Chapter 7 - The Trial of Whispers
With the external threat neutralized, Vittorio turned his attention inward. The cellars of the villa were cold, smelling of damp stone and old wine. Isabella and Matteo were chained to heavy iron chairs, their glamorous clothes now tattered and stained.
Vittorio entered the room alone, carrying the cracked phone Sophia had given him—the one containing the recording of Isabella’s treacherous plotting. He placed it on a small table between them and pressed play.
The sound of Isabella’s cold, calculating voice filled the room. Hearing it now, in the damp silence, Isabella could no longer look her husband in the eye.
"I gave you everything," Vittorio said, his voice flat, devoid of anger, which made it infinitely more terrifying. "Status, wealth, a name that made people bow in the streets. And you traded it for a second-rate Calabrian thug who couldn't even ensure his assassin used the correct hand."
"Kill me then," Isabella hissed, spitting blood onto the floor. "Get it over with, Vittorio. You're a monster, and you always will be."
May you like
"No, Isabella. Death is an escape," Vittorio replied softly. "You love status. You love luxury. So, I am taking it away permanently."
Vittorio had compiled every piece of evidence of Isabella's financial crimes, her money laundering, and her conspiracies to murder—not just against him, but against high-ranking politicians. He wasn't going to execute her; he was handing her over to the federal authorities under a maximum-security, non-negotiable life sentence in a desolate prison in the north, where her name would mean absolutely nothing. As for Matteo, he was delivered directly to the remaining Rossi capos, broken and penniless, as a living warning of what happens to those who touch the Morelli crown.
