Matteo Declares War on the Remingtons

Matteo Russo sat in his study, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at the phone Sophia had just hung up. The silence in the room was deafening, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace. His daughter—his own blood—had turned against him.

He exhaled slowly, setting the glass down with deliberate care.

“Bring Dante,” he said to the shadowy figure standing by the door.

The man nodded and left without a word.

Matteo’s fingers drummed lightly against the desk as he leaned back in his chair. His mind was already working, calculating the next move. Sophia’s betrayal was… unfortunate. But not unexpected. Love had made her soft. He should have acted sooner, should have taken control before she started thinking for herself.

But it didn’t matter now.

The Remingtons had taken something from him. And Matteo Russo never forgave a slight.

The War Room