Chapter 8 - Matriarch's Judgment
The great estate of Belladonna was still under repair, but the blood had been scrubbed from the marble floors.
The grand dining room, illuminated by chandeliers that had witnessed a century of mafia history, was prepared for a feast. Outside, the winter wind howled against the reinforced glass, but inside, the fire burned warm and bright.
At the head of the long mahogany table sat Donna Caterina Moretti.
She wore deep emerald velvet, her silver hair braided into an intricate crown, her silver cane leaning against the arm of her chair. To her right sat Adrian, freshly dressed in a bespoke navy suit, looking every bit the uncontested king of New England’s underworld.
And to his right sat me.
I wore an elegant, midnight-blue silk dress that draped gracefully over my shoulders, my hair falling in soft waves. On my finger, the emerald-cut diamond caught the candlelight.
The dining room doors opened, and two guards escorted a man into the room.
It was Matteo Rossi.
He was stripped of his fine tailoring. His face was bruised, his hands cuffed behind his back, his clothes rumpled and soiled. The swagger that had defined him at the symphony hall was completely gone, replaced by the hollow, feral dread of a condemned man.
Marco shoved him forward until Matteo fell to his knees on the Persian rug at the foot of the table.
“Adrian,” Matteo choked out, his voice hoarse, looking up at the man who had systematically dismantled his empire in seventy-two hours. “We can make a deal. The council will intervene. You can't just slaughter the head of a founding family.”
Adrian took a sip of his red wine, setting the crystal glass down with excruciating slowness.
“The council already met this afternoon, Matteo,” Adrian said softly. “They reviewed the ledgers we retrieved from Terminal 4. They saw proof that you murdered Isabella’s father. They saw proof that you hired outside mercenaries to strike at the Belladonna estate.”
Matteo went gray. “They… they sanctioned this?”
“There is no Rossi family anymore,” Caterina spoke, her voice carrying the cold finality of a guillotine. “Your captains have already sworn fealty to Adrian. Your assets have been absorbed. You are simply a ghost who hasn't realized he’s dead yet.”
Matteo’s frantic, desperate eyes shifted from Adrian to Caterina, and finally landed on me.
“It was you,” he whispered, his eyes wide with venomous shock. “The event coordinator. You tripped the harbor suppression systems. You cracked the customs manifests.”
I looked at him calmly, sitting straight in my chair, resting my hands lightly on the table.
“You told me Boston was a dangerous city for fragile things, Mr. Rossi,” I said, my voice steady, smooth, and devoid of pity. “You assumed that because I didn't carry a gun for a living, I didn't know how to fight. That was your first mistake. Your second mistake… was threatening the man I belong to.”
Adrian’s hand slid across the table, covering mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles with quiet pride.
Matteo let out a dry, broken sob, slumping forward onto the floor.
Adrian looked at Marco. “Take him away. Ensure he never sees another sunrise in this state.”
“Understood, Boss,” Marco said, hauling Matteo to his feet and dragging him backward out of the dining room. The heavy doors clicked shut, cutting off Matteo’s muffled pleas.
Silence settled over the room once more.
Donna Caterina picked up her wine glass, turning her piercing gaze toward me. For a long, tense moment, the matriarch studied my face, looking for hesitation, fear, or regret.
She found none.
“When you first woke up in my grandson’s bed, Elena,” Caterina said, her tone conversational, “I thought you were an opportunistic fool who would get him killed.”
“Grandmother,” Adrian warned, his jaw tightening.
Caterina held up a hand, silencing him without looking away from me.
“Let me finish, boy,” the old woman commanded. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I was wrong. In sixty years, I have seen dozens of women enter this family. Socialites, heiresses, daughters of capos. Most of them broke under the weight of the blood. But you… you stood in the line of fire, you defended my home, and you used your mind to break our enemies.”
She raised her glass toward me.
“You are no longer an accident, Elena Brooks,” Caterina declared, her dark eyes flashing with genuine respect. “You are Moretti blood now. And you have earned your place at this table.”
A warmth spread through my chest—not just of relief, but of profound vindication. I looked at the fierce old woman and raised my glass in return.
“Thank you, Donna Caterina,” I said softly.
Adrian looked at me, a rare, breathtaking smile illuminating his dark features. He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing the heavy ring on my finger in full view of his grandmother.
May you like
“She’s right, you know,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. “You’re stuck with me now.”
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