Chapter 9
The finality of the moment was absolute. The bright, cinematic lighting of the hallway illuminated the stark contrast between the loving father comforting his child and the cold, ruthless Mafia boss purging his empire. Vittorio stood up, holding Elodie securely in his left arm. He looked toward his two massive bodyguards.
"Escort them to the front gates," Vittorio commanded, his American accent sharp and unyielding. "They do not take the vehicles. They walk off the property. If they attempt to return, treat them as hostile intruders."
"Yes, Boss," the lead bodyguard nodded. The two men stepped forward, their professional dark suits moving seamlessly as they grabbed the handles of the heavy luggage.
"Don't touch my things!" Donatella shrieked, batting her hands wildly at the guards. "I am Donatella Mancini! I built this house!"
"You are trespassing," one of the guards replied coldly, completely unmoved by her historical status. "Move toward the stairs, ma'am. Now."
Rocco looked around desperately, seeking an ally in the shadows, but even his own men—the ones who had carried his boxes—had quietly retreated, recognizing that siding with Rocco was a guaranteed death sentence.
"Vittorio, please! Be reasonable!" Rocco begged one last time as the bodyguards began to physically herd them toward the grand staircase.
Vittorio didn't answer. He simply turned away, carrying Elodie back into her beautiful, pastel-colored primary suite. The heavy white bedroom door clicked shut, severing the visual connection to his former family.
Outside in the hallway, the reality of their exile fully set in. Donatella and Rocco were forced down the sprawling staircase, their designer shoes echoing loudly in the massive foyer. The heavy, solid oak front doors were pulled wide open by the security staff, allowing the bright, blinding afternoon sun to pour into the house.
"You are making a catastrophic mistake!" Donatella yelled over her shoulder as she was pushed out onto the grand stone portico. "We will burn your empire to the ground!"
The heavy oak doors slammed shut with a deafening, resonant thud. The lock clicked heavily into place.
They were outside. The warm summer air did nothing to chill the icy dread settling into Rocco’s stomach. He looked at his mother, her fair, rosy face pale and bruised, her pearl necklace broken, standing next to her designer suitcases on the driveway.
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"What do we do now, Mother?" Rocco asked, his voice trembling with fear.
"We do exactly what I promised," Donatella said, her eyes narrowing into vicious, dark slits as she stared at the closed mansion doors. "We call the northern capos. We tell them Vittorio has lost his mind. We declare war."
