Chapter 12
The penthouse of the obsidian high-rise was a masterpiece of modern luxury, bathed in crisp, neutral white lighting entirely devoid of any warm, muddy yellow tint. The cinematic illumination highlighted the pristine marble floors and the heavy, reinforced steel blast doors that sealed the sanctuary. Dr. Silva, a discreet physician on the syndicate's payroll, carefully examined Ethan in the adjoining suite.
Emily stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the sprawling metropolis that her family controlled. Her deeply intimidating, masculine aura filled the room, completely overriding the traditional expectations of a mafia wife. She was the architect of their European wealth, and she was preparing to dismantle the domestic parasites.
Dr. Silva stepped out of the bedroom, his fair, rosy skin pale with professional concern. "He is severely malnourished, Ms. Moretti. He has minor lacerations around his ankle from the heavy chain, and profound psychological trauma. But he is remarkably resilient. With proper care and safety, he will recover."
"Thank you, Doctor," Emily said, her voice dead calm, though a volcanic rage burned beneath her ribs. "You will remain on call for the next forty-eight hours."
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As the doctor left, Marcus stepped forward with a sleek, encrypted tablet. "Boss, the financial transition is ready. We have isolated Ryan's private accounts and the trusts he diverted to Natalie."
"Liquidate them," Emily commanded flawlessly. "I want every single cent transferred back into the primary syndicate holdings. Leave them with absolutely nothing."
