The Greenwich estate was a sprawling, gated mansion nestled among snow-covered pine trees. Heavy iron gates locked out the world, while armed security guards patrolled the perimeter with dark, watchful eyes.

At 9:00 PM, a single black armored Maybach pulled up to the main iron gates. The gates swung open automatically under a pre-arranged protocol.

Inside the grand wood-paneled library of the estate, a fireplace crackled softly. Sitting in a high-backed leather chair was Matteo DeLuca—sixty-five years old, with silver hair, sharp features, and eyes like cold steel. He wore an expensive velvet smoking jacket, sipping a glass of vintage scotch.

The heavy double doors of the library opened.

Roman walked into the room, wearing a black wool overcoat, his towering frame casting a massive shadow across the oriental rug. Beside him walked Sadi, looking stunning and dangerous in a long black winter coat, holding a leather briefcase. Dante stood at the doorway, his hands folded calmly in front of him.

Matteo didn't stand up. He raised his glass in a mock toast. "Roman. And the brilliant lawyer wife who cost me eighty million dollars in court yesterday."

"Hello, Matteo," Roman spoke, his baritone voice calm and unyielding as he stood before the fireplace. "You look older than I remembered."

Matteo sneered softly, setting his glass down. "I came back to claim what was left of our legacy, Roman. Your father spent forty years building an empire, and you threw it away to run a charity diner in Queens. It’s an embarrassment to our blood."

"My father died in a prison hospital, Matteo," Roman replied coldly, taking a step closer. "His legacy was blood, paranoia, and a nameless grave. My legacy is standing right next to me."

Sadi stepped forward, opening her briefcase, and laid a set of heavy legal documents directly onto Matteo’s coffee table.

"What is this?" Matteo frowned.

"A full criminal referral package, Mr. DeLuca," Sadi explained smoothly. "It contains certified original ledgers detailing your personal tax evasion, wire fraud, and grand larceny across five European jurisdictions between 2008 and 2018."

Matteo’s expression hardened. "I have political immunity in three countries, girl. Those papers mean nothing to me."

"They meant nothing yesterday," Sadi corrected him, her dark eyes flashing with lethal intelligence. "Before I transmitted digital copies to the Interpol Organized Crime Task Force in Lyon twenty minutes ago. As of 8:45 PM tonight, an international arrest warrant was issued in your name."

Matteo went rigid. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the papers on the table.

Suddenly, the soft thud of heavy footsteps echoed from the driveway outside. Blue and red flashing lights illuminated the frost-covered glass of the library windows.

Four federal agents accompanied by state troopers pushed past the front doors, entering the library with badges displayed.

"Matteo DeLuca," the lead FBI agent announced firmly. "You are under arrest for international financial fraud and grand larceny."

Matteo looked at Roman, then at Sadi, his face draining of all color. He realized with absolute, terrifying clarity that the world of fear and shadows he had lived in for forty years was completely useless against a woman who commanded the absolute truth of the law.

As the federal agents snapped heavy steel cuffs over Matteo’s wrists and led him out into the snow, Roman wrapped his arm around Sadi’s waist, pulling her close against his side.

"It's over, my Queen," Roman whispered into her ear. "The last ghost is gone."

Sadi leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the snow fall outside. "Now we go home to our daughter."