Chapter 3 - The Morning Reckoning
By 5:30 AM, the first light of dawn washed over the grand estate, painting the slate roofs in pale gold and rose.
Outside the bunker, the primary strike force of the Gallo family—over forty heavily armed, loyal enforcers led by D’Angelo’s chief lieutenant, Marco—had completely surrounded the property. Marco had been alerted via the bunker’s hardline satellite link three hours prior.
The estate had been swept. The remaining mercenaries were either captured or neutralized.
Inside the grand sunlit foyer, Camila sat on one of the white silk sofas she had personally chosen. She was sipping a cup of black coffee, her hands trembling slightly, her eyes fixed on the grand marble staircase.
She believed her plan had succeeded. She believed D’Angelo was dead in his study, and she was waiting for her family’s lawyers to arrive so she could assume temporary control of the Gallo estate.
The heavy oak doors of the east wing swung open.
Camila instantly forced tears into her eyes, pulling a lace handkerchief from her sleeve, preparing her mournful expression. “Oh, God! Is someone there? Please, I heard gunshots during the night! I was so scared—!”
Her voice cut off cleanly.
D’Angelo walked out of the shadow of the hallway.
He was alive. Unharmed. Dressed in a fresh black shirt, his jaw set like iron.
Beside him walked Nancy.
She no longer wore her maid’s apron. She wore a clean black trench coat D’Angelo had pulled from his private wardrobe, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the boss of the city.
Camila’s coffee cup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the pristine marble floor. Dark liquid splashed over her white leather heels.
“D... D’Angelo?” Camila stammered, her face turning the color of chalk. “You’re... you’re alive? Thank God! Oh, thank God!”
She stood up, rushing toward him with her arms outstretched. “Mercenaries broke into the house! They said you were in the study! I was praying you were safe—!”
D’Angelo didn't move. He didn't embrace her. He looked at her with an eye so cold it could freeze fire.
“Save your tears, Camila,” D’Angelo said flatly.
Camila stopped three feet away, blinking in confusion, her gaze sliding toward Nancy with sudden venom. “What is she doing with you? D’Angelo, why are you listening to a pathetic maid? She probably let those men in! She cleans the house, she knows the doors—!”
“She knows the floors,” D’Angelo corrected smoothly, stepping in front of Nancy, shielding her completely with his broad frame. “She knows the screws in the floor vents were stripped. She knows the oak boards pop near the gallery. And she knows your cursive handwriting, Camila.”
D’Angelo reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the folded security floor plan and the burner phone Nancy had retrieved from the floor vent.
He tossed them onto the glass coffee table in front of her.
Camila stared down at the phone. Her breath hitched, her manicured nails digging into her palms. “That... that isn't mine. She planted it! She’s trying to frame me so she can steal from the house!”
“The phone was retrieved at 12:35 AM,” Nancy spoke up, stepping out from behind D’Angelo, her voice clear, calm, and ringing with absolute authority. “You sent the final confirmation text at 12:20 AM from your private vanity room. The network tower ping places the device inside your suite. Furthermore, your brother’s offshore bank account transferred two million dollars to an encrypted account in Zurich at midnight.”
Nancy looked Camila straight in the eye.
“You wanted his money, Miss Ross. But you were too sloppy to clean up your own mess.”
Camila’s face twisted into an ugly mask of pure rage. She lunged forward, her hands clawing toward Nancy’s face. “You miserable little bitch—!”
Before Camila’s hand could touch a strand of Nancy’s hair, D’Angelo caught Camila by her wrist in mid-air.
His grip was made of vice-like steel.
“If you move toward her again,” D’Angelo whispered, leaning down until his eyes were inches from hers, “I won't bother letting the legal system handle you.”
He tossed her wrist aside as if she were garbage.
Marco stepped forward from the shadows of the entrance, accompanied by two federal agents in dark suits.
“Camila Ross,” the lead federal agent declared, pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, wire fraud, and treason under the RICO act.”
As the agents slapped the cuffs onto Camila’s wrists and dragged her screaming out of the grand foyer, Camila looked back over her shoulder one last time.
May you like
She saw D’Angelo standing in the center of the sunlit room. He wasn't looking at his disgraced fiancée. He was looking at Nancy, his hand reaching out to gently take Nancy’s hand in his, holding it tightly in front of the entire household staff.
The era of Camila Ross was over. The reign of Nancy had just begun.
