Chapter 4 - The Uninvited Guests
By six o'clock in the evening, the grand dining hall of Villa Rosa was fully prepared. A long mahogany table was set for sixteen guests, gleaming with crystal glassware, sterling silver, and tall black candles.
The guests arriving were not ordinary business partners. They were the regional bosses of the New England underworld—men in expensive suits with scarred faces and cold eyes, accompanied by their bodyguards. Among them was Victor Maro, the head of the rival Maro family, a heavy-set man with thin grey hair and a reputation for extreme violence.
Vivien stood near the entrance of the dining room, holding a glass of champagne, playing the gracious hostess. She moved from guest to guest, smiling, laughing, establishing her presence as the future queen of the Virelli territory.
Dominic stood near the fireplace, sipping a glass of neat bourbon. His dark eyes tracked every movement in the room. Beside him, Carlo lingered like a silent shadow, his hand resting casually inside his jacket near his shoulder holster.
Victor Maro walked over to Dominic, holding a heavy crystal glass.
"Dominic," Maro said, his voice deep and raspy from years of heavy smoking. "It’s been a long time since we sat down in this house. Your father would be proud to see you holding the family together after everything that happened."
"Thank you, Victor," Dominic replied smoothly, clinking his glass against Maro's. "My father always said that friends should be kept close, especially when the weather turns bad."
Maro smiled, a cold, empty expression. "Indeed. And your mother? I heard she hasn't been well. Is she fit to handle the family affairs?"
"She is sharper than ever," Dominic said. "She will be joining us shortly to give her formal consent for the restructuring of the harbor contracts."
Maro’s eyes flickered slightly. The harbor contracts were worth fifty million dollars annually—contracts that Vivien’s father had promised to redirect to the Maro family once Vivien secured control of the Virelli foundation.
"Is that so?" Maro murmured. "I look forward to seeing her."
At seven o'clock, the double doors of the dining room opened.
Marin pushed Isabella’s wheelchair into the room. The matriarch was dressed in an elegant dark velvet gown, her silver hair styled neatly, the polished diamond brooch pinned to her chest. She looked regal, her posture straight despite her physical limitations.
The entire room went quiet. The capos stood up out of respect for the widow of late Don Lorenzo Virelli.
Vivien immediately stepped forward, trying to take the handles of the wheelchair from Marin. "Thank you, Marin. I will take her to her place now. You may go to the kitchen."
Marin did not let go of the handles. She stood her ground, her fingers locked around the grips.
Vivien glared at her, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "Let go, you foolish girl. Remember what we talked about."
"She stays," Dominic’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Vivien turned, surprised. Dominic walked over to his mother’s side, placing a hand gently on Isabella’s shoulder. He looked down at Marin and gave her a small, approving nod.
"Marin is my mother’s primary caregiver," Dominic announced to the room, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the guests. "She stays by her side. Always."
Vivien’s face flushed with anger, but she quickly forced a sweet smile back onto her face. "Of course, darling. I just thought Marin might want some rest."
"Marin is fine," Isabella suddenly made a raspy, humming sound from her throat, her right hand lifting to point directly at the wooden writing board resting on her lap.
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Vivien’s heart skipped a beat. She stepped closer, trying to position herself between Isabella and the rest of the table. "Oh, Isabella is tired. Perhaps we should let her rest before we discuss business—"
"Let her write, Miss Morrow," Victor Maro interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he sensed something unusual in the air. "We are all waiting for the matriarch’s words."
