Chapter 3 - The Front Door
The storm had fully set in by seven thirty. Rain washed across the long asphalt driveway of the D’Angelo estate, turning the dark lawns into lakes of slick mud. Lightning flickered intermittently behind the clouds, casting jagged white light through the trees.
At precisely 7:58 p.m., a sleek white European sedan pulled up to the security gates. The iron bars swung open without delay.
Sabrina sat in the passenger seat, adjusting her lipstick in the vanity mirror. She had changed out of her funeral-style trench coat into a form-fitting charcoal dress—modest enough to show respect for a widower, yet sharp enough to remind him of what she offered. Her father, Marco, sat in the rear seat, his hands resting on a gold-topped cane.
"Remember," Marco said, his voice deep and raspy from forty years of heavy smoking. "Do not push him on the estate assets tonight. Roman is dangerous when he’s cornered. Focus on the babies. Offer to handle the staff, the nurses, the nanny arrangements. If you control the infants, you control his household."
"I know how to manage Roman, Father," Sabrina replied coolly, snapping her compact shut. "He’s broken. I saw his face at the hospital. He looked like a corpse. Naomi was useless to him, but she was a anchor. Now that she’s gone, he needs stability. I am that stability."
"And the legal paperwork?"
"Vance & Sterling have the petition ready," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Once I am established in the house as the primary caretaker of the heirs, we file for joint temporary conservatorship on the grounds of paternal hardship. He won't fight it. He doesn't know how to raise children."
The car stopped before the massive double doors of the main house.
"He said use the side entrance," Marco reminded her, peering out the tinted glass.
"No," Sabrina said, a smirk gracing her lips. "Side entrances are for mistresses. I enter through the front door now."
She opened the door, stepped out into the rain under a black umbrella held by her driver, and walked up the wide stone steps. Marco followed close behind, his cane clicking against the marble threshold.
She didn't knock. She reached for the heavy iron handle, turned it, and pushed the doors open.
The grand foyer was vast, illuminated only by a single chandelier dimmed to a low amber glow. The air smelled of beeswax, old wood, and rain. Standing at the foot of the sweeping staircase was Roman.
He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit, perfectly pressed, his tie immaculate. There was no trace of exhaustion on his face, no red around his eyes, no sign of a man who had lost his wife twelve hours earlier. He stood motionless, his hands clasped behind his back.
Beside him, standing half a step back, were four men in dark suits. Among them was Leo, whose hand rested casually inside his jacket lining.
Sabrina paused for a fraction of a second, surprised by the audience, but quickly recovered her composure. She stepped inside, letting her umbrella drip onto the polished Italian marble floor.
"Roman," she said softly, taking a step toward him with her arms slightly open. "You look so tired. You shouldn't be standing here receiving people. I told Marco we should come quietly."
Roman didn't move. He didn't offer a greeting. His eyes drifted past her to Marco, who was stepping over the threshold, leaning heavily on his cane.
"Marco," Roman said, his voice cutting through the sound of rain beating against the heavy doors. "I don't recall inviting you."
Marco cleared his throat, adjusting his coat. "Roman... son. In times like these, family needs to gather. The council met informally this afternoon. Everyone is concerned about the stability of the family. Naomi’s passing leaves a void in the administrative structure of the East District. I came to assure you that my division will hold the line while you take time to... heal."
"Heal," Roman repeated flatly.
"Yes," Sabrina chimed in, stepping into Roman’s line of sight. "You need to focus on the infants in the hospital, Roman. They need so much care. I spoke with a private medical firm today. I can take over the hiring of the specialized nurses and manage the wing here so you don't have to worry about a thing."
"You spoke with a private medical firm," Roman said. It wasn't a question.
"Of course," she smiled warmly, taking another step forward. "Someone has to step up, Roman. Naomi... well, she was never equipped for the pressure of this life anyway. You know that. She was weak. But I’m here now. You don't have to carry this alone."
Roman lowered his hands to his sides. He took two steps forward, descending the lowest stair until he was standing directly in front of her. The height difference was imposing; she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
"Naomi was not weak," Roman said quietly.
