Chapter 4 - The War of QueensTwo weeks passed, and the war in the streets escalated into absolute chaos.
The Romano family launched a counter-offensive, targeting Moretti businesses across the state. The Commission—the ruling body of the five families—was split down the middle. Half supported Lucian, while the other half believed he was unfit to lead after his personal life collapsed so publicly.
On a Tuesday afternoon, while Elena was out buying groceries, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up outside my Brooklyn brownstone.
I watched from the second-floor window as a tall, elegant woman stepped out of the vehicle, wearing a white designer trench coat and oversized sunglasses.
Bianca Romano.
My blood turned to liquid fire. I handed Nico to his nanny, a trusted woman named Maria whom my father had employed for years, and walked downstairs to open the door before Bianca could even knock.
Bianca stood on the porch, a victorious, condescending smile curling her red lips.
“Serena,” she said smoothly, removing her sunglasses. “You look remarkably well for a woman who was abandoned in a hospital room.”
“You’re on my property, Bianca,” I said, my voice dripping with venom. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my guards throw you into the street.”
Bianca laughed, a light, musical sound that made my jaw clench. “Your guards? Please, Serena. Lucian’s men are currently busy defending their docks. You have no one protecting you.”
She stepped forward, uninvited, forcing her way into the foyer. I didn't step back. I stood my ground, staring her down.
“I came here to offer you a deal,” Bianca said, looking around the modest brownstone with obvious disdain. “Lucian is losing the war. The Commission wants a leader who is stable, not a man who spends his nights brooding over a runaway wife. If you sign the divorce papers and publicly declare that Lucian was abusive, my family will grant him safe passage out of the country.”
I let out a low, bitter laugh. “You want me to ruin his reputation so you and your family can take over his territory?”
“I want what was always mine!” Bianca snapped, her polite facade dropping, revealing the ugly desperation beneath. “Lucian was supposed to marry me seven years ago! You were just a quiet, boring political arrangement that your father forced upon him! He never loved you!”
“If he didn't love me,” I said, stepping closer to her, my voice turning lethal, “why did he leave your little terrace in Sicily after two hours? Why did he fly straight into a hurricane just to reach my hospital bed?”
Bianca’s face contorted with rage. “He came back for his heir, not for you!”
“He came back for both of us,” I fired back. “And you know what the funniest part is, Bianca? You set a trap to destroy our marriage, but all you did was prove to the entire city how desperate you really are. You had to lure him across the ocean under false pretenses just to get two hours of his time, and he still walked away from you.”
Bianca raised her hand to slap me, her face flushed red with fury.
Before her hand could make contact, I caught her wrist in mid-air, squeezing until her knuckles turned white. Seven years of living in Lucian Moretti’s world had taught me how to fight.
“If you ever raise a hand to me again, or step within a mile of my son,” I whispered in her ear, “I won't call the police. I will call my husband. And we both know what he does to people who touch what belongs to him.”
I shoved her backward toward the open door. Bianca stumbled onto the porch, clutching her wrist, looking at me with genuine fear.
“Get out,” I commanded.
She scrambled back into her Mercedes, speeding away into the afternoon traffic.
I shut the door, my heart hammering in my chest. As I stood in the quiet hallway, leaning against the wooden frame, a realization washed over me like cold water.
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Bianca hadn't come to intimidate me. She had come because she was losing.
Lucian was winning the war, and she was terrified.
