Crispin opened his gift only for his cousin Aldric to dump a box of greasy napkins and rotting scraps across his chest

The breeze off the Sound carried the scent of salt spray and crushed gardenias across the terrace, but nobody breathed.

"I asked you a question, uncle," Romina said, her voice remaining at that terrifying, even pitch. "Does Aldric need me to read the morning cables out loud? Or did you neglect to mention to your boy that you signed over the eastern terminals at six o'clock this morning to keep yourself out of a federal penitentiary?"

Aldric’s head snapped toward his father, his bloodied mouth hanging open. "What is she talking about? Dad? The eastern terminals are our lifeblood! We own the docks!"

"We owned them, Aldric," Osbert rasped, his voice sounding like gravel being ground under an iron wheel. He could not bring himself to look his son in the eye. He stared at the hem of Romina’s trousers, his fingers twitching helplessly at his sides. "The maritime union called a freeze yesterday. The customs agents in New Jersey seized the bonded warehouses. We were three hours from a total asset freeze."

"And who do you think orchestrated that freeze, Aldric?" Romina asked, taking half a step forward.

Her leather shoes clicked with finality against the stone. Aldric flinched backward, bumping against the wreckage of his shattered gift table.

"You thought your father was building a dynasty for you," Romina continued, her blue eyes as cold as a frozen lake. "You spent five years lounging in Miami on family dividends, playing the heavy at birthday parties, while your father ran three shell corporations into twenty million dollars of unsecured debt. When the bill came due, Osbert didn't offer his own blood. He offered mine."

She reached into the inner breast pocket of her suit, pulled out a small, folded linen handkerchief with her initials embroidered in gold thread, and knelt down in front of her son.

Crispin looked at her, his fair face pale beneath the smears of yellow chicken fat and brown melon sludge. His bottom lip quivered, but he refused to let a tear fall, his small jaw clenching in a mirror image of his mother’s.

"Look at me, Crispin," Romina whispered, her voice softening into pure, unyielding maternal steel.

The boy lifted his eyes.

"Does it hurt?" she asked gently, raising the handkerchief and wiping a greasy streak from his cheek with deliberate, tender care.

"No, Mom," Crispin whispered, though his small voice shook. "It just smells bad."

"Dirt washes off," Romina said, wiping his chin, then his neck, never once rushing, treating the twenty millionaires and syndicate capos watching them as though they were nothing more than decorative shrubs. "Insects crawl through trash because that is where they belong. A Bellamere stands above it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Hold your sister’s hand."

Crispin nodded, his small fingers tightening around Etta’s. Etta leaned her head against his ruined sleeve, her wide blue eyes darting toward Aldric with pure childish hatred.

Romina stood back up, tucking the soiled handkerchief into her palm. When she turned back toward Osbert, every trace of warmth had vanished from her features.

"Giacomo," Romina called quietly.

The lead capo stepped forward, his slate-gray tie swinging straight in the sea wind. "Yes, Boss?"

The word Boss landed like a hammer against Aldric’s ribs. He took a staggering step backward, his eyes darting frantically toward the exit gates.

"Take my cousin to the lower bathhouse," Romina commanded, pointing a single manicured finger at Aldric. "Let him wash the blood off his face. If he attempts to step onto the main driveway, or if his phone connects to any tower outside this estate, break his other cheekbone."

"Understood, Boss."

Giacomo moved with terrifying speed, his thick hand clamping onto the nape of Aldric’s dinner jacket before the younger man could scream. Aldric struggled, thrashing his loafers against the flagstones, but Giacomo dragged him across the terrace as effortlessly as a sack of damp laundry, disappearing down the stone staircase leading to the pool pavilion.