Sabrina’s smile faltered slightly. "Roman, I didn't mean—"
"Naomi spent six months dying," Roman continued, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a lethal weight that caused Marco to step back half an inch. "And while she was dying, she built a wall around my children that neither you nor your father will ever breach."
Sabrina frowned, her posture stiffening. "What are you talking about?"
Roman gestured slightly with his left hand.
Leo stepped forward, holding a thick manila folder. He opened it and pulled out a stack of printed legal documents, holding them out toward Sabrina.
"What is this?" she asked, refusing to touch them.
"That," Roman said, "is a copy of the emergency injunction filed with the State Supreme Court forty-five minutes ago by Vance & Sterling’s primary competitor, Keller & Associates. It freezes all petitions for third-party guardianship regarding the D’Angelo heirs."
Sabrina’s face turned pale. "You... you called Keller?"
"No," Roman replied. "Naomi called them four months ago. She retained them on a five-hundred-thousand-dollar advance. The moment her death certificate was logged at 6:42 this morning, the firm automatically executed a pre-drafted protective trust."
He took a step closer to her, his face inches from hers.
"Every asset, every property, every dollar in the D’Angelo account has been locked into a private foundation managed exclusively by an independent board. If I die, it goes to the twins. If I live, I control it. But under no legal framework, no marriage, and no court order can any secondary party—including a domestic partner—ever claim a single cent or a single day of custody."
Sabrina’s lips parted in shock. Her hands began to tremble. "She... she couldn't have done that. She didn't have the legal authority—"
"She was my wife," Roman interrupted sharply. "She had every authority."
Marco stepped forward, his raspy voice rising in panic. "Roman, listen to me! This is absurd! We are your allies! Sabrina has devoted over a year to you! You can't let a dead woman’s paranoia dictate the business of this family!"
Roman slowly turned his gaze toward Marco. The ambient light caught the sharp angle of his jaw.
" allies?" Roman asked softly. He reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper—a printout of a bank transaction ledger. He tossed it at Marco’s feet. "Page fourteen of the ledger Naomi left me. It details seven wire transfers from your East District account to a dummy shell corporation in Zurich, owned by the Moretti family."
Marco’s face drained of all color. The cane in his hand wobbled. "Roman... that’s... that’s an accounting error. I can explain—"
"You sold three shipments of weapons bound for the docks last month," Roman said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "You told the council they were seized by federal agents. In reality, you delivered them to Moretti’s men in New Jersey for a thirty percent markup."
"Roman, no!" Sabrina gasped, grabbing his arm. "That wasn't him! That was—"
"And you," Roman turned back to Sabrina, his hand slamming down on her wrist with enough force to make her cry out. He squeezed until her fingers went numb, forcing her to let go of his sleeve. "You sat in my bed while your father sold my men to the Morettis. You looked at my wife and saw an easy target."
He released her wrist with a harsh shove. Sabrina stumbled back, landing hard on the marble floor, her expensive dress gathering around her knees.
"Get up," Roman commanded her father.
Marco was on his knees, reaching desperately for his fallen paper. "Roman... please! We were doing it for the future! We thought you were becoming complacent with Naomi! We wanted to build something stronger!"
"Leo," Roman said, stepping past the sobbing woman on the floor.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Strip Marco Voss of his territory. Effective immediately, the East District is under direct command of your squad. Escort him to the basement holding area at the warehouse. He will remain there until I finish reviewing the rest of my wife’s files."
Two heavy-set guards stepped forward, grabbing Marco under his arms and lifting him off his feet. The old man screamed and barged, his cane clattering across the marble floor, but he was dragged out into the storm without ceremony.
Sabrina remained on her knees, shaking, her sleek hair coming undone. She looked up at Roman, tears finally spilling down her cheeks—real tears this time, born of pure terror.
"Roman... please," she sobbed, holding her bruised wrist. "I loved you. I did everything for you..."
Roman stopped at the foot of the stairs. He didn't look back at her.
May you like
"You didn't love me, Sabrina," he said quietly. "You loved the idea of a crown. But my wife took the crown with her to the grave, and she left me with the sword."
He gestured to the remaining guard. "Throw her out the front door. If she steps onto this property again, put a bullet in her foot."
