Chapter 7
Laura stood perfectly still in the center of the grand ballroom, the wreckage of the silver service station and the collapsed history display flanking her like monuments to her absolute authority. The bright, cinematic lighting cast a flawless glow over her tailored black three-piece suit. She slowly reached up and adjusted the cuffs of her shirt, her family signet ring flashing brilliantly.
She let her intimidating gaze slowly sweep across the hundreds of guests, capos, and lieutenants. She was looking for any sign of dissent, any flicker of loyalty to the banished couple.
"Does anyone else," Laura asked, her deep, elegant voice carrying effortlessly across the vast space, "have an opinion regarding the legitimacy of my daughter?"
No one spoke. Several high-ranking capos, men who had previously grumbled about taking orders from a twenty-eight-year-old woman, actively averted their eyes, staring down at the plush carpet. The brutal, physical dismantling of Adrian and Megan had erased any lingering doubts about her capacity for violence.
"Good," Laura murmured, a terrifyingly cold smile touching the corner of her lips.
An older man, an underboss named Silas, stepped forward cautiously. He was a white American in his late fifties, his fair skin wrinkled from years of stress in the criminal underworld.
"Boss," Silas began, his voice respectful and carefully measured. "We stand with you. Adrian and Megan crossed a sacred line by striking a child of the Don. But we must be strategic. Adrian controlled the southern logistics routes. If he is banished, there will be a massive power vacuum. The rival families, especially the Petrov syndicate, will sense blood in the water."
"Let them sense it," Laura replied smoothly, clasping her hands behind her back. "The southern routes will not remain vacant. Silas, you will absorb Adrian's territory effective immediately. Promote your best lieutenants. I want the ports fortified by midnight."
Silas’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, honored and terrified by the sudden promotion. "Yes, Boss. Thank you. I will not fail you."
"I know you won't," Laura said softly, the implied threat hanging heavily in the air.
She turned to another group of sharply dressed men standing near the ruined silver trays. "Clean this mess up. I want the ballroom restored to pristine condition within the hour. The banquet is over. Everyone is dismissed. Go back to your posts and secure the city."
"Yes, Miss Moretti," the men murmured in unison, immediately moving to begin the cleanup.
Laura turned her back on the crowd and walked toward the private, heavily guarded elevators at the rear of the estate. Her sharp heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor. Her heart, which had been beating with the cold, measured rhythm of a Mafia executioner, suddenly began to race with the anxious, frantic beat of a mother.
She stepped into the elevator, the brass doors sliding shut to block out the noise of the ballroom. She leaned back against the mirrored wall, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second. The adrenaline of the fight was fading, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion.
But she could not rest yet. She had to ensure that the psychological damage inflicted upon her three-year-old daughter was repaired. She had to convince Emma that the cruel words spoken by Megan were nothing but the desperate lies of a banished, powerless woman.
The elevator chimed softly, arriving at the private penthouse suite. Laura stepped out into the quiet, heavily fortified corridor. Two massive bodyguards stood outside the heavy oak doors, their assault rifles resting casually against their chests.
"Status," Laura demanded as she approached.
May you like
"She is inside with Marcus, Boss," one of the guards reported. "She has been crying, but she is physically unharmed."
Laura nodded, her jaw tightening. She pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into her private sanctuary, prepared to mend the shattered heart of the only person in the world she truly loved.
