Roman Duca stopped five feet from the three children standing in the cold Chicago rain.

Word of the purge inside the Duca family spread through Chicago's organized crime networks like wildfire.

By Monday morning, three senior lieutenants aligned with Mateo had fled the state, two offshore bank accounts containing forty million dollars had been frozen by Roman’s financial team, and the rival Moretti family—realizing that Roman Duca was no longer distracted by internal lies—immediately requested an emergency peace summit.

The summit was held at a neutral estate in Oak Brook.

The room was filled with the heads of the five major families governing the Midwest syndicate. Bodyguards lined the walls, their hands resting near their suits.

At the head of the polished conference table sat Roman Duca.

Beside him, sitting in a leather armchair with absolute posture and unwavering grace, was me.

I wore a tailored navy-blue suit, my dark hair pulled back into a sleek bun, a stunning diamond-and-sapphire necklace—a Duca family heirloom that Roman had placed around my neck that morning—glowing against my collarbone.

Beside my chair stood Luca, Mara, and Sophia, dressed in crisp formal wear, watching the powerful men in the room with cold, unblinking calm.

Julian Moretti—the don of the Moretti family, the man whose name had been used six years ago to frame me—sat across the table, looking pale and nervous.

"Roman," Julian began, spreading his hands open on the table. "We heard about Mateo’s treason. I want to state on the record, before the entire commission, that the Moretti family had zero involvement in the fake Betrayal File six years ago. Mateo acted alone with rouge elements."

Roman leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes fixed on Julian.

"I know you didn't forge the file, Julian," Roman said, his voice dropping into a quiet, deadly register. "You're not smart enough to craft a lie that held up for six years."

Several men in the room suppressed quiet chuckles. Julian’s face flushed red, but he didn't dare argue.

"However," Roman continued, gesturing toward me and our children, "you allowed the rumor that Elena Cross was your informant to circulate for six years because it made your family look powerful. You let people believe you had compromised my inner circle."

Julian swallowed hard. "Roman, it was business—"

"It was an insult to my wife," Roman interrupted sharply, slamming his palm against the heavy oak table. The loud CRACK echoed through the room like a gunshot. Everyone in the hall flinched.

"Effective immediately," Roman declared, his eyes sweeping across the entire commission, "the Duca family is absorbing the North Side logistics territory previously managed by Mateo’s network. Ten percent of all gross revenues from that territory will be placed into a private educational trust fund for my children: Luca, Mara, and Sophia Duca."

He stood up, pulling me up beside him, wrapping his heavy arm around my waist, holding me flush against his side.

"Elena Duca is returned to her rightful place as the Senior Managing Director of Duca Financial Operations," Roman announced, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Any business conducted with the Duca family will pass through her desk. Any disrespect shown to her will be treated as an act of war against me personally."

The heads of the four other families exchanged silent, knowing glances. They recognized the look in Roman’s eyes. He was no longer just a powerful boss managing a territory; he was a man who had reclaimed his queen, securing his bloodline for the next generation.

One by one, the four family dons stood up, bowing their heads respectfully toward me and Roman.

"Agreed," Julian Moretti said quickly, standing up and bowing his head. "Welcome back, Mrs. Duca."

I looked at Julian, then at the powerful men bowing before us, and finally up at Roman, whose eyes were watching me with fierce, boundless pride.