Chapter 7 - The Return to the Mansion
At 2:00 AM, a heavy fog rolled off the Hudson River, blanketing the grounds of the Russo estate in a thick, ghostly shroud.
The mansion, usually glowing with security lights and bustling with foot patrols, was eerily dark. Half the estate's guards had abandoned their posts after learning that Bianca’s authority was crumbling and that Matteo was still alive. Only Marcus Cole’s die-hard mercenaries remained, stationed at the main gates and the front entry.
They weren't expecting us to enter from below.
Using the old coal chute beneath the ruined greenhouse, Matteo, two of his most trusted veteran enforcers—Frankie and Dominic—and I slipped silently back into the subterranean brick tunnels beneath the estate.
Lily was safely tucked away at a secure, high-protection convent in Manhattan, guarded personally by Sam Callahan and four former federal officers whom Matteo had paid two million dollars to secure. For the first time in days, I knew my daughter was completely safe. Now, it was time to collect the debt owed to her father.
We emerged through a hidden panel inside the grand library on the second floor.
The mansion was deathly quiet, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the foyer.
"Frankie, take the north wing and secure the security control room," Matteo ordered in a whispered command. "Dominic, cut the main power grid on my signal. Claire... stay behind me."
"No," I said, pulling a compact stun-gun from my jacket pocket—a non-lethal weapon Daniel, Matteo’s enforcer, had given me before we left Queens. "I’m coming to the study with you. I want to look her in the eye when she realizes Thomas beat her."
Matteo looked at me for a long moment, a ghost of a proud smile touching his lips. "All right. But if shots are fired, you hit the floor."
We moved silently down the carpeted hallway toward the grand double doors of the master study.
Light gleamed beneath the crack of the door.
Matteo didn't knock. He didn't use a battering ram. He simply turned the brass handle and stepped smoothly into the room, his firearm raised and level.
Bianca Russo was sitting behind her father's massive mahogany desk, packing stacks of hundred-dollar bills and bearer bonds into a leather duffel bag.
She froze. The stack of bills slipped from her hand, scattering across the polished floorboards.
"Hello, sister," Matteo said softly, stepping into the warm light of the desk lamp.
Bianca’s breath hitched in her throat. She looked from Matteo to me, her eyes widening as she recognized the housekeeper she had treated like furniture for three years.
"Matteo..." Bianca stammered, trying desperately to regain her composure, her hand creeping slowly toward the open drawer of the desk where a silver pistol lay. "You... you’re alive. Thank God. Those hitmen... they tried to frame me—"
"Don't move your hand, Bianca," Matteo warned, his voice devoid of all emotion. "If your fingers touch that drawer, I won't hesitate."
Bianca stopped, her hand hovering six inches from the gun. Her face contorted from fake relief into pure, ugly venom.
"You arrogant bastard," she hissed, her voice dripping with hatred. "You always thought you were superior! You played corporate CEO while I did the filthy work of maintaining our alliances! You didn't deserve Father’s chair!"
"I gave you everything, Bianca," Matteo said quietly, a profound, tragic sadness in his eyes. "I gave you safety, wealth, and love. But your ambition was a sickness."
"And what about him?" Bianca spat, glaring at me with vicious contempt. "You brought a housekeeper into our family study? A widow whose pathetic husband couldn't mind his own business?"
I stepped forward, pulling the small silver audio recorder from my pocket and setting it firmly on her desk.
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"Thomas wasn't pathetic, Bianca," I said, my voice steady and cold as marble. "He was ten times the human being you could ever hope to be. He recorded every crime you committed, every bribe you paid, and every murder you ordered. And thirty seconds ago, those files were transmitted directly to the United States Attorney General's office."
Bianca stared at the recorder, the final color draining from her face as the utter finality of her defeat washed over her.
