Chapter 3 - The Transformation at the EstateWithin forty-eight hours, my life inside the DeLuca estate was completely, breathtakingly upended.
My black maid uniform, white apron, and cleaning supplies were permanently retired, replaced by an expansive second-floor guest suite featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured gardens, private security details, and a wardrobe of custom silk dresses provided by Chicago's top designers.
Vincent didn't isolate me. He treated me with an absolute, unbroken respect that stunned his entire organization.
Every morning at 8:00 AM, we ate breakfast together on the sunlit terrace. The terrifying Mafia boss who made city councilmen and rival capos tremble would sit across from me in a simple sweater, drinking black espresso, laughing quietly as he recalled his hilarious, awkward attempts to balance on my roller skates.
"You still owe me a proper skating lesson, Don Vincent," I teased one morning, buttering a slice of fresh sourdough toast.
Vincent offered a breathtaking, genuine smile—a look of pure warmth that lit up his severe, handsome features.
"I will stick to commanding container ships, Emma," Vincent chuckled softly, reaching across the small table, his large, calloused hand gently wrapping over mine. "Unless, of course, my teacher promises to catch me every time I fall."
I looked down at our joined hands, a blush rising to my cheeks, my heart fluttering with a deep, unshakeable affection.
Under his guidance, I began studying corporate finance, maritime property law, and the complex historical ledgers of the Russo Trust. I wasn't just a protected guest; I was learning how to become the true matriarch of my mother's bloodline.
However, the quiet peace of our sanctuary was shattered three weeks later.
At 2:00 PM on a crisp autumn afternoon, a convoy of four sleek black sedans bearing the silver wolf emblem pulled into the private driveway of the DeLuca estate.
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Stepping out from the lead vehicle, flanked by six heavily armed hitmen, was Dominic Russo—Antonio’s ruthless lieutenant, who had spent six years running illegal extortion rackets across South Chicago.
Dominic wore a flashy pinstripe suit, a cruel, arrogant sneer twisted across his scarred face as he walked up the marble steps toward the main entrance.
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