THE THRESHOLD OF VENGEANCE

It took three months to rebuild the estate. I didn't just fix the kitchen; I gutted the entire infrastructure. I tore down the walls that separated the staff quarters from the main house. I ordered the security protocols rewritten from the ground up.

And I started dismantling my empire.

It wasn't an overnight process. You don't walk away from the mob without starting a war. But I was Victor Moretti. I was the war. I began liquidating the illegal rackets, selling off the gambling dens and the extortion rings to smaller, manageable crews who paid a legitimate tax to my holding companies. I invested heavily in real estate, logistics, and private security. I was washing the blood off my money.

Through it all, Anna remained by my side. She was no longer my housekeeper. She was my partner. Her quiet strength became the anchor that kept me sane during the brutal transition of power.

But my greatest joy wasn't the empire's transformation. It was Lily.

I flew the Swiss doctors to Boston. I bought an entire wing of St. Jude's just to secure the operating room. The surgery took six hours. I paced the waiting room like a caged tiger, threatening to shoot the hospital administrator every time he told me to calm down. Anna held my hand, grounding me.

When the lead surgeon finally emerged and told us the operation was a complete success, I broke down. The ruthless mafia boss, the man who had ordered hits and toppled cartels, stood in a sterile hospital hallway and wept.

The recovery was grueling. Lily had to learn how to walk without the heavy metal brace that had bound her leg for three years. I was there for every physical therapy session. When she fell, I didn't let her apologize. I picked her up, dusted her off, and told her to try again.

There was one final loose end. The remaining Russo family members, furious over the slaughter of their men at my estate, tried to put a hit on me while we were leaving the clinic one afternoon.

I saw the black sedan creeping up the street before they even rolled down the windows.

I shoved Anna and Lily behind a concrete pillar. Before the assassins could even draw their weapons, Silas and a dozen of my men—now operating as a highly-paid, fully legal private security firm—surrounded the car with automatic rifles leveled at the windows.

I walked up to the driver's side, tapped on the glass with the barrel of my gun, and stared the terrified hitman in the eyes.

"Tell old man Russo," I said loudly, ensuring every man in the car heard me, "that the mafia boss he wanted to kill died three months ago. I'm a family man now. And if he ever sends his dogs near my family again, I will burn his entire lineage to ash. Drive."