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The conference room is stifling, not because of the temperature but because of the weight of the situation. I sit at the head of the long, polished table, the leather chair beneath me creaking slightly as I shift.

Around me are the top officials of the Vinci Group, their faces lined with stress and exhaustion. Among them is Dante, my old right-hand man, his presence both a reminder of the past and a harbinger of the grim reality I’m now facing.

We’ve barely spoken since I returned home with Serge. I wish we had that same light, easy banter we used to.

I lace my fingers together, my elbows resting on the table as I scan the stack of reports in front of me. The numbers blur, but the overall picture is clear: the Vinci Group is on the brink of collapse. The once-mighty empire my father built and Lorenzo inherited is teetering on the edge of ruin.

“How bad is it?” I ask, my voice steady despite the unease roiling in my stomach.

Dante clears his throat, his expression grave. “Bad, signora . The debt has been mounting for years. Several of our key ventures are failing. The real estate developments in Rome and Naples are stalled indefinitely. The shipping company is hemorrhaging money due to delays and supply chain issues. And as for the pharmaceutical branch—”

“It’s a mess,” another executive interjects, his tone sharp with frustration. “Regulatory fines, lawsuits, bad PR… it’s all coming down on us.”

I close my eyes briefly, letting their words sink in. The Vinci Group isn’t just struggling; it’s drowning. I glance down at the report again, trying to make sense of the chaos. No wonder Lorenzo had a heart attack. The stress of keeping this ship afloat must have been unbearable.

“What’s being done to address these issues?” I ask, lifting my gaze to Dante.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Lorenzo… he was looking for outside support before his death.”

“Support?” I repeat, my tone hardening. “What kind of support?”

His hesitation is palpable, the tension in the room thickening as everyone exchanges nervous glances. Finally, he sighs. “He reached out to Serge Sharov.”

My heart drops, though I manage to keep my expression neutral. Of course, Serge’s involvement was inevitable. His name casts a long shadow, and now I understand why Lorenzo had approached him. Desperation.

“Why did Lorenzo want to be in control so badly, if this was the result?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

“He always did like control,” Dante says carefully, choosing his words. “Lorenzo didn’t think you would have the connections or the resources to handle something of this magnitude. He believed Serge and the Bratva were the only way to salvage the situation.”

I sit back, the leather cool against my skin, and let out a slow breath. The pieces are falling into place now, and none of it sits right. Lorenzo, for all his faults, had been fighting a losing battle for years, and now the weight of his failures rests squarely on my shoulders.

“What happens if we don’t act quickly?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Bankruptcy,” Dante says bluntly. “Within the year. Maybe sooner.”

The room falls silent, the severity of the situation hanging over us like a storm cloud. My fingers tighten on the edges of the report, and for a moment, I let the frustration bubble to the surface.

“This isn’t just poor management,” I say, my voice cold. “This is sabotage. Recklessness. How did Lorenzo let things get this bad?”

Dante’s gaze flickers with guilt, but he doesn’t argue. “He tried. His health… and his decisions weren’t always sound. He was under immense pressure.”

Pressure that killed him , I think bitterly.

I glance around the table, taking in the weary faces of the executives who once praised Lorenzo’s leadership. Now, they’re looking to me to fix the mess he left behind. It’s not just daunting—it feels impossible.

“We need a plan,” I say firmly, trying to summon a confidence I don’t entirely feel. “No more patchwork solutions. No more delays. Give me a breakdown of what’s salvageable and what we need to cut. I’ll review everything personally.”

There’s a murmur of assent, though the tension doesn’t ease. These men are looking at me like I’m their last hope, and it makes my stomach churn.

Dante speaks again, his tone cautious. “Chiara… you realize that without outside help, this might not be enough.”

I meet his gaze, my jaw tightening. “I’ll consider every option.”

Including Serge, though the thought makes my skin crawl. His world and mine have already become too intertwined, and letting him have any more influence over my life feels like a death sentence in its own way.

The meeting drags on as the executives outline the most pressing issues. By the time it ends, the stack of papers in front of me has doubled, and my head is pounding. Dante lingers as the others leave, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says quietly.

“Yes, I do,” I reply, my tone clipped. “It’s my responsibility now.”

He nods, though his concern is evident. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll let you know,” I say. I don’t need his pity. I need results.

As Dante leaves, I let out a long breath, my shoulders slumping. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath my feet. The Vinci Group is falling apart, and now I see why Lorenzo was willing to strike a deal with Serge.

The thought makes my stomach twist. No matter how much I want to keep my distance from Serge’s world, I can’t deny that his resources, his power, could be the key to saving everything. But at what cost?

I rub my temples, trying to focus. There’s no time to dwell on what-ifs. If I’m going to save this empire, I need to act quickly.

***

The drive back home feels longer than usual, the city lights blurring as the car weaves through traffic. I sit in the backseat, the reports from the meeting stacked neatly in my lap. My fingers drum against the leather armrest, the rhythm betraying the storm brewing in my mind. Everything is worse than I imagined. Every number, every failed project, and every mounting debt feels like a countdown to disaster.

By the time the car pulls into the long driveway of Serge’s mansion, my temples throb with a dull ache. The house looms ahead, its lights casting a warm glow that feels at odds with the turmoil churning inside me. I step out, clutching the papers tightly as if they’re the only anchor I have in this sinking ship.

Inside, the house is quiet except for the faint sound of laughter coming from the twins’ playroom. I don’t stop to greet them. I can’t, not with my mind racing and my chest tight with worry. I head straight to the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind me. The reports land on the desk with a dull thud, and I slump into the chair, staring at them like they’re a puzzle I can’t solve.

It’s not long before I hear the door open behind me. I don’t turn around; I already know who it is.

“You’ve been gone longer than usual,” Serge says, his voice calm but carrying the weight of his presence.

