Rossi’s POV
"Mom, you cannot be serious about sabotaging everything I want in life!" Rossi’s voice echoed through the marble corridors of their family compound as she confronted her bedridden mother in the master suite.
Patricia pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, her silk nightgown wrinkled from days of confinement. "Darling, please keep your voice down. This migraine is absolutely killing me, and the last thing I need is you screaming like some street thug’s daughter."
"I don’t give a damn about your headache!" Rossi’s shout was even louder this time, her designer heels clicking aggressively against the imported Italian marble as she spun around and stormed toward the door.
Don Rossi looked up from his encrypted phone as his daughter burst into his private office, throwing herself onto the leather armchair across from his mahogany desk with theatrical flair. Her face was flushed with anger, her perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists.
"Princess, what has you so worked up?" he asked, setting aside the latest intelligence reports from their money laundering operations to focus on his obviously distressed daughter.
"It’s your wife, Daddy. She’s being completely unreasonable with me, and I’m sick of it."
The Don raised an eyebrow, his weathered face showing concern. In their world, family unity was everything, and internal discord could be exploited by rival families. "What did your mother refuse to approve now, sweetheart?"
"Yesterday I wanted to visit that exclusive bridal boutique in Manhattan, the one that designs gowns for all the other family daughters. But she suddenly developed this convenient illness and insisted we postpone until next week." Rossi’s voice dripped with accusation, as if her mother had orchestrated the sickness specifically to spite her upcoming marriage into the Thorne syndicate.
"Baby girl, why don’t you just take Monica with you instead? She has excellent taste, and the Thorne family would approve of her accompanying you."
"Because Mom is hoarding the family credit card like some paranoid miser! She keeps insisting it has to be a special mother-daughter bonding experience, like we’re some normal suburban family instead of one of the most powerful crime dynasties on the East Coast." Rossi’s tone turned whiny, the way it always did when she wanted something from her father.
"I transferred two hundred thousand into her account yesterday specifically for your wedding expenses, so she has no legitimate excuse to deny you access to those funds."
"Then you need to go talk some sense into her, daddyyy..." Rossi drew out the word in that particular way that had always gotten her what she wanted since childhood, even when she was asking for things that violated federal laws.
Don Rossi pushed himself up from his chair with a resigned sigh, his joints creaking slightly from old bullet wounds that never healed properly. "Give me a few minutes to handle this situation, princess."
He made his way through the compound’s secured corridors to the master bedroom, where Patricia lay buried under imported cashmere blankets despite the controlled temperature. Rossi began his systematic search, rifling through her designer handbags, yanking open dresser drawers filled with jewelry worth more than most people’s houses, and even checking behind oil paintings that concealed various family safes.
"Patricia, where the hell is that card? Rossi wants to get her dress fitted today, and the Thorne family is expecting this alliance to proceed smoothly. Just hand it over and she can take Monica to handle the arrangements."



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