“SHE TOLD MY DAUGHTER I STOPPED LOVING HER!” THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS FIANCÉE ERASE HIS MOTHER’S PHONE—UNTIL THE MAID REVEALED THE HIDDEN VOICEMAIL THAT BROKE THE WEDDING. / Chapter 10 / 16

Chapter 9 - The Bellini Family SyndicateBy late October, the transition of the former Bellini freight corridors was completed without a single incident of violence.

Under Luca’s leadership, the dockworkers, warehouse handlers, and truck drivers who had suffered under Salvatore Bellini’s corrupt kickback schemes received guaranteed union pensions, full medical coverage, and a forty percent permanent wage increase under the newly chartered Moretti Maritime Trust.

Meanwhile, at the Gold Coast mansion, the heavy silence that had haunted the hallways for years was replaced by warmth, laughter, and the bustling energy of an authentic home.

My younger brother, Toby, had finished his first semester of electrical trade school with top honors, his tuition fully covered by the family trust, and was currently apprenticing with the master electrical engineers at the Moretti harbor terminals.

Sophie had returned to her private school in Lincoln Park, her grades rebounding to straight A's, surrounded by friends who visited the mansion every Friday afternoon to study in the sunroom.

And every Wednesday afternoon at 3:30 PM, without fail, Rosa Moretti’s phone would ring on the kitchen counter.

Rosa would pick it up with a radiant smile, her raspy, melodic voice echoing through the kitchen:

“Hello, my beautiful Sophie! How was your geometry test today?”

And across the line, Sophie’s laughter would ring out, clear, joyful, and completely unbroken.

One sunny Friday afternoon, I walked into the grand kitchen carrying a basket of fresh herbs from the greenhouse.

Mrs. Gable stood at the marble island, rolling out sweet dough with a cheerful grin, while Rosa sat on a high stool beside her, meticulously peeling cloves of fresh garlic.

“Good morning, Emma,” Rosa greeted me warmly, wiping her hands on a linen towel. “Luca called from the harbor ten minutes ago. He said he’s coming home early for lunch.”

“I’ll start the tomato sauce, Mrs. Moretti,” I smiled, reaching for an apron hanging from the pantry hook.

Rosa immediately caught my wrist with gentle firmness, tutting softly under her breath.

“You will do no such thing, young lady,” the old matriarch scolded affectionately. “The Executive Director of this family does not cook lunch on a Friday afternoon. You have an appointment with the master jeweler on Michigan Avenue in forty-five minutes.”