Chapter 6 - The Long Island Estate
The Serrano family estate in Long Island was a massive, fortress-like stone mansion built in the early twentieth century. Nestled behind tall wrought-iron gates and surrounded by dense pine forests, it exuded an air of old-world power and hidden secrets.
A line of luxury cars filled the long gravel driveway as Dominic’s armored SUV pulled up to the front entrance. Rain had begun to fall, slicking the cobblestones and glistening under the glow of the estate's grand lanterns.
Marcus opened the door, holding a large black umbrella over Isabella as she stepped out of the vehicle. She adjusted her velvet wrap, her heels clicking firmly against the wet stone steps. Dominic emerged right beside her, offering his arm.
She looped her arm through his, feeling the solid strength of his muscle beneath the tailored fabric of his jacket.
As they stepped through the heavy oak front doors, the grand foyer was already filled with guests. Men in expensive tuxedos and women draped in diamonds stood in small groups, holding glasses of vintage champagne.
The moment Dominic and Isabella walked through the entrance, a noticeable hush fell over the room.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Eyes darted toward Isabella’s plum dress, taking in her graceful posture, her radiant skin, and the calm, dignified smile on her face. She didn't look like a woman who was ashamed of her body; she looked like royalty.
Standing near the grand staircase, Celeste was holding a champagne flute. Her hand shook so violently that the golden liquid sloshed against the glass rim. Beside her stood Bianca, whose face turned completely pale the moment she locked eyes with Dominic.
"Look at her," Bianca whispered under her breath to Celeste. "She’s wearing the dress. And she looks... she looks incredible."
Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep gulp of her drink. "Shut up, Bianca."
At the far end of the hall, standing near the grand marble fireplace, was Matteo Serrano.
Matteo was sixty years old, with silver hair brushed sleekly back and eyes as cold as flint. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit and held a silver-tipped walking cane, despite having no visible limp. It was a prop of authority, a sign of his self-appointed role as the family patriarch.
Matteo’s eyes narrowed as he watched Dominic and Isabella approach. He hadn't expected Isabella to come. He had assumed his threat and the intimidating display at the boutique would be enough to keep her hidden at home, terrified and disgraced.
"Dominic," Matteo said, his voice deep and gravelly as they reached the fireplace. "I see you brought your... companion."
The deliberate choice of words—calling his legal wife a "companion"—was a blunt insult.
Dominic didn't flinch. His expression remained entirely composed. "Uncle Matteo. My wife, Isabella Serrano, is here to observe the family proceedings."
Matteo chuckled coldly, taking a sip of his wine. "Isabella. You look... remarkably brave tonight. I heard you had a small scare in Manhattan yesterday."
Isabella smiled directly at the older man, her tone dripping with polite venom. "It wasn't a scare, Matteo. It was a minor inconvenience caused by a foolish coward who hides behind hired muscle and petty notes."
A few nearby relatives gasped softly at her audacity.
Matteo’s eyes flashed with anger, but he quickly masked it behind a smug smile. "Careful, my dear. Pride goes before a long, painful fall. The family council meets in ten minutes. I suggest you find a comfortable seat in the lounge while the real decisions are made."
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"My wife sits where I sit," Dominic declared, his voice echoing clearly across the foyer. "In every meeting. In every room. At every table."
Matteo leaned heavily on his cane, stepping closer to Dominic. "We'll see if the board agrees with that arrangement in ten minutes, nephew."
