The diner was buzzing with afternoon activity—nurses from the local hospital enjoyed discounted meals, while law students from NYU studied in the corner booths.

Sadi sat at booth 4, opening the heavy parchment envelope stamped with a vintage wax seal bearing the emblem of the Moretti bloodline in Sicily.

Roman sat across from her, his expression darkening the moment he recognized the seal.

"It’s from Don Vincenzo Moretti," Sadi read aloud, her eyes scanning the elegant Italian script. "Your father’s older brother. The head of the traditional family in Palermo."

"He hasn't spoken to me since I disbanded the syndicate in New York," Roman said coldly, taking the letter from her hand. "He called me a traitor to our blood."

"Read what he wrote, Roman," Sadi urged softly.

Roman scanned the letter. His jaw set into a hard line. "He says he is dying. He wants me to fly to Palermo to claim my ancestral seat as the head of the global Moretti estate... or he will leave the family’s international holdings to a faction of armed mercenaries operating out of Naples."

Sadi leaned across the table, taking Roman’s hands in hers. "He wants to pull you back into the dark, Roman."

"He can't," Roman said, looking her dead in the eyes with an absolute, unshakeable devotion. "My empire is sitting right across from me at this booth. I sold the darkness a long time ago."

"Then we don't go to Palermo to claim a throne," Sadi said, a dangerous, brilliant spark igniting in her eyes. "We go to liquidate it. We sell the Sicilian assets and put the money into international orphanages."

Roman stared at his wife for three seconds before bursting into a deep, booming laugh that warmed the entire diner. "God, I married a genius."