Roman’s words hung in the warm, heavy air of the dining hall like drawn blades. “You would choose her over your own family?” Bianca repeated, her voice pitching higher, laced with disbelief.

The atmosphere inside the estate grew suffocating as the clock dragged toward nine o'clock.

Unable to bear the agonizing silence of the dining room, several family members scattered into the adjoining grand parlor. The snow outside continued to fall in thick, heavy curtains, blocking the driveway and trapping the twenty-three guests inside the stone fortress. The wind howled against the leaded glass windows, a bitter background music to the silent war unfolding indoors.

Roman remained at Hannah’s side as she walked into the library. The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, filled with leather-bound books and warm leather armchairs. A crackling fire burned in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the oriental rug.

Nicholas was standing by the mahogany bar in the corner, pouring himself two fingers of scotch. His movements were swift, his hands subtly jerky as he lifted the heavy crystal decanter.

Roman leaned against the heavy oak desk, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes tracking every move his cousin made.

“You’re jumpy, Nick,” Roman remarked casually.

Nicholas forced a polite laugh, smoothing the front of his tailored Italian suit. “Can you blame me, Roman? Eight million dollars isn't pocket change. If the press gets wind of an embezzlement scandal involving the Duca Medical Foundation, our public stocks will take a twenty percent hit by Monday morning.”

“The press won't hear a word,” Roman said flatly. “Because nobody leaves this estate until my wife says they can leave.”

Nicholas paused, the glass halfway to his lips. He looked at Roman, then shifted his eyes to Hannah, who was sitting comfortably in a high-backed armchair, pulling a small, sleek tablet from her leather handbag.

“Roman, surely you aren't letting her dictate security protocols now?” Nicholas said, adopting a tone of gentle, elder-brotherly concern. “I know you love her, but Hannah isn't trained for corporate crisis management. My team at Vale Financial handles this kind of forensic accounting every day. If she just hands over her administrative credentials to me, I can have my boys trace the transaction before midnight.”

Hannah didn't look up from her screen. “Your boys at Vale Financial, Nicholas? Are those the same boys who managed the digital migration for our offshore logistics account in Zurich last spring?”

Nicholas froze for a microsecond. “That was a routine upgrade.”

“It was an upgrade that created three unmonitored backdoors in our primary server,” Hannah said smoothly, her fingers flying across her tablet screen as she monitored the incoming encrypted data packets. “Backdoors that required a top-level administrative clearance to install. Clearances that only four people in this family possess.”

“Are you insinuating something, Hannah?” Nicholas’s voice turned cold, losing its practiced warmth.

“I don't insinuate, Nicholas,” Hannah replied, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. “I audit.”

Before Nicholas could respond, the heavy double doors of the library slammed open.

Bianca strode into the room, flanked by two of Roman’s older uncles, Uncle Mateo and Uncle Dominic. Bianca carried a thick leather binder—the foundation’s master charter—and slammed it down onto the desk in front of Roman.

“I’ve had enough of this circus!” Bianca declared, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. “Mateo and Dominic agree with me. As the chairman of the board, I am invoking Clause 12 of the charter. Effective immediately, Hannah is stripped of her administrative access, and Roman, if you refuse to act, the board will vote to freeze your executive authority over the family assets.”

Uncle Mateo looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Roman... son, you have to understand how this looks. Eight million dollars left the foundation’s main account three days ago. The paper trail points directly to Hannah’s terminal. We can’t just sit here while she plays games with a clock.”

Roman didn't budge from his leaning position against the desk. He didn't even look at the binder.

“Clause 12 requires a two-thirds majority vote of the primary board members,” Roman said, his voice dangerously low. “Mateo, you hold ten percent. Dominic holds ten percent. Mother holds thirty percent.” He paused, his dark eyes locking onto his mother with chilling intensity. “I hold fifty percent. You don't have the votes, Mother. You will never have the votes.”

“You are risking the entire family for a woman you’ve known for two years!” Bianca shouted, her composure completely shattering. “Look at her! She doesn't belong here! She doesn't have our blood, she doesn't have our background! She came from a middle-class home in Ohio, Roman! She’s a nobodies’ daughter who caught your eye because she has a pretty face and a soft body!”

Roman straightened up from the desk.

The air in the room instantly turned lethal.

Even Uncle Mateo took a step back, sensing the sudden shift in Roman’s posture. The relaxed, controlled demeanor vanished, replaced by the terrifying aura of a man who commanded hundreds of dangerous men across the Midwest.

Roman took two slow steps toward his mother.

“Say it again,” Roman whispered.

Bianca swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She had raised Roman, but she knew better than anyone what he was capable of when crossed. “Roman... I am trying to save you from ruin—”

“Say it again,” Roman repeated, his voice dropping into a register that rattled the fine crystal glasses on the bar. “Mention her body again. Mention where she came from again. Give me one reason to forget that you gave birth to me.”

“Roman, please!” Uncle Dominic interjected, holding his hands up defensively. “She’s your mother!”

“And Hannah is my wife!” Roman roared, the sudden detonation of his voice causing everyone in the room to flinch—everyone except Hannah. “She is the mistress of this house! She is the director of your foundation! And if any of you—any of you—ever disrespect her again, I will personally strip every property, every trust fund, and every luxury allowance this family enjoys under my name!”

Silence fell like a dropped anvil.

Bianca’s face turned crimson, then pale white. She stared at her son, realizing for the first time in her life that she had pushed him past the point of no return.

In the quiet that followed, a soft, high-pitched chime echoed from Hannah’s tablet.

Hannah looked down at the screen. A bright green progress bar had reached one hundred percent. A heavily encrypted PDF file, stamped with the digital seal of the Federal Financial Crimes Enforcement Network, opened before her eyes.

Hannah looked up at the room. She checked her watch.