“I had a lot to handle,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. I don’t want to get into this with him—not now, maybe not ever.

He doesn’t take the hint. I hear the soft click of the door closing and his footsteps approaching. He stops behind me, his hands resting on the back of the chair. His warmth is close, too close, and it only heightens my unease.

“You’re quiet,” he observes, his tone sharper now, probing.

I exhale slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. “It’s nothing,” I say, but the lie feels thin even to me.

“Don’t insult me, Chiara,” he says, his grip on the chair tightening slightly. “What’s going on?”

I hesitate, my fingers curling into fists in my lap. He always seems to know, always seems to see through me no matter how hard I try to keep my walls up. I glance over my shoulder, meeting his piercing gaze.

“It’s the Vinci Group,” I admit reluctantly. “It’s worse than I thought. We’re… they’re on the verge of collapse.”

He doesn’t look surprised. If anything, his expression sharpens, his features hardening in a way that makes my stomach twist. “Of course, they are,” he says simply, moving to stand in front of me. “Your brother made reckless decisions. This isn’t news.”

I blink, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew,” he replies, his tone maddeningly calm. “Lorenzo came to me years ago, begging for help. He wanted to align himself with the Bratva, to use my resources to cover his failures.”

I rise from the chair, my hands braced on the desk. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

His eyes narrow slightly, his voice lowering. “I did tell you Lorenzo contacted me.”

I glare at him, anger and desperation warring within me. “You didn’t say it was this bad! Hundreds of people depend on that company. Families, livelihoods—”

“I’m aware,” he cuts in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Which is why I’m offering you the same deal I offered him.”

I freeze, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. “A deal,” I repeat, my tone flat.

He steps closer, his presence suffocating. “Yes. My resources, my power. I can stabilize the Vinci Group, pull it back from the brink. But you know what that means.”

I cross my arms, my heart pounding. “You want control.”

He smirks faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Control ensures success. It ensures that your brother’s mistakes won’t be repeated.”

I shake my head, turning away from him. “This is exactly why Lorenzo didn’t want to rely on you. Because nothing with you is ever free.”

“Nothing in this world is free, Chiara,” he replies, his voice soft but edged with steel. “Think carefully. Do you want the Vinci name to be remembered as a legacy or as a failure?”

The weight of his words sinks in, heavy and unrelenting. He’s right, of course. Without his help, the Vinci Group will collapse, and everything my father built will be gone. Accepting his help means letting him into yet another part of my life, letting him tighten his grip even further.

“What’s your price?” I ask finally, my voice quiet.

“You stay in Chicago,” he says simply. “Focus on rebuilding the company under my guidance. I’ll handle the logistics, the debts, everything. You’ll report to me.”

I turn to face him, my jaw tightening. “You make it sound like I work for you.”

“You’re my wife,” he counters, stepping closer until we’re only inches apart. “I take care of what’s mine.”

The word mine sends a shiver down my spine, equal parts infuriating and undeniable. I want to fight him, to push him away, but the reality of the situation is clear. Without him, I’ll lose everything. The Vinci Group will crumble, and I’ll have nothing left but the ashes of my family’s legacy.

I exhale sharply, meeting his gaze. “Fine,” I say, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “I won’t thank you for this.”

He smirks again, his hand brushing lightly against my arm. “I don’t need your thanks, dusha moya. Just your trust.”

I pull away from his touch, glaring at him. “Don’t push it.”

His smirk widens, but he says nothing more. He knows he’s won, and the realization burns more than I care to admit.

Serge lingers near the door, his sharp eyes fixed on me as though he’s waiting for something. I don’t know what he expects—gratitude, maybe, or some sign that I’m crumbling under the weight of Lorenzo’s mistakes. He’ll be waiting a long time.

I sigh, breaking the silence. “Lorenzo’s funeral is in two days. I’ll need to attend.”

He nods, stepping closer again, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Of course. Where is it?”

“Naples,” I reply, looking down at the reports still strewn across the desk. The thought of returning to my family’s home feels heavy, like a burden I don’t want to carry. “It’ll be formal, and I’ll be expected to make an appearance as… well, as his only remaining family.”

His gaze sharpens at my words. “How are you really coping with all of this?”

I glance up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Coping?” I repeat, a bitter laugh escaping before I can stop it. “I’m not mourning Lorenzo, if that’s what you mean. I’m more worried about the business he left behind—the disaster he created.”

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, as though he sees more than I want him to.

“I can’t afford to fall apart,” I continue, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “Lorenzo and I weren’t close. He didn’t care about me, and I didn’t care about him. The only thing I’ll mourn is the mess he made and the people who’ll suffer because of it.”

Serge watches me for a long moment before speaking, his voice quieter. “The twins, are you taking them with you?”

I shake my head firmly. “No. They never met him. He wasn’t their family, not in any way that matters. They don’t need to be dragged into this.”

His lips curve into a faint smirk, though there’s no humor in it. “Practical, as always.”

“I don’t have the luxury of sentimentality,” I reply, straightening in my seat. “Not anymore.”

He moves closer, his hand resting lightly on the back of the chair. “You’re stronger than you think, Chiara,” he says, his tone low but deliberate. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

I glance up at him, my brows furrowing. “I’m not alone?” I scoff. “Because you’re here, right, offering help?”

His smirk deepens, though his eyes remain serious. “Exactly. You accepted it, didn’t you?”

I bite back a retort, turning away from him and focusing on the reports again. “I’ll handle Lorenzo’s funeral and deal with his legacy. Just make sure your part of the deal holds up.”

“It will,” he says, his voice firm. “You can count on that.”

His words linger in the air as he turns and leaves the room, the weight of his presence replaced by the silence that follows. I exhale slowly, knowing that the hardest part is yet to come.