Chapter 10 - THE LEGACY OF BLOOD
Six months later.
The afternoon sun beamed warmly over the lush, manicured gardens of the Belladonna estate. The scent of blooming roses and fresh lake breeze filled the air as I walked along the stone pathway carrying a leather leather binder containing the quarterly financial reports of our shipping and real estate holdings.
In six short months, I had taken over the legitimate commercial branch of the Romano empire. Under my direction, our clean businesses had expanded by forty percent, providing an unbreakable financial fortress that insulated our family from federal scrutiny. I was no longer just the lost sister; I was the Chief Operating Officer of the most powerful syndicate in the Midwest.
I reached the marble gazebo overlooking the lake, where Matteo was sitting at a glass table, reading through a stack of intelligence files while sipping espresso.
“You’re working too hard, sister,” Matteo said, looking up with a smile as I sat down across from him. “It’s Sunday. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I rest when the numbers add up, Matteo,” I replied with a wry grin, sliding the leather binder across the table. “We just finalized the purchase of the Capone family’s old hotel chain. We bought it for twenty cents on the dollar. Construction begins next month to turn them into luxury boutique resorts.”
Matteo chuckled, shaking his head in admiration. “Father would have been so proud of you, Isabella. He always said you had a sharper mind for business than I ever did.”
A quiet shadow crossed my face for a moment at the mention of our father. I reached back, instinctively touching the cold scar beneath my blouse.
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if Victoria hadn't torn my dress that night?” I asked quietly, looking out over the sparkling blue waters of Lake Michigan.
Matteo set his espresso cup down, his expression turning thoughtful and serious.
“I think about it every day,” Matteo said softly. “You would have kept hiding. I would have married a woman who hated my family. Lorenzo Moretti would have kept bleeding us dry from the shadows. That torn dress wasn't a humiliation, Isabella. It was providence. It was God ripping away the lies so the truth could set us free.”
Marco walked briskly up the garden path, holding a small, silver tray. He looked composed, but his eyes held a subtle spark of dark amusement.
“Boss. Miss Isabella,” Marco said, bowing slightly. “A delivery just arrived at the front gate. It was left by a courier from the state penitentiary in southern Illinois.”
Matteo raised an eyebrow. “A delivery? From who?”
“Victoria Capone,” Marco said flatly.
I looked at the silver tray. Resting on the velvet cloth was a small, battered envelope addressed to Isabella Romano.
I picked up the envelope, unsealing it, and pulled out a single piece of lined paper written in jagged, frantic handwriting.
Isabella,
They tell me you run the empire now. They tell me your brother bows to your counsel, and that your name is feared from Chicago to New York.
I am writing this from a six-by-eight concrete cell. I have nothing. My father is dead, my wealth is gone, and no one remembers my name. Every morning when I wake up on this cold floor, I remember the maid whose dress I tore open in the ballroom.
You were right. I tried to destroy you because I was terrified of you. I saw the blood in your eyes even when you were holding a duster. I knew that if you ever realized who you were, you would take everything from me.
You won.
Victoria
I read the letter slowly, then held it out over the small candle burning on the glass table. The flame caught the edge of the paper, rapidly consuming the words until nothing was left but black ash drifting away into the warm lake breeze.
I didn't feel hatred. I didn't feel revenge. I only felt an profound, unshakeable peace.
Matteo watched the ash scatter across the garden, then stood up, extending his hand toward me.
“Come,” Matteo said, a warm, proud smile lighting up his dark eyes. “Mother is waiting in the dining hall. It’s dinner time.”
May you like
I took my brother’s hand, standing up beside him.
Together, side by side, the King and Princess of Chicago walked back toward the great stone mansion—a fortress built on blood, restored by truth, and bound forever by an unbreakable family bond.
