By sunrise, the Plaza Hotel attack had triggered the complete, catastrophic destruction of Vincent Rossi’s empire.

Using the Delaware Treasury injunction Sadi had filed, combined with federal search warrants issued after the Plaza shootout, Roman’s legal team—now fully led by Sadi—executed a flawless, multi-front asset seizure.

By 10:00 a.m., Vincent Rossi sat in an interrogation room at NYPD Headquarters, handcuffed to a steel table, facing forty years in federal prison for corporate terrorism, murder, and racketeering.

In the executive penthouse of Moretti Tower, Sadi sat behind Roman’s dark walnut desk, reviewing the final surrender documents.

Julian Vance stood across from her, his head bowed, holding a letter of resignation.

"Miss Sadi," Vance said, his aristocratic voice broken and humble. "I... I apologize for my arrogance when we first met. You saved Moretti Enterprises from absolute ruin."

Sadi looked up from the documents. She didn't gloat. She didn't show spite.

"Your resignation is accepted, Mr. Vance," Sadi said calmly. "Your severance package will be processed by noon. You may leave."

Vance bowed his head silently, took his briefcase, and walked out of the office for the last time.

The heavy doors opened, and Roman walked in.

He wore a clean black suit, his dark hair neatly combed, looking radiant and victorious. He walked across the room, leaning down over the desk to press a warm, deep kiss against Sadi’s lips.

"Rossi just signed the confession," Roman murmured against her cheek. "The South Harbor leases are officially ours. Cleanly. Legally."

Sadi smiled, sliding the final page of paperwork across the desk toward him. "And your corporate structure is completely immune to federal inquiry for the next ten years."

Roman looked at the paperwork, then down at the brilliant, beautiful woman sitting in his chair—the woman who had walked out of a grease-stained diner and transformed his world into a sovereign kingdom.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.