Chapter 1 - The Paper Shield
Dante stared at the pristine legal documents as if they were written in a language he couldn’t comprehend. The feared boss of the Romano syndicate, a man who ordered executions with a flick of his wrist, was completely paralyzed by a stack of standard-sized paper.
“A divorce petition?” Dante finally choked out, his voice a dangerous, gravelly whisper. The velvet box holding whatever expensive apology jewelry he had purchased fell from his hand, landing silently on the hospital linoleum. “Isabella, you cannot divorce me. I am Dante Romano. No judge in New York will sign this.”
“That would be true,” I replied, my voice completely devoid of the warmth he was accustomed to. “If I had filed it in a standard state court. But my attorneys filed these papers under a federal seal, attached directly to a RICO investigation that has been quietly building against your family for the last three years.”
Dante’s head snapped up. The arrogant disbelief in his eyes fractured, replaced by a sudden, terrifying realization.
“You’re bluffing,” he snarled, stepping forward, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the hospital bed. “You’re my wife. You know nothing about the family business.”
“I know everything, Dante,” I corrected him softly, pulling Leo’s blanket a little higher. “For seven years, you thought my silence was ignorance. You thought that when you locked yourself in your study, I was just knitting in the parlor. But you share a home server. You leave your burner phones in your coat pockets. I know about the shipping containers in Red Hook. I know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans. And I know exactly how much you paid Valentina Russo’s brother to secure that Amalfi coast resort.”
Dante stopped breathing. The blood completely drained from his face.
“Sofia,” I said without looking away from my husband.
May you like
My sister stepped to the door and opened it. Four massive private military contractors—men who owed no allegiance to the Italian syndicate, paid entirely through an untraceable trust I had established before I ever got pregnant—stepped into the room.
“Your presence is elevating my blood pressure, Dante,” I said, looking at the man who had broken my heart for the very last time. “And my son needs a calm environment. Get out.”
