Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Favorite
The drawing room downstairs was still warm with the scents of expensive bourbon, woodsmoke, and celebration. Laughter spilled out into the grand foyer as Victoria Romano held up her wrist to display a diamond tennis bracelet that matched her new necklace. Isabella stood beside her, sipping vintage Dom Pérignon and basking in the matriarch’s glowing approval.
""You have such impeccable taste, darling,"" Victoria purred, adjusting her silk collar. ""Unlike some people who can't even remember to put enough vanilla in a birthday sponge cake.""
A quiet ripple of polite laughter moved through the relatives and associates. Then the heavy front doors clicked open.
A burst of arctic air swept into the foyer. Several heads turned. Sophie walked down the sweeping marble staircase carrying a single suitcase, wearing a tailored navy wool coat. She did not look left or right. She walked straight toward the heavy double doors where two armed security guards stood stationed.
""Going so early, Sophie?"" Isabella called out, a smug tilt to her chin. ""You didn't even help the kitchen staff package the leftovers.""
Sophie stopped. She turned slowly, her posture entirely different from the quiet, self-effacing wife they had walked over for nearly a decade. Her spine was straight, her chin lifted, and her green eyes cold as glacial ice.
""The leftovers are yours, Isabella,"" Sophie said, her clear voice carrying into every corner of the vast room. ""Just like everything else you stole.""
Before Isabella could sneer a reply, the heavy thud of frantic footsteps echoed from the upper landing. Matteo appeared at the top of the grand stairs, his tie undone, the black manila folder clutched in his fist.
""Sophie!"" he roared, abandoning every shred of the cold, stoic composure he had spent fifteen years cultivating. ""Wait!""
Victoria frowned, setting her champagne glass down on a silver tray. ""Matteo, what on earth is the matter with you? You're frightening the guests. Let the girl run off to a hotel if she's throwing a childish tantrum.""
Matteo descended the stairs three steps at a time, ignoring his mother completely. He reached the bottom just as Sophie stepped out onto the snowy portico.
""Don't leave like this,"" Matteo begged, reaching out into the falling snow. ""Please. Look at me.""
""I looked at you for nine years, Matteo,"" she said without stopping. A sleek black town car—one nobody in the Romano family fleet owned—slid up to the curb, its rear door already opening. ""Now you have to look at them.""
She slid into the back seat. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, and the vehicle surged forward into the Boston blizzard, leaving red taillights fading into the whiteout.
Matteo stood in the sub-zero wind in his shirtsleeves until the red lights vanished entirely. When he turned back into the foyer, his eyes were bloodshot, and a terrifying darkness had settled over his features. The security guards took an instinctive step backward.
""Matteo, darling,"" Victoria began, fluttering her hand toward her neck. ""What was that about? Honestly, after all the money you spent bringing her into this lifestyle, she has the audacity to—""
""Shut up, Mother.""
The room went dead silent. Even the ice melting in the crystal glasses seemed to make too much noise. Victoria went pale, her hand freezing midway to her chest. In forty-two years, her eldest son had never spoken to her in that tone.
Matteo marched directly toward Isabella. He threw the thick folder onto the glass coffee table between them. The contents scattered everywhere, white and blue receipts sliding against polished crystal.
""Explain this,"" Matteo said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
Isabella looked down nervously. ""I... I don't know what that is. Old business files?""
Matteo leaned down, picked up a single receipt, and shoved it directly into her face. ""That is the serial number for the forty-eight-thousand-dollar diamond necklace currently hanging around Mother's neck. Paid in three installments from an account registered to Bellamy's Bakery. Under Sophie's maiden name.""
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The entire room seemed to lose its air. Victoria’s hand dropped from the diamonds as if they had suddenly turned red-hot.
""Sophie bought it,"" Matteo snarled, his gaze ripping into his younger sister. ""And the hand-tooled leather bag Aunt Teresa is holding? Sophie paid the artisan in Florence six months ago. And Anthony’s watch? Sophie tracked it down through a collector in Geneva."" Matteo turned to his mother, his eyes burning with disgust and self-loathing. ""You applauded Isabella for nine years. And every single gift she gave you was purchased with the sweat of the woman you treated like dirt.""
