Chapter 2
The bright, cinematic lighting of the foyer seemed to sharpen, emphasizing the heavy, suffocating tension that had descended upon the house. The wine continued to stain the pristine white collar of Emily's blouse, but she refused to break eye contact with her husband. The elite white American bodyguards and capos in the background stood frozen, their fair skin pale as they watched the true Boss reassert her dominance.
"I asked you a question, Ryan," Emily commanded, her voice slicing through the silence like a razor blade. "Where is Ethan?"
Ryan shifted his weight, his polished shoes squeaking faintly against the marble. "Ethan is fine. He is learning discipline. Something you failed to teach him before you abandoned us."
"I did not abandon him!" Emily shouted, her composure cracking for a fraction of a second. "I left him with his father! The man who swore to protect him! Now, tell me where my six-year-old son is, or I will have these men tear this house apart brick by brick."
From the dining room, Patricia Moretti stepped into the bright light. At sixty-five years old, Ryan’s mother wore an elegant family-dinner outfit adorned with heavy pearl jewelry and expensive rings. Her fair, rosy cheeks were flushed with aristocratic indignation.
"Do not raise your voice in this house, Emily," Patricia scolded, her American accent thick with condescension. "Ryan has done an exceptional job holding this syndicate together. Natalie has been a wonderful addition to our lives. She brought warmth back to this estate."
"Warmth?" Emily scoffed, wiping the last drops of wine from her face with the back of her hand. "She is wearing a cheap red dress and acting like she owns a throne she did not bleed for. You are all delusional if you think my absence stripped me of my rank."
"You have no rank here anymore," Natalie interjected, folding her arms across her chest. "Ryan is the boss now. The capos answer to him. And as for Ethan, he is exactly where he belongs."
Emily stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Natalie in a single, terrifying stride. The sheer, deeply intimidating aura radiating from her tailored travel suit forced Natalie to instinctively take a step backward.
"If you ever speak my son's name again," Emily whispered, her voice a low, lethal hum that vibrated in the quiet foyer, "I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the guard dogs. Ryan, this is your last warning. Where is he?"
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"Go upstairs and look for yourself," Ryan sneered, a cruel, mocking glint in his eye. "But you might find that the accommodations have been updated."
Emily’s heart hammered a frantic, violent rhythm against her ribs. She didn't wait for another word. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pushed past them, her heels clicking aggressively as she marched toward the grand staircase, a sickening feeling of dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.
