Three years later.
I was twenty-four, officially in charge of Conti’s core holdings: the docks, shipping, and offshore finance.
Father had stepped back entirely, leaving only the honorary title of Don.
My ten brothers had been full-time domestic laborers for three years.
Marco, the eldest, mowed the lawn to the millimeter.
Lorenzo scrubbed the bathrooms so clean they shone brighter than an operating room.
Dante kept the seven Rottweilers’ coats glossy; the dogs adored me more than they did him.
Tommaso polished the silverware so flawlessly it reflected a person’s image.
No wages.
To improve meals, they cultivated a small vegetable garden in the corner of the estate, self-sustained.
Every morning at six, they lined up precisely on the driveway.
"Good morning, Miss!"
I walked pas
