Chapter 5
1297words
The Chicago Syndicate's quarterly meeting convened in a fortress-like private club where cigar smoke and power hung thick in the air. When I entered as the new Rossi head, all conversation died instantly. A dozen predatory gazes swiveled toward me, assessing me like hunters sizing up unusual prey.
"Mrs. Rossi, my condolences." Pete Colombo, the aging Colombo patriarch, broke the silence first. His sandpaper voice carried hollow sympathy and naked assessment.
"Thank you, Pete, but I didn't come for sympathy." I strode directly to Dante's empty chair. Marco pulled it out, and I took my seat with deliberate poise—the lone woman at this table of wolves.
A current of tension rippled through the room, charged with equal parts disdain and fascination. Every man present waited to see if the table's weight would crush me.
"A woman at this table—that's a first." The Francesco boss, a heavyset man infamous for his bluntness, sneered. "With Dante gone, couldn't the Rossis find a man to step up? Even that kid Vincent would've been better—at least he's got the right equipment."
I didn't dignify him with direct attention, instead letting my gaze travel the table. Their expressions varied, but the doubt in their eyes was universal.
"Who leads the Rossi Family is Rossi business." My voice remained level but carried steel beneath the silk. "I'm here to discuss a proposition that benefits us all."
"Business?" The Francesco boss barked a laugh. "We don't talk business with grieving widows."
I ignored the bait and nodded to Marco, who placed a leather portfolio in the center of the table and slid it forward.
"When Dante betrayed us all, he siphoned off twenty million in assets," I began, watching their expressions shift like weather. "I've recovered every penny."
Dead silence fell, broken only by the gentle clink of ice in tumblers. The spark of greed ignited in their eyes like struck matches.
"Naturally, I recognize that during our recent… turbulence, none of you moved against Rossi interests. For that restraint, I'm grateful." My smile never reached my eyes. "To demonstrate my appreciation, I'm prepared to share a portion of these recovered funds with everyone here. Consider it a token of the Rossi Family's gratitude."
I paused, allowing the bait to dangle tantalizingly before them.
"On one condition," I continued, my voice hardening. "From this day forward, you acknowledge me—Isabella Rossi—as the rightful head of the Rossi Family. And you help me hunt down the traitor who's stained our honor: Dante Rossi."
Money speaks the world's most universal language; it dissolves prejudice and doubt like acid. The Francesco boss who'd sneered at me moments before now leaned forward eagerly, hands practically rubbing together as he stared at me like I was the golden goose.
"Isabella… Madam, are you suggesting…" Pete Colombo cleared his throat, leaning in while poorly disguising his interest.
"My meaning is simple," I met his gaze coolly. "Loyal friends get paid. Enemies get buried."
As my words landed, I nodded to Marco. He moved to the far wall and revealed a hidden projection screen.
"To help everyone fully appreciate Dante's betrayal, I've prepared some… visual evidence."
All eyes locked on the screen. When explicit images of Dante and Valentina appeared—naked and entangled in their beachfront hideaway—muffled gasps rippled through the room. The camera angles were perfectly calculated, capturing every intimate detail with merciless clarity.
Valentina straddled Dante, her head thrown back in pleasure while he ran his hands over her body, his face slack with satisfaction. The audio came through with crystal clarity.
"Baby, are you sure about this? Giving up everything?" Valentina's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness.
Then came Dante's voice—once the golden boy of their world—now laced with contempt and mockery for everything they stood for.
"Hell yes. I've been sick of the Rossi Family's outdated bullshit for years. All that honor and loyalty crap is for suckers!" Dante muttered between kisses along her neck. "Once we've got the cash, we'll disappear somewhere new. Leave those old dinosaurs in the dust where they belong."
When the video ended, the room fell into a silence so profound it seemed to swallow sound itself. The explicit footage might have been dismissed as mere personal indiscretion, but Dante's words were a direct assault on everyone present—a spit in the face of the traditions that had governed their lives for generations.
"That fucking bastard!" The Francesco boss slammed his fist on the table and lurched to his feet, his face flushing deep crimson. "He's betrayed every one of us!"
"Disgraceful! A stain on all our traditions!"
"He deserves the worst death we can give him!"
The room erupted in outrage, and I watched their eyes transform—from skepticism to the shared bloodlust of hunters with common prey. In one masterful stroke, I'd converted my personal vendetta into a collective crusade.
"Gentlemen," I spoke quietly, yet my voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "This is the true face of treachery. Dante didn't just betray me—he betrayed the Rossi name and spat on the code we all live by."
I rose to my feet, surveying the room of crime lords whose blood now boiled at my orchestration.
"I need your help to ensure this rat finds no shelter in light or darkness. Let him pay the ultimate price for his arrogance and betrayal."
Pete Colombo rose slowly to his feet. His eyes met mine with newfound respect—perhaps even a touch of fear. He raised his glass in my direction.
"The Rossi Family has found itself a true leader," he announced gravely. "I, Pete Colombo, recognize Isabella Rossi as the rightful head of the Rossi organization. The Colombos stand ready to help you hunt down this traitor!"
Following his lead, the others rose in succession, glasses lifted in my direction.
"The Francesco Family stands with you, Donna Isabella!"
"We'll drag that bastard back in chains!"
I raised my own glass in acknowledgment. The battle was won before it had truly begun.
The news spread through the underworld like wildfire. Overnight, Dante Rossi's name became shorthand for treachery and disgrace. His sex tape and contemptuous words became the favorite gossip in every crew's back room.
In a motel room that reeked of mildew and industrial cleaner, Dante received the devastating news through his last remaining contact. He was done, and he knew it. Isabella hadn't just frozen his assets—she'd destroyed his reputation and any chance of redemption. He wasn't just a fugitive; he was a pariah with a price on his head.
"This is all your fault!" Dante hurled his phone against the wall and rounded on Valentina, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "If it weren't for you, I'd never have ended up like this!"
Valentina recoiled from his fury before firing back: "My fault? You were the one who said you were sick of the family! You wanted to run away! Now you're blaming me?"
She stared at the man who had once captivated her, now reduced to a snarling, impotent wreck. For the first time, she wondered if she'd made a catastrophic mistake. Their paradise of passion crumbled into bitter recrimination and the cold reality of their choices.
Thousands of miles away in the Rossi Estate, I sat before a crackling fire, lazily swirling aged Burgundy in my crystal glass.
Marco placed a stack of surveillance photos on my desk—fresh intelligence from the field. They showed Dante, unshaven and hollow-eyed, screaming at Valentina outside a run-down gas station convenience store.
I lifted a photo, studying Dante's desperate, disheveled face as my lips curved into a smile.
A cold, satisfied smile that glowed in the dancing firelight.
