Chapter 19 - The Syndicate's Heir
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Three weeks passed in a hollow, numb blur.
I didn't return to Cafe Napoli. I couldn't bear to sing the Neapolitan songs anymore. They didn't feel like home; they felt like a curse. I took a job translating technical manuals for a boring corporate firm, working remotely from my apartment, ignoring the black SUVs that I knew were parked down the street, keeping a silent, invisible watch over me.
Christopher kept his distance, respecting the horrifying boundary between us, but he ensured I was protected. My bank account mysteriously received a deposit of four hundred thousand dollars. I tried to wire it back, but the bank said the account was locked.
On a rainy Tuesday evening, a knock sounded at my apartment door.
I looked through the peephole. It wasn't Dante, and it wasn't Christopher. It was a man in an expensive suit holding a briefcase.
I cautiously opened the door, leaving the chain on.
“Miss Carter?” the man asked politely. “I am Mr. Sterling. I am the lead attorney for the Vitali Holding Corporation. I have documents that require your immediate signature.”
“I don't want his money,” I said coldly, preparing to shut the door.
“It’s not money, Miss Carter,” the lawyer said quickly, holding a heavy manila envelope up to the gap in the door. “It’s a transfer of power. Mr. Vitali has formally abdicated his position as the head of the Boston syndicate.”
I froze, the door handle slipping from my grip. “He did what?”
“He is dismantling the criminal operations,” the lawyer explained quietly. “He is turning the syndicate into a legitimate holding company. But the old laws of the families dictate that the throne cannot simply be abandoned. It must be passed to the next living blood relative.”
I stared at the lawyer, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
“Christopher has no children,” the lawyer continued. “You are the only other living descendant of Maria Vitali. He is transferring absolute legal and operational control of the entire empire to you.”
“I don't want it!” I gasped, horrified by the implication.
“If you don't take it, the rival families will tear Boston apart in a bloodbath trying to claim the territory,” the lawyer said grimly. “He is doing this to end the violence. But he needs your signature to make it legitimate.”
I undid the chain and took the envelope with trembling hands.
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Christopher wasn't just giving me money. He was destroying his own empire, giving up the throne he had bled for, all to ensure I would never be hunted by the mob again. He was setting me up as an untouchable, legitimate CEO.
“Where is he?” I asked, my voice cracking.
