Chapter 20 - The Unfinished Business
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A year later, the Amalfi Coast was fully under the undisputed control of the Rossi family.
The restaurant La Corona was still bustling with politicians and tourists, but Isadora Marino was no longer serving pasta. She sat at the most exclusive table on the terrace, wearing a stunning white sundress, a massive, flawless diamond resting heavy on her left ring finger.
Gio sat across from her, looking relaxed, powerful, and entirely captivated by his wife.
"The Swiss accounts are fully consolidated," Isadora said smoothly, sipping her wine, slipping effortlessly into her role as the syndicate’s chief financial strategist. "The commission is terrified of you, and the shipping routes are generating record profits."
"I don't care about the profits," Gio smiled, reaching across the table to interlock his fingers with hers. "I only care that you are happy, mia regina."
"I am," she smiled back, her heart swelling with an absolute, profound peace.
They had rebuilt the empire from the ashes, establishing a reign of formidable power and unshakeable loyalty. The ghosts of the past had finally been laid to rest.
But in the underworld, peace is always a fragile illusion.
Just as the sun began to dip below the Mediterranean horizon, casting a blood-red glow over the water, Luca approached the table. The massive bodyguard looked grim, his posture tense.
"Boss," Luca said quietly, handing Gio a small, unmarked black envelope. "A courier just dropped this at the front gate. He said it requires your immediate attention."
Gio frowned, taking the envelope. He broke the wax seal and pulled out a single, glossy photograph.
Isadora watched as the color completely drained from Gio’s face. The relaxed, loving husband vanished in a microsecond, replaced instantly by the cold, lethal Don.
"Giovanni?" Isadora asked, her pulse spiking with sudden dread. "What is it?"
Gio didn't answer immediately. He slowly turned the photograph around and slid it across the white linen tablecloth toward her.
It was a picture of the safehouse in Naples. The one they had used the night they stole the ledger. But standing in front of the safehouse was a man who was supposed to be dead.
The assassin from the dining room. The boy Gio had shot in the head.
Written on the back of the photograph, in jagged red ink, were four words:
The war just started.
May you like
Gio stood up slowly, buttoning his suit jacket, his eyes turning to black ice as he looked out over the sea.
"Luca," Gio ordered, his voice a dangerous, deadly whisper. "Call the capos. Tell them to arm every man we have."
