Chapter 10
Raffaele stopped directly behind Vincent’s chair. The older man was trembling, his fair skin glistening with cold sweat. The bright sunlight streaming through the dining hall windows felt entirely out of place amidst the suffocating tension of the execution block.
"Raffaele, please," Vincent begged, his voice cracking. "I served your father. I built the western ports for this family. You can't just kill me for protecting the syndicate!"
Raffaele leaned down, his face mere inches from Vincent’s ear.
"I am not going to kill you, Vincent," Raffaele whispered softly.
Vincent let out a sudden, massive breath of relief, his shoulders slumping. "Thank you, Boss. Thank you. I swear my loyalty—"
"I am going to erase you," Raffaele interrupted, his voice a low, terrifying hum. "Your assets will be seized. Your bank accounts will be drained. Your name will be stripped from every ledger, every warehouse, every contract in this city. You will be cast out with absolutely nothing."
Vincent froze, the relief shattering instantly. "You're taking everything? Raffaele, I'll be dead in a week on the streets!"
"Then I suggest you learn to run," Raffaele said coldly. He stood back up and looked at his bodyguards. "Take the five men involved. Strip them of their funds, their properties, and their protection. Drive them to the city limits and leave them with the clothes on their backs. If they return, shoot them on sight."
"Yes, Boss," the guards responded in unison, forcefully hauling the terrified, protesting elders from their chairs and dragging them out of the dining hall.
The remaining seven elders sat in absolute, paralyzed silence. They looked at Raffaele, realizing that the young man they had underestimated was no longer just a boss; he was an emperor.
"The old ways are dead," Raffaele announced quietly to the remaining men. "From this day forward, there are no secrets. There are no shadows. You answer to me, and only to me. Do we have an understanding?"
"Yes, Don Castellano," the men murmured quickly, bowing their heads in profound respect and fear.
"Good," Raffaele said, adjusting his unbuttoned shirt. "We are adjourned."
He walked out of the dining hall, leaving the scent of fear behind him. He navigated the bright, sunlit corridors of his massive estate, heading toward his private quarters in the south wing.
When he opened the heavy oak doors, the room was quiet. The afternoon light illuminated the expansive, luxurious suite. Anna was standing near the doorway, holding a fresh towel.
"She is resting, Boss," Anna whispered, pointing toward the large, plush bed in the center of the room.
Evelyn was asleep. She had been bathed, her hair washed and brushed, and she was wearing one of Raffaele’s large, soft button-down shirts. The dirt and grime were gone, revealing the breathtaking, fair beauty he remembered. She looked fragile, her breathing shallow, but for the first time in three years, she looked peaceful.
On the far side of the bed, three-year-old Ethan was sitting quietly, holding a small toy car, watching the sleeping woman with wide, curious blue eyes.
Raffaele walked slowly toward the bed. He sat gently on the edge of the mattress, his heavy, tattooed hands resting on his knees. He looked at his son, and then he looked at the woman he loved.
May you like
Evelyn shifted in her sleep. Her hand reached out blindly across the sheets.
Raffaele caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers, anchoring her to the light. The empire was secured. The traitors were punished. But as he sat in the bright, quiet room, listening to the soft breathing of his son and his bride, Raffaele knew the hardest battle was yet to come. The war for the city was over, but the war to heal her shattered mind was only just beginning.
