Chapter 2

The family council meeting was scheduled for 9 AM.

I received the notification at 8:47.

Location changed to the main conference hall.

I wasn't invited.

I stared at my phone, reading the message twice.

Twelve years I'd attended every major family meeting, hidden behind financial reports and strategy documents.

Now I didn't even merit a seat.

I went anyway.

The guards at the door shifted uncomfortably when they saw me.

"Mrs. De Luca," the younger one started.

"It's just Elena," I corrected him. "Apparently."

"We have orders—"

"From my husband?" I smiled. "Let me guess. Mr. De Luca requested privacy for 'core family only.'"

The guard's silence was answer enough.

Through the heavy doors, I could hear Lorenzo's voice, strong and commanding.

The voice I'd once loved.

"The Russo alliance represents our future," he was saying. "Valentina will be joining our inner circle, effective immediately."

Applause.

Actual applause.

I turned and walked away before anyone could see my face.

In my office, I pulled up the meeting agenda I'd been excluded from.

Strategic partnerships. Territory agreements. Financial restructuring.

My financial restructuring.

My strategies.

My work.

Being presented by Lorenzo to a room that no longer included me.

My assistant knocked softly. "Elena? Mr. De Luca wants the quarterly reports."

"Tell him to ask his new strategic partner."

"He specifically requested you—"

"Then he can come ask me himself."

She hesitated. "He also wanted you to know that Miss Russo will be relocating to the main house. The west wing has been prepared."

The west wing.

Thirty feet from our bedroom.

From my bedroom.

"Anything else?" I asked, my voice steady.

"He said... he said it's just a formality. For appearances."

"Of course it is." I smiled at her. "Thank you, Maria."

After she left, I opened my private laptop.

The one Lorenzo didn't know existed.

Four law firms appeared in my search results.

I called the first one.

"Rosenberg & Associates, how may I direct your call?"

"I need a divorce attorney," I said. "Specialized in high-net-worth asset protection."

"May I have your name?"

"Elena De Luca."

A pause. "The De Luca family?"

"For now."

"I'll connect you to Mr. Rosenberg immediately."

Hold music played—something classical and soothing.

It felt like a funeral march.

"Mrs. De Luca." A smooth, professional voice. "I've been expecting your call."

"Have you?"

"When a powerful woman's husband makes the news with another woman, it's only a matter of time."

Smart man.

"I need complete discretion," I said.

"My specialty. But I should warn you—divorcing into a family like the De Lucas isn't just legal. It's war."

"Good," I said. "I'm ready."

"What are your primary concerns?"

"Asset protection. Financial separation. And I want it done before he realizes what's happening."

"That's aggressive."

"Mr. Rosenberg, I control eighty percent of the De Luca offshore accounts. I've been cleaning their money for five years. Aggressive is my baseline."

Another pause, longer this time.

"I'll need to see documentation."

"I'll send everything encrypted. How soon can you draft preliminary papers?"

"Seventy-two hours. But Mrs. De Luca—if you're serious about this, you need to understand something."

"What?"

"The moment you file, you become the family's biggest threat. They'll come after you with everything they have."

I looked out my office window at the sprawling De Luca estate.

At the main house where Valentina was probably unpacking her designer luggage right now.

At the empire I'd helped build.

"Let them come," I said.

I hung up and opened my secure server.

Account after account, password after password.

Every financial secret the De Lucas had buried.

Every illegal transaction I'd facilitated.

Every skeleton in their immaculate closet.

My finger hovered over the keyboard.

One command, and half these accounts would freeze.

Not yet.

But soon.

My office door opened without warning.

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, his face dark with anger.

"Why didn't you kill the media story?" he demanded.

"Hello to you too."

"Elena, I'm serious. This is getting out of control. The elders are asking questions."

"Then answer them."

"Don't be difficult." He stepped inside, closing the door. "This is important."

"Important." I nodded slowly. "Tell me, Lorenzo, what exactly is my role in this family?"

"You know what you do. You handle the money, the accounts—"

"The dirty work."

His jaw tightened. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" I stood, facing him across my desk. "I'm not invited to meetings. I'm not consulted on decisions. But I'm expected to clean up your messes."

"This isn't about you."

"Clearly."

"Valentina is a strategic asset—"

"In our bed."

"It's complicated."

"It really isn't." I picked up a folder from my desk. "Here are the quarterly reports you wanted. I'm sure your strategic asset can handle them from now on."

I held it out.

He didn't take it.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Everything, I thought.

Nothing, I realized.

"I'm just learning my place," I said softly.

Something flickered in his eyes—confusion, maybe concern.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at it. "I have to take this."

"Of course you do."

He left without the reports.

I sat back down and opened my email.

Subject line: Re: Divorce Consultation - URGENT

Mr. Rosenberg had attached preliminary documents.

I downloaded them.

Read them.

Signed them digitally.

My hand didn't shake once.

Outside my window, I saw Valentina walking through the garden, laughing into her phone.

She looked up at my office.

Smiled.

Waved.

I smiled back.

And hit send on the email to my attorney.

War, Mr. Rosenberg had said.

He had no idea who he was working for.