Chapter 3 - The Unraveling House
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By noon, the Romano mansion was in complete chaos.
Isabella arrived wearing an emerald designer dress and carrying a leather handbag.
She strutted into the foyer as though she were stepping onto a private runway.
“Where is she?” Isabella demanded, tossing her coat onto the velvet settee.
“The caterers for tomorrow’s charity gala are calling, and nobody is answering the office line.”
Adrian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring at a stack of unorganized documents.
He did not look up when his cousin entered.
“Sophia is gone,” he said, his voice flat and dangerous.
Isabella let out a sharp, mocking laugh that bounced off the wood-paneled walls.
“Gone? Where could that little stray possibly go?”
“She doesn’t have a penny to her name that you didn’t give her.”
“She will be back on her knees before the sun sets, begging you to take her back.”
Adrian did not answer because his eyes were fixed on the open desk drawer.
In the back of the drawer lay a thick leather binder he had never seen before.
He pulled it out and opened the heavy brass clasp.
Every single shipment that had passed through the Romano docks over the past eighteen months was cataloged inside.
Discrepancies in the customs manifests had been corrected in pencil.
Bribery schedules for harbor inspectors had been calculated down to the exact cent.
Three different supply routes that had been hemorrhaging cash were marked with rerouted logistics that saved his family millions.
Every note was written in Sophia’s meticulous cursive.
Adrian felt the blood drain from his face.
He had thought she spent her afternoons drinking tea and arranging flowers.
He had assumed she was merely a quiet ornament in an empty mansion.
He had never known that while he was out commanding men with guns, she was quietly keeping the foundation from collapsing.
A timid knock sounded at the open study door.
Rosa, the head housekeeper who had served the Romano family for twenty years, stood with red-rimmed eyes.
“Mr. Romano,” Rosa whispered, her hands trembling against her apron.
“Your mother has refused her midday injections.”
“She says she will not let anyone touch her medication except Sophia.”
Isabella scoffed, waving a manicured hand in the air.
“Tell the old woman to stop being dramatic and hire a private nurse.”
Rosa’s gaze snapped to Isabella with cold contempt.
“The nurses do not know that Madame Elena suffers from severe allergic reactions to synthetic binders.”
“Sophia used to grind the raw compounds herself every morning at dawn.”
“Sophia sat beside her bed through every fever while you were shopping in Milan, Miss Isabella.”
Adrian stood up slowly, the silence in the room turning suffocating.
“Get out, Isabella,” he commanded.
Isabella’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Adrian, I am your blood—”
“I said get out,” Adrian snarled, slamming his palm onto the desk.
The leather binder trembled beneath the force of his blow.
Isabella recoiled, her face pale, and hurried out of the room.
Adrian stood alone in the vast, cold office.
He looked at the empty chair where she had sat folding her shawl the night before.
His own words echoed in his ears like a mocking curse.
You are the shame of my name, Sophia.
He reached for his phone and dialed his head of security.
“Find her,” Adrian whispered into the receiver.
May you like
“Search every hotel, every terminal, and every road out of this city.”
“Bring my wife home.”
