The previous nanny ran out of the mansion wearing only one shoe.

The rain blew into the grand foyer as the heavy oak doors swung inward. Standing on the threshold was a woman framed by the dark, wet night.

Gia Valenti was thirty years old, possessing the sharp, striking bone structure characteristic of the old-world Valenti bloodline. She wore a tailored black trench coat drenched with rain, her dark hair slicked back from her face. Her eyes were not amber like Vittorio’s, but a piercing, pale violet-gray—cold, calculating, and completely unreadable.

Behind her stood a single man: an older Italian attorney carrying a locked leather briefcase, his eyes darting nervously around the soaring marble entryway of the Rinaldi fortress.

"Vittorio," Gia said. Her voice was smooth, carrying a subtle, aristocratic Milanese accent. "You built quite a wall around yourself after the tribunal."

Vittorio stood at the base of the grand staircase, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets, his frame towering and unyielding.

"You're standing in my home, Gia," Vittorio said calmly, his tone devoid of welcome. "The last person who brought an uninvited attorney into this foyer spent ten years in a federal penitentiary."

Gia let out a low, dry laugh, stepping inside. Her leather heels clicked sharply against the marble floor. "I’m not here to threaten you, cousin. I’m here to collect what your father and my father stole from my mother thirty years ago."

Serena stepped out from behind the archway, standing beside Vittorio.

Gia’s violet-gray eyes instantly locked onto Serena. Her gaze drifted down to Serena’s heavy baby bump, a faint, cynical smile touching her lips.

"So," Gia murmured. "The famous nanny who brought the ruthless Vittorio Rinaldi to his knees. The papers in Europe called you a saint, Serena. They said you turned a mob fortress into a home."

"This is a home," Serena replied, her voice steady and clear, holding Gia’s cold stare without flinching. "Which means whatever business you have with Vittorio, you address with respect."

Gia’s smile faded slightly, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes at Serena’s quiet authority.

"Respect is earned through equity, Mrs. Rinaldi," Gia said, turning back to Vittorio. "Your uncle Dominic’s hidden assets in Zurich weren't just commercial real estate. They included thirty percent of the voting equity in the Rinaldi Maritime Logistics Network—the primary shipping corridors between New York, Genoa, and Rotterdam."

"Dominic forfeited those shares when he attempted to frame me for tax fraud during the tribunal," Vittorio stated coldly. "The board liquidated his holdings."

"The board liquidated his domestic holdings," Gia’s attorney chimed in, nervously stepping forward and unlocking his leather briefcase. He pulled out a thick parchment document bearing the official red seal of the High Court of Milan. "Under international maritime law, foreign trust assets held under a maternal bloodline covenant cannot be liquidated by a domestic tribunal without the consent of the primary heir."

The attorney held out the document.

"Gia Valenti holds thirty percent legal control over your primary shipping fleet, Mr. Rinaldi," the attorney continued, his voice shaking slightly under Vittorio’s intense stare. "She has already filed an injunction in Rotterdam. As of four o'clock this afternoon, eight of your commercial cargo vessels are legally frozen at the dock."

Vittorio didn't reach for the paper. He didn't even look at it.

"Eight ships," Vittorio said softly. "Carrying seventy million dollars in perishable pharmaceuticals and industrial components bound for the Eastern Seaboard."

"Precisely," Gia said, crossing her arms over her trench coat. "You have sixty days to transfer twenty million dollars in liquid cash to my account in Milan, or I liquidate the shipping contracts at public auction."

Serena felt Vittorio’s posture shift slightly—the subtle micro-movement of a man preparing to strike. She immediately slid her hand into his, her warm fingers lacing through his tight, trembling fist.

Vittorio felt her touch. He took a slow breath, suppressing the old, violent instinct that had once governed his life.

"You picked a dangerous game, Gia," Vittorio said, his amber eyes locking onto hers like iron sights. "You think because I put down my weapons and married a good woman that I forgot how to break my enemies?"

"I don't think you're weak, Vittorio," Gia replied, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "I think you have something to lose now. Six things, actually. Four sons, a daughter... and a pregnant wife."

Vittorio stepped forward. The sheer physical menace radiating from him was so intense that Gia’s attorney took two frantic steps backward, nearly tripping over his own briefcase.

"Threaten my family again," Vittorio whispered, "and you won't live long enough to see sunrise in Milan."

"It wasn't a threat," Gia said, her voice remaining icy and calm, though her fingers twitched slightly inside her coat pockets. "It was an observation. You have a family to protect, Vittorio. I have nothing to lose. See you in court... or in Rotterdam."

She turned on her heel, her trench coat billowing behind her as she walked out into the pouring rain. Her attorney scrambled after her, slamming the heavy double doors behind them.

The foyer fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Serena looked at Vittorio. His jaw was clenched so hard she could see the strain in his neck muscles.

"Vittorio," Serena whispered gently.

Vittorio looked down at her, his expression instantly softening, though his eyes remained shadowed with storm clouds.

"She froze the shipping fleet," Vittorio said quietly. "If those ships sit in Rotterdam for more than forty-eight hours, our supply contracts with the hospital networks in New York will default. It will trigger a twenty-million-dollar penalty clause that could force us into judicial bankruptcy."

"She designed it to choke us," Serena realized. "She doesn't just want money, Vittorio. She wants revenge for what your uncle did to her mother."