Chapter 7
The grand double doors of the dining room unlatched with a heavy, deliberate sound. When Alessandra stepped back into the room, the atmosphere was thick with suffocating dread. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the terrified faces of her family. Bianca had finally been helped into a chair by Vincent, holding a linen napkin to her swelling, bruised jaw. Mason was hiding entirely behind his grandfather’s legs, peering out with wide, fearful eyes.
Francesca stood up as Alessandra entered, attempting to muster the last remnants of her matriarchal dignity. She straightened her pearl necklace, her fair skin pale, but her chin lifted in a pathetic display of defiance.
"Have you come to your senses, Alessandra?" Francesca asked, her voice wavering despite her best efforts. "You cannot keep us locked in here like animals. The other families will hear of this. The commission will not tolerate a Boss who turns on her own blood."
Alessandra did not respond immediately. She walked slowly toward the head of the mahogany table, the luxurious crimson fabric of her gown trailing behind her like spilled blood. She placed her hands flat on the polished wood, the gold signet ring catching the light, and leaned forward slightly, her beautiful, intimidating face perfectly calm.
"The commission," Alessandra said softly, her American accent crisp and sharp, "answers to me. I built the alliances that keep this family rich. I secured the shipping lanes that pay for the food on this table. You, Mother, merely spent the money I bled to acquire."
"I am your mother!" Francesca shrieked, slamming her hand onto the table in a desperate bid for control. "I gave you life! You owe me everything!"
"I owe you nothing," Alessandra countered, her voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "You forfeited your right to that title the moment you allowed a child to be tortured for your own amusement."
She turned her gaze to Vincent, who was watching her with a mixture of horror and profound sadness.
"And you, Father," Alessandra continued, her eyes narrowing. "You stood by the door and watched. You have always watched. You let Mother poison Bianca’s mind with delusions of grandeur, and you let Mason become a monster. You are just as guilty of the rot in this family as she is."
Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked down at the expensive carpet, unable to meet his daughter's furious gaze.
"What are you going to do to us?" Bianca mumbled through her swollen jaw, her voice thick and slurred. She clutched the linen napkin tighter, tears of pain and humiliation streaming down her rosy cheeks. "Are you going to kill your own sister?"
Alessandra stood up straight, smoothing the front of her gown. She looked at the three adults who had made her son's life a living hell. She didn't feel rage anymore; she felt a cold, calculated clarity.
"No," Alessandra said, a terrifying, empty smile touching her lips. "Death is too quick. Death makes martyrs. I am going to make you irrelevant."
She pulled her encrypted cell phone from the hidden pocket of her dress and dialed a number. The room was so quiet they could hear the faint ringing from the speaker.
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"Silas," Alessandra spoke clearly into the phone. "Initiate Protocol Omega. Freeze all accounts associated with Vincent, Francesca, and Bianca Romano. Liquidate their personal assets and transfer the funds to the offshore ghost accounts. Cancel their passports, revoke their security clearances, and sever their access to the syndicate’s legal counsel."
Francesca gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in sheer horror as the reality of her daughter's words sank in. They weren't just being exiled; they were being erased.
