Everyone was already seated when I entered the meeting room. The estate's council chamber was exactly as it had always been. High ceilings carved with dark wood, ancestral portraits lining the walls like silent judges, their eyes following every movement. The air smelled faintly of leather, cigar smoke and old money.
The long conference table stretched before us, polished to a ruthless sheen. Each chair occupied by men who had built their lives on loyalty and blood. Except one.
My grandfather's.
I took the seat beside it anyway. The empty space at his side making my fingers go cold.
This was inevitable.
Everyone had been notified hours ago that Dario was dead. His death came with questions, inevitable ones and with them, comes the suspicion and the slow, predatory shifting of power. I had spent the remainder of my flight refining the truth, until it could be swallowed without drawing blood.
Now, I just had to play the part. No matter how much it was killing me inside. Even if it means I'd lose my inheritance.
The room fell into a heavy silence when my grandfather entered.
Conversations died mid-breath. Every man straightened when he crossed the threshold, his cane tapping softly against the carpeted floors, dressed in his customary black suit. Power followed him like a shadow. Two of his men trailing behind, stopping only when he lifted a hand, an unspoken command for them to remain back.
I rose instinctively when his chair was pulled out, stepping forward to help him as I always had.
But he stopped me with a raised hand.
Not unkind. Not even angry. Just dismissive.
This was a power play, because my grandfather had never done this before. He had always welcomed my presence at his side. This time, he did not even look at me twice as he settled into his seat at the head of the table. The distance between us felt deliberate, measured. Cold.
My stomach tightened as I returned to my chair, suddenly aware of every pair of judgmental eyes in the room.
"Now that we're all here," he said at last, his gaze settling on me, his voice steady and unhurried. "Isolda, you may begin."
"Thank you, Nonno," I said as I rose from my seat, clearing my throat, willing my nerves into submission. "And thank you all for coming on such short notice."
I scanned the table. There were more men than women. Every one of them powerful, and all their eyes were on me.
"I'm here to formally inform you of my fiancé's death, Signor Dario Bianchi." I paused, allowing the name to settle. "I did not know him for long, but in that time, he proved himself a good man, and an even better Capo of New York. He was shot earlier today, as we were preparing to elope."
Everyone held their breaths. They already knew he had been shot. But they didn't know why.
"There is a traitor among us," I said, my voice steady despite the tightening in my chest. "Our elopement was not planned. It was decided on a whim. No dates, no witnesses. We simply—"
I stopped. Not because I had to, but because the words lodged somewhere deeper than my throat. For a fleeting moment, I saw blood where there should have been light. His hand, slipping from mine when it should not have. I forced myself to breathe.
"We wanted to make it official," I continued, turning toward my grandfather, "on our own terms." My voice dipped, just slightly. "And for that, I am sorry, Nonno."
He did not respond. He didn't even move. Only his gaze remained on me, sharp and assessing, as if he was weighing my words.
"The individual we suspect to be responsible for Dario's death," I went on anyway, "is the same one connected to the explosion at one of our most protected facilities." I paused, steadying myself against the table. "Therefore, I formally propose that my team and I be entrusted with the investigation, to commence immediately after the funeral."
The silence fractured almost immediately.
Low voices rippled around the table, measured at first, then sharper. A few men nodded, murmuring their agreement. An internal investigation made sense. It would've been controlled. While others were less restrained.
"And what gives her the right?" someone scoffed from the far end of the table. "She was there when he died."
"She must've known something," another voice added coolly.
"She could be protecting someone," a third said. "Or herself."
The words stacked on top of one another, each accusation heavier than the last. Their eyes turning to me. Not with grief, but with calculation. Suspicion. As if my mourning were simply a performance they were trying to crack.
Then—
Thud.
My grandfather's cane struck the marble floor with a force that made the room jump.
Their murmurs died instantly.
He rose just enough to command attention, his presence pressing down on the table like a held breath. "Enough," he said, his voice low but absolute. "You will not try her in this room."
His gaze swept over them, daring anyone to challenge him.
"She speaks with my authority," he continued. "And until I say otherwise, Isolda is under my protection. Any further insinuations will be taken as an act of disrespect. To me."
No one spoke.
The can tapped the floor once more, softer this time. Final.
"If there is a traitor among us," he said, "we will find him. But we will do so without tearing apart our own."
My grandfather turned his attention to the table once more, his fingers tightening around the head of his cane. "There will be changes," he said calmly. "Effective immediately."
That was when the room truly stilled.
"New York will no longer remain vacant," he continued. "Much as it pains me to say this, stability cannot wait for mourning."
"Isolda, my granddaughter, will assume control of the New York territory."
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Sharp intakes of air, heads snapping toward me, disbelief rippled through the room. Someone even laughed under their breath, thinking it must be some provocation. Another outright stiffened, their fury barely leashed.
I didn't move. I couldn't.
New York is mine.
The city where I was born. I had lived there before. Walked in its streets. Learned its language, its violence, its rhythm. But ruling over it? Now? After Dario?
My grandfather's eyes found mine, unreadable.
"This will honor Dario's position," he went on, unmoved by the unrest he had unleashed. "And it will ensure continuity."
No one dared interrupt him.
I bowed my head slowly, the gesture automatic. "If that is your decision, Nonno, I will not refuse."