Chapter 3 - THE EXILE
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Isabella Romano didn't look triumphant anymore.
The mention of Vittorio’s loyal soldiers made her eyes dart nervously toward the heavy oak doors at the back of the foyer.
Everyone in Chicago knew that even though Don Vittorio had died twelve years ago, his old guard still lived on the estate grounds.
Men with silver hair, missing fingers, and absolute loyalty to the widow Antonella watched every gate.
“Gabriel?” Isabella murmured, taking half a step toward my husband.
Gabriel stood motionless, his fists clenched at his sides.
The humiliation of being rebuked in front of his twenty-six cousins, aunts, and capos was burning across his face.
“Leave, Isabella,” Gabriel commanded, his voice dead and devoid of warmth.
“Wait for me in the car.”
Isabella gathered her silk shawl around her bare shoulders, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished parquet floor.
She didn't look back at the table as she vanished into the grand foyer, the front door slamming shut moments later.
The sound reverberated through the vast dining room like a thunderclap.
No one moved.
The roast beef on the silver platter had grown cold, surrounded by congealed gravy and untouched roast potatoes.
Gabriel turned slowly to face the table, his posture rigid and menacing.
“Dinner is over,” he announced to the room, each word clipped and sharp.
“Everyone leave.”
The relatives did not hesitate.
Cousins nudged each other, aunts quickly collected their handbags, and uncles mumbled brief, uncomfortable apologies.
Within three minutes, the grand dining hall had emptied completely.
Only three people remained under the glare of the crystal chandelier: Antonella, Gabriel, and me.
Gabriel pulled out his gold cigarette case, clicked it open, and lit a dark cigar with steady hands.
He blew a thick plume of gray smoke toward the high frescoed ceiling.
“You made a mistake tonight, Nonna,” Gabriel said quietly, looking down at his grandmother.
“You humiliated me in front of the capos.”
“You humiliated yourself when you brought a Romano snake into this house,” Antonella countered.
She had not sat back down.
She stood leaning on her silver-topped cane, her knuckles white with strain.
“The Romano family has wanted this lakefront parcel for forty years,” she said.
“Their father tried to take it with dynamite in 1982, and Vittorio buried three of his brothers in a limestone quarry.”
“Now their daughter takes it with a red dress and sweet whispers in your ear.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath his tanned skin.
“The Romano family has political connections at City Hall that we need,” Gabriel argued, his voice rising in irritation.
“The syndicate cannot survive on loan sharking and dock protection anymore.”
“We need legal permits for the casino, and Isabella’s father controls the gaming board!”
“So you sacrifice your grandmother?” I spoke up, unable to contain the poison burning in my throat.
Gabriel’s eyes snapped toward me with sudden, vicious intensity.
“Did I give you permission to speak, Claire?”
I pushed my chair back and stood up, meeting his terrifying glare without blinking.
For seven years, I had lowered my eyes whenever he used that tone.
For seven years, I had convinced myself that being a mob boss's wife required swallowing my dignity in silence.
That woman died five minutes ago when he handed my place at the table to another woman.
“I don't need your permission to speak in a house that isn't even yours, Gabriel,” I said, my voice steady and clear.
Gabriel took two long strides toward me, stopping inches from my face.
The scent of expensive tobacco, sandalwood, and Isabella’s heavy jasmine perfume suffocated my senses.
“You forget who put diamonds around your neck, Claire,” Gabriel whispered, his voice dripping with venom.
“You forget that you were a bankrupt florist’s daughter with nothing when I took you off Michigan Avenue.”
“I gave you a life most women would kill for.”
“And you gave me a cage,” I shot back, tears of anger stinging the corners of my eyes.
“You gave me cold dinners, empty beds, and a husband who treats me like a decorative vase.”
Gabriel reached out, his heavy hand clamping down on my shoulder, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to intimidate.
“Pack your bags tonight,” Gabriel said coldly.
“I want you out of this house by eight o'clock tomorrow morning.”
Before I could answer, a loud, sharp crack echoed through the room.
Antonella’s silver cane struck the mahogany table between us with enough force to splinter the varnish.
“She is going nowhere, Gabriel,” Antonella ordered.
Gabriel looked at his grandmother in utter disbelief.
“She is my wife, and this is my marriage!”
“This is Vittorio’s house!” Antonella shouted, her voice echoing to the rafters.
“And until I take my last breath, no one is thrown out of these doors unless I order it!”
Antonella pointed her cane directly at Gabriel’s chest.
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“You want to sleep with a Romano whore? Go sleep in her penthouse.”
“You are not sleeping under this roof tonight.”
