Chapter 8 - The Table Turns
Before Aleandro could answer, the eldest of the two capos—a silver-haired veteran named Salvatore who had served under their father—cleared his throat.
"Boss," Salvatore said, his gravelly voice cutting through the heavy silence. "If what's on that drive is real, we aren't just looking at family accounting errors. Selling our port logistics to Detroit violates the blood pact. The council has to see the files before we move on any member of this house."
Aleandro didn't take his eyes off Emily. Slowly, deliberately, he picked up the flash drive and handed it directly to Salvatore.
"Play it on the secure monitor in the library," Aleandro ordered without breaking eye contact with his wife. "And have Marcus bring the two men we caught at the cabin into the cellar. I want them to confirm whose signature authorized their payroll."
Isabella’s face drained of all color. The polished, untouchable facade finally fractured completely. "Aleandro, you can't do this. You're tearing the family apart over an outsider—"
"She is my wife," Aleandro interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made even the seasoned capos flinch. "And you are a traitor. Sit down and wait for the council's verdict."
As Salvatore and the other capo retreated toward the library to review the data, Emily stood her ground in the center of the drawing room. The adrenaline that had sustained her through the night was beginning to fade, leaving a deep, bone-weary exhaustion in its wake. Yet, for the first time since she had walked out into the Chicago rain, she didn't feel like a victim in someone else's game.
Aleandro stepped closer to her, his expression a turbulent mix of regret, fury, and an agonizing vulnerability she had never seen in him before.
"I should have trusted you," he murmured, the words sounding as if they cost him physical pain to force past his lips. "When Isabella brought those papers, I looked at the numbers instead of looking at you. I let my world make me blind."
"You didn't just look at the numbers, Aleandro," Emily said, her voice steady, though her eyes stung with unshed tears. "You looked at where I came from. You assumed that because I didn't grow up with a family crest or a seat at the syndicate table, I was looking for a payoff."
"I never thought that," he protested, his hand finally reaching out to gently touch her arm.
"You didn't have to think it," she replied, pulling back slightly from his touch. "You just had to believe it the moment someone handed you an excuse."
Before Aleandro could answer, the heavy double doors of the library swung open. Salvatore walked out, his face grave, holding a small printed transcript in his hand. He didn't look at Isabella. He walked straight up to Aleandro and handed the paper over.
"It's all there, Boss," Salvatore said quietly. "Every transfer, every offshore account, and the recording of the sister authorizing the frame-up. Detroit didn't just buy our ports—they bought our security schedules for the next quarter."
Aleandro looked down at the paper, then slowly turned his head to look at his sister.
May you like
Isabella stood up from her chair, her back straight, her eyes wild with desperate defiance. "You think this makes you clean, Aleandro? You think the council will let you keep a civilian librarian as your queen when the federal indictments drop next week? I gave them a scapegoat. You're giving them an empire."
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