Three days in Monaco was enough to secure my position. My alliance with Seraphina was sealed with a handshake and a multi-million-dollar wire transfer. Now, it was time to turn the screw on Dante's Sicilian trip.

My Consigliere, Silas, called, his voice tight with adrenaline. "The Bellini party just landed in Palermo. They’re driving to the villa now, using the armored motorcade. The one you paid for."

"Let them drive," I said, watching the Mediterranean sunset. "But make sure the information on that route is 'updated.'"

"The Calabrese brothers are waiting," Silas confirmed. "They think the payment was late. They won't shoot, but they'll definitely delay them and send a message."

I had paid the Calabrese a fortune for safe passage. Now, a small, anonymous deposit told them the transfer was 'blocked,' making it seem like Dante was deliberately shorting them.

"I need more than a delay, Silas. I need Dante to beg for my help."

I had Silas leak a carefully crafted document: a letter from the Italian Tax Authority freezing all Bellini-owned properties in Sicily, including the 'safe house' they were heading to. The only way to unfreeze it? An obscure, legally complex signature that only I, as the legitimate owner, could provide.

Hours later.

My phone rang. It wasn't Dante, but Emilio, his father.

"Viola, listen to me," Emilio wheezed, his voice frantic. "The Calabrese stopped the motorcade! They held us for three hours—they took the spare vehicle! And the villa... the doors are sealed with tax authority notices!"

"Oh dear," I said, feigning surprise. "That's terrible, Emilio. Are you safe?"

"Safe? We're on the street! Dante is going insane! He’s yelling at the Calabrese, but they won't budge! Chiara is having a panic attack in the back of the car!"

"Well, he chose his company," I pointed out coolly. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're the owner! You’re the front! You have to fix this! Dante needs you to fly here, right now, and sign the documents! He said he’ll apologize—he’ll pay you back!"

I smiled. The apology was worthless, but the plea for help? Priceless.

"Tell Dante this," I commanded, my voice dropping to the steel Gina had described. "I'm not his secretary, and I'm not a maid. I’ll open the safe house, but only if he agrees to two conditions."

"What are they? Just say them!"

"One: He publicly announces I am the only person who controls the Bellini famiglia’s legitimate finances, effective immediately. And two: Chiara goes on the next commercial flight back to New York. Alone."

I hung up, not waiting for his response. I needed Dante to understand that every decision he made without me had a physical and financial cost. His debt was just starting to accrue interest.