When Her Mob-Connected Neighbor and Unfaithful Husband Force Her into the Servant Quarters, a Self-Made Woman Freezes Their $14 Million Underworld Fortune—Paying a Tragic Price for Revenge.
The clock on the wall of the servant’s room ticked with excruciating slowness. It was 5:58 PM. My hands were clammy, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. Sarah Lin’s special report was minutes from airing, ready to shatter Carmine Rosati’s world.
A sudden, sharp series of cracks tore through the evening quiet. *Pop-pop-pop-pop!*
My blood ran cold. It sounded like gunfire. Not distant, but close. Too close.
The shots came from the direction of Queens. My Queens safehouse. Mateo.
Panic, raw and visceral, seized me. I grabbed my burner phone, my fingers fumbling. I tried to call Mateo, but it went straight to voicemail.
Another volley of shots, then the wail of sirens, growing rapidly louder. They were responding. But to what?
I stumbled out of the servant’s room, heart pounding against my ribs, and ran to the main living room. The large television screen was already tuned to the news channel. The anchor, a grim expression on her face, was speaking urgently.
“…breaking news out of Queens. Reports of a shootout at a residential building in Astoria. Police are on the scene, confirming multiple casualties…”
The screen flashed to a live feed, chaotic and blurry. Flashing blue and red lights painted the night. Uniformed officers were everywhere, securing a perimeter. And there, unmistakable, was the apartment building where I had left Mateo just hours ago.
My breath hitched. I could feel the scream building in my throat, but it wouldn’t come out.
Julian, pale and shaking, was already there, watching the screen. Siena stood beside him, her face a mask of shock. They had clearly been waiting for the news, for *my* news, but not this.
“Mateo,” I whispered, the name a ragged plea.
The anchor’s voice cut through the air. “…sources close to the investigation confirm that the target of the assault was Mateo Varga, brother of Elena Varga, who is at the center of the ongoing Rosati syndicate probe.”
A federal agent, his face grim, appeared on screen, addressing the cameras. “We can confirm that Mateo Varga has been critically wounded. He was transported to Elmhurst Hospital. His condition is… critical.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Critically wounded.
The live feed showed paramedics wheeling a stretcher into an ambulance. A dark sheet covered something, but a sliver of cloth, familiar, caught my eye. The blue work shirt Mateo had been wearing.
My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, my mind reeling. Carmine. This was Carmine’s doing. His desperate, brutal retaliation.
Julian stared at the screen, his mouth open, unable to form words. Even Siena looked horrified. They had wanted to hurt me, to take my house, my life, but this… this was beyond their imagined cruelty.
The sirens faded on the news report, replaced by the grim silence of the newsroom. Sarah Lin’s face appeared on screen, her expression somber. The investigative special, meant to expose Carmine’s crimes, was now a backdrop to a personal tragedy.
I found my voice, a raw, strangled sound. “Mateo…”
The phone in my hand vibrated. It was a call from Elmhurst Hospital. I knew, with a horrifying certainty, before I even answered. Before the doctor’s weary voice confirmed it. Mateo was gone.
My world, already fragmented, shattered completely. The money, the property, the revenge – it all felt meaningless. Carmine had taken the one thing I truly loved, the one person who anchored me. My brother, Mateo, was dead. And I was left alone, clutching the cold phone, with nothing but the echoes of gunfire and the weight of an unbearable loss.
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