Chapter 7 - A Mother's Silent Tear
The silence in the master bedroom was suffocating.
Celeste backed up until her shoulders hit the wall.
Her facade of elegance had completely shattered.
“You think you’re so righteous, Vincent Romano?” she spat, her voice trembling with bitter rage. “Your father was a ruthless criminal! You sit in this ivory tower pretending to be noble! We needed that money! My family was facing ruin!”
“My father never stole from an old woman who gave thirty years of her life to scrub his floors,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “My father never threatened to evict widows to line his pockets.”
Vincent stood up.
He walked over to Celeste and stood towering over her.
“Take off the ring.”
Celeste looked down at her left hand.
On her finger was a six-carat flawless emerald-cut diamond ring—a Romano family heirloom that had belonged to Vincent’s mother.
“No,” she whispered, clutching her hand to her chest. “We signed an agreement! If the engagement is broken without mutual consent, the prenuptial agreement awards me thirty percent of the estate liquid assets!”
Vincent gave a cold, dry laugh.
“Read section four of your contract, Celeste. Any act of gross financial fraud or extortion committed against the Romano estate or its dependents completely nullifies all financial obligations.”
Marco stepped forward, holding out a printed legal document.
“The district attorney and the federal fraud division have already received copies of your private bank ledgers,” Marco said with a grim smile. “By eight o'clock tomorrow morning, every account tied to Marchesi Private Events will be frozen.”
Celeste’s eyes darted frantically around the room.
She realized there was no escape.
No allies.
No leverage.
With trembling, furious fingers, she pulled the diamond ring from her finger and threw it onto the floor.
It bounced across the hardwood, stopping against Vincent’s leather shoe.
Vincent didn't even bend down to pick it up.
“Marco,” Vincent said.
“Yes, boss?”
“Escort Ms. Marchesi and her brother off my property. They have five minutes to leave. If they ever step foot in Little Italy, Brooklyn, or any property bearing the Romano name again, treat them as hostile trespassers.”
“With pleasure,” Marco said, grabbing Celeste by the arm.
“Get your hands off me!” Celeste screamed as Marco dragged her and Enzo out of the room and down the stairs.
Her hysterical shouting echoed down the long marble halls until the heavy front doors slammed shut behind them.
The mansion suddenly fell into a profound, peaceful silence.
Vincent stood by the open window, feeling the cool night rain breeze against his face.
I stood quietly near the doorway, holding the box of returned heirlooms.
“Grace,” Vincent said without turning around.
“Yes, Mr. Romano?”
“Let’s go see Ada.”
We walked down to the guest quarters where Ada had been resting.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her small hands clasped in prayer.
When the door opened and Vincent walked in, she looked up with tired, anxious eyes.
Vincent walked over and knelt down on one knee in front of her.
He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the gold Patek Philippe watch.
Ada gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
Tears welled in her eyes as Vincent gently took her wrist and fastened the gold band around her arm.
“It's home, Ada,” Vincent whispered.
Ada broke down into deep, quiet sobs.
She pulled Vincent’s head against her shoulder, hugging him with all the strength left in her frail body.
“Thank you, son... thank you,” she wept. “Salvatore would be so proud of you tonight.”
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Vincent held her tight, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
“No, Ada,” Vincent said softly. “Tonight, I am just proud to be my father’s son.”
