Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm
The next forty-eight hours were a masterclass in mafia warfare. Roman refused to leave the estate, turning the mansion into a veritable fortress. Armed men patrolled the perimeter every ten feet, and sniper nests were established on the roof.
I spent those days looking in the mirror, learning to accept the woman looking back at me. With my hair gone, my eyes looked larger, fiercer. The vulnerability had vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve. I was no longer just Bianca from Queens, the restaurant manager who fell in love with a mysterious stranger. I was a mother defending her cub.
On the third evening, Roman entered the bedroom wearing a fresh tailored suit, though the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. He carried a velvet box and placed it on my lap.
"Open it," he said gently.
Inside was a beautiful, intricately woven silk headscarf, emerald green, matching the color of my eyes. Beside it lay a small, silver derringer pistol.
"The scarf is for your comfort," Roman said, his fingers tracing my cheekbone. "The gun is for my peace of mind. Marcus has managed to convince three of the five New York families that I am unfit to rule because I am 'submitting' to a will written by a dying, senile old man. Tonight, they are coming here. They demanded a sit-down on neutral ground, but I told them if they want to contest my daughter’s birthright, they will have to do it in her house."
"Is it safe to have them here?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"It’s safer than letting them plot in the dark," Roman replied. "I need you to be strong tonight, Bianca. I need you to show them that the mother of the future Kane heir cannot be broken by a pair of shears and some rain."
Two hours later, the gates opened to admit a convoy of black armored vehicles. The underbosses of the New York underworld stepped out, accompanied by their heavily armed bodyguards. Among them was Marcus Vane, a towering man with silver-streaked hair and a cruel, arrogant smirk that mirrored Vivienne's.
The meeting was held in the grand dining room. I insisted on being present, despite Dr. Evans’ protests. I wore a dark green maternity gown that complemented the silk scarf wrapped elegantly around my head. I sat at the foot of the long mahogany table, with Roman standing directly behind my chair, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder.
Marcus Vane sat at the opposite end, tossing a heavy gold lighter from hand to hand.
"Well, Roman," Marcus began, his voice dripping with condescension. "You’ve certainly turned this place into a circus. We came here to discuss business, not to have a family dinner with a girl who looks like she belongs in a monastery."
The men around the table chuckled darkly.
I didn't blink. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, letting them see the lack of fear in my eyes. "Marcus," I said, my voice echoing clearly in the vault-like room. "You can mock my appearance all you like. But the fact remains that your sister is currently locked in a guest cottage, stripped of her titles, because she failed to kill the heir to this family. If you think you can do better, I suggest you stop playing with your lighter and try your luck."
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The laughter died instantly. Marcus’s smirk vanished, replaced by a dark, murderous glare. He slammed his hand on the table and stood up. "You arrogant little bitch. You think because Roman puts a ring on your finger, you matter? This syndicate belongs to the blood that built it!"
"And that blood is inside her," Roman stepped forward, his voice a low growl that made several underbosses instinctively reach for their jackets. "My father’s will is absolute. Anyone who challenges my daughter's inheritance challenges me. And I assure you, Marcus, I am far less forgiving than my father ever was."
