the mansion's highest balcony. Chicago sprawled below me, its lights mirroring the stars above. A cool breeze played through my hair.
Marco materialized behind me, draping a cashmere shawl over my shoulders before offering a glass of warmed bourbon.
"Everything's been handled, Madam," he said, his voice as reliable as always.
"Tell me," I said, sipping the amber liquid while gazing at my city.
"Latest intel shows Dante and Valentina have finally split. They came to blows over money last week. Haven't seen each other since."
"Valentina's been desperately trying to reach her father. Don Luciano sent word that if she ever sets foot on American soil again, the family will handle her personally. Current whereabouts unknown—rumors range from working as a prostitute to dead in some alley."
I listened impassively. Everything was unfolding exactly as I'd anticipated.
"And Dante?" I asked, my voice neutral.
"Still in that border town. Living in the slums, scavenging garbage for anything he can sell." Marco paused. "He called again yesterday."
I arched an eyebrow.
"Sobbing, begging forgiveness. Said he'd do anything—even be your dog." Marco's tone remained clinical, as if discussing the weather. "Claims he dreams of the estate every night. Of everything he lost. He asked if you ever think about him."
I was quiet for a moment before finishing my drink in one swallow.
Then I smiled.
"What did you tell him?"
"I said Mrs. Rossi is extremely busy, and doesn't waste time remembering dead dogs."
I nodded, my eyes on the glittering horizon.
"Let him live," I said softly.
Death would be far too kind.
I want him alive—thinking of me daily while he rots in filth and squalor.
Marco studied me for a long moment.
"Madam…" His voice dropped, carrying an unfamiliar note of uncertainty. "This past year, I've realized something. For the first time, the Rossi Family has a leader truly worthy of its legacy."
I turned to face him.
His eyes held something entirely new.
No longer the gaze of a loyal soldier toward his commander.
But of a man looking at a woman he admired, respected, and unmistakably desired.
"Marco," I said quietly.
"I know my place, Madam," he lowered his eyes. "But if ever you need more than just a lieutenant…"
"Marco," I cut him off, my voice gentle but firm. "You're the only person I truly trust. That's enough."
He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes showing both disappointment and understanding.
His lips curved in a small smile—the first I'd ever seen from this stone-faced enforcer.
"Yes, Madam," he said simply, then withdrew.
I turned back to the view.
Chicago's lights sparkled beneath me like a carpet of diamonds.
***
Mexico, border town.
Three a.m. in a crumbling shack. A single bare bulb swung overhead, flickering like a dying insect.
Dante hunched on a stained mattress, clutching a crumpled newspaper.
A three-month-old Chicago Tribune salvaged from the trash. The front page showed Isabella at a charity gala.
She wore a black backless gown, camera flashes highlighting her elegant, confident smile. Surrounding her: Chicago's mayor, senators, and power players Dante had once desperately tried to impress.
He stared at the image obsessively until the paper grew damp with sweat and tears.
Once, that woman had been his.
Once, she'd brought him coffee each morning, greeted him with soft kisses, gazed at him like he hung the moon and stars.
Now she ruled from the summit.
While he festered beside a garbage dump.
Dante began to laugh—a raw, broken sound like an animal caught in a trap.
"Isabella… Isabella…" he mumbled, clawing at his scalp until it bled. "I was wrong… so wrong… please… just answer me once… even if… even if it's only to curse me…"
But he knew she never would.
To her, Dante Rossi no longer existed.
He'd died the moment he betrayed her.
This shell that remained was just a mangy cur wallowing in filth, not worth a moment of her memory.
He caught his reflection in a cracked mirror—hollow eye sockets, matted beard, skin gray as cemetery dust.
He barely recognized the ghost staring back.
The eyes that once blazed with ambition now held nothing but bottomless regret and despair.
Outside, a garbage truck rumbled past.
At dawn, he'd return to the reeking dump to fight with dogs for scraps that might fetch a few pesos.
Day after endless day.
Until death finally took pity on him.
There was no going back.
