Lorenzo Moretti had survived ambushes, betrayals, raids, and men who smiled while planning his funeral.

Two weeks passed with a strange, unprecedented stillness settling over the Moretti estate.

For the first time in its history, the mansion felt less like a heavily guarded compound and more like an actual home. The heavy iron gates still patrolled the perimeter, and Marco’s security teams remained vigilant, but the oppressive atmosphere of tension, paranoia, and hidden daggers had evaporated along with Valentina’s departure.

Lorenzo spent less time locked in his private study and more time at the long dining table in the evening, listening to Lena chatter endlessly about her day at the local private academy he had quietly enrolled her in under a secure guardian profile.

Sophia had transitioned into her new role with staggering competence. She didn't just manage the household staff; she restructured the entire procurement and hospitality divisions, uncovering two legacy supply contracts that had been quietly bleeding the estate’s secondary accounts for years—leftovers from Julian’s administrative oversight.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when the peace was briefly interrupted.

Lorenzo was reviewing architectural blueprints for a community redevelopment project in downtown Chicago—a philanthropic initiative he had quietly funded through his foundation—when Marco knocked twice and pushed open the study door.

"Boss," Marco said, his expression grim. "We have an issue at the south gate."

Lorenzo didn't look up from his blueprints. "What kind of issue?"

"Carlo Rossi is outside."

Lorenzo’s pen stopped moving across the paper. The name carried immediate, lethal weight. Carlo Rossi was the aging patriarch of the Rossi syndicate out of Chicago—a dangerous, unpredictable old-school capos who had spent forty years carving out territory through sheer brutality. He was also Valentina’s uncle.

"What does Rossi want?" Lorenzo asked coldly, slowly raising his head.

"He claims he's here to discuss 'family business,'" Marco replied, resting his hand on his holster. "He brought four armed cars and twenty men. They're parked outside the perimeter wall. He's demanding a personal audience with you to negotiate the return of Valentina's personal assets and a severance settlement for the humiliation his family suffered."

A slow, humorless smile spread across Lorenzo's face. He stood up from his mahogany desk, smoothing the front of his vest.

"Humiliation?" Lorenzo muttered, walking toward the window that overlooked the winding drive. "Tell Rossi he has five minutes to turn his convoy around and drive back to Chicago before I treat his presence here as an act of war. And if he refuses..."

Lorenzo picked up his silver-plated lighter from the desk, flicking the flame open and shut.

"...remind him what happened to the last man who tried to dictate terms inside my house."