Chapter 8 - THE INHERITANCE
The gold key gleamed in the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the dining room walls.
I stared at the small object in Dominic’s hand, the sheer weight of what it meant settling over me. Thomas Romano hadn't just protected his empire from Vincent Bellini; he had meticulously planned for its rightful return. And he had trusted a simple chocolate cake to bridge the gap of fifteen years.
"The Swiss vault," my mother said softly, stepping away from Eleanor’s embrace to look at the key. "That’s where the shares are."
"Yes," Dominic nodded, wrapping the key in a clean linen napkin. "The bearer bonds. The legal control of the Romano shipping ports. Worth roughly two hundred million dollars."
I felt the air leave my lungs. I was a housemaid who had spent the last five years budgeting every paycheck just to keep my mother’s electricity on in Baton Rouge. The number Dominic just casually dropped sounded like fiction.
"Dominic," an FBI agent said, stepping into the dining room. He looked at the chaos, then at my mother. "We need to take statements. And we need to get Mrs. Collins checked by the paramedics."
"She’s Mrs. Romano," Eleanor corrected sharply, her back straightening with aristocratic pride. She gripped my mother’s hand tightly. "Elizabeth Romano. And she isn’t speaking to anyone until she has been examined by my personal physician in the west wing."
The agent hesitated, looking at Dominic, who gave a firm nod.
"As you wish, ma'am," the agent conceded.
Eleanor turned to me, her eyes softening. "Anna, come with us. You need to rest."
"I’ll be right there, Mrs. Romano," I said quietly.
"Eleanor," the old woman smiled warmly. "Or Grandmother. Whichever you prefer, my dear."
My heart swelled. I watched as Eleanor led my mother away, flanked by Marco and two security guards. For the first time in my life, I saw my mother look truly safe.
I turned back to Dominic. He was watching me closely.
"You don't have to go back to the kitchen, Anna," Dominic said gently. "You never have to wear that uniform again."
I looked down at the black-and-white dress, covered in plaster dust and soot. "It feels strange to take it off. It’s been my armor for five years."
"You don't need armor anymore," he replied. "You're family."
He reached out and gently brushed a streak of soot from my cheek. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my heart.
"What happens now?" I asked, looking up at him. "Vincent is dead. Vanessa is in custody. But the Bellini family cartel debt... won't they come looking for the shipping ports?"
Dominic’s expression hardened into the calculating mask of a mafia boss, but his eyes remained warm.
"The cartel only cares about their money," Dominic explained. "Vincent owed them forty million. When they find out he's dead and his empire is seized by the feds, they will cut their losses. The Romano ports are completely legitimate on paper. They won't risk a war with me, especially now that the family is unified."
He held up the gold key.
"But we do need to secure the shares legally. Tomorrow morning, my private jet is flying to Geneva. I’m taking the key and the silver seal we recovered from Vanessa."
Dominic paused, stepping closer to me. The space between us vanished, and I could smell the faint scent of smoke and expensive cologne on his skin.
"I want you to come with me, Anna," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register.
My breath hitched. "To Switzerland?"
"To Switzerland. To the law firm," Dominic nodded. "The shares don't belong to me. By the laws of my father's will, they belong to Elizabeth. And eventually, they belong to you."
"Dominic, I don't know anything about shipping empires or corporate boards," I admitted, panic fluttering in my chest. "I know how to clean silver and bake cakes."
"You know how to stand between a gun and your mother," Dominic corrected fiercely. "You know how to look a monster in the eye and refuse to back down. You have more Romano blood in your veins than I do, Anna. You can learn the business. I will teach you."
He reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine.
"Besides," Dominic smiled, a genuine, breathtaking smile. "I owe you a proper dinner. One where nobody gets shot, and you don't have to serve the cake."
I felt a hot flush rise to my cheeks, and I couldn't help but smile back. "I'll hold you to that."
The next morning was a blur of activity. The estate was crawling with crime scene investigators, but the west wing was kept completely private.
I showered in a luxurious guest suite, scrubbing the smell of smoke and fear from my skin. When I stepped out, I found a beautiful, tailored navy-blue dress laid out on the bed, courtesy of Eleanor’s personal shopper. It fit perfectly, replacing the stiff maid’s uniform with elegant, soft silk.
I walked down the grand staircase feeling like a different person.
Dominic was waiting in the foyer, dressed in a sharp, pristine charcoal suit, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night before. When he saw me, his breath visibly hitched.
"You look beautiful, Anna," he said softly.
"Thank you," I blushed.
My mother and Eleanor emerged from the sunroom. My mother was wearing a soft cashmere sweater, looking rested and radiant. The dark circles under her eyes had already begun to fade.
"Are you ready, darling?" my mother asked, walking over to hug me.
"I am," I said, holding her tightly. "Are you going to be okay here while we go to Geneva?"
"More than okay," Eleanor answered for her, linking her arm with my mother’s. "We have sixty-one years of catching up to do. And Marco has stationed ten armed guards outside the sunroom, just to be safe."
Dominic smiled, checking his watch. "The car is waiting, Anna. The jet is fueled."
I took a deep breath, looking around the massive foyer of the estate I had scrubbed on my hands and knees for half a decade. I wasn't a servant anymore. I was a survivor. I was an heir.
"Let's go," I said.
As we walked out the front doors toward the waiting town car, a young FBI agent jogged up to us.
"Mr. Romano, wait!" the agent called out.
Dominic stopped, his protective instincts instantly flaring. "What is it?"
The agent held out a clear plastic evidence bag.
"We were processing Vincent Bellini’s body for the coroner," the agent explained, looking slightly uncomfortable. "We found this inside the breast pocket of his jacket. It’s addressed to you."
Dominic frowned, taking the bag.
Inside was a small, sealed white envelope. Written on the front, in Vincent’s jagged, left-handed scrawl, was a single sentence:
For Dominic, when you think you've won.
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
"Do you want me to open it?" the agent asked. "It’s technically evidence, but given the circumstances..."
May you like
"No," Dominic said coldly, staring at the envelope. "I'll open it."
Dominic tore the top of the envelope. He pulled out a single sheet of paper, read the two sentences written on it, and all the color instantly drained from his face.
