Chapter 5
The van was empty when they found it.
That meant the jackets were already inside.
Eleanor didn’t panic.
She changed the guard rotations personally.
No one left their assigned position based on verbal instructions.
No one wearing a Bellini pin entered a private hallway without being recognized by face.
That last order offended three older capos.
Good.
Offended men were still alive.
Grant watched the security changes from the lawn.
“You’re proving our point.”
Eleanor turned.
“What point?”
“You turn everything into a siege.”
He gestured toward the engagement decorations.
“This is supposed to be family.”
“Then why did you bring fake Bellini uniforms?”
Grant laughed.
“You’re still on that?”
Eleanor almost smiled.
“People usually stop discussing evidence when it becomes inconvenient.”
Serena interrupted.
“They were costumes.”
Adrian stared at her.
“For what?”
She looked at him as if he were stupid.
“The midnight presentation.”
Silence.
Eleanor asked:
“What presentation?”
Serena rolled her eyes.
“Your mother really tells you nothing?”
Adrian’s face hardened.
“What presentation?”
Serena sighed.
“The handover.”
Eleanor became still.
Henry Bellini whispered:
“No.”
Serena looked at him.
“Oh, please.”
She addressed the guests.
“Everyone knows Adrian is supposed to take more responsibility.”
Some looked away.
Serena continued.
“Tonight was meant to celebrate the next generation.”
Eleanor said:
“An engagement is not a handover.”
Serena smiled.
“Not officially.”
There was no official.
Not in their world.
That was the point.
Symbols mattered more than papers.
Who sat where.
Who entered first.
Who toasted whom.
Who wore the pin.
Who stood at the head of the table.
Eleanor looked at the ruined floral letters.
The black-ribbon glasses.
The fake uniforms.
A staged humiliation.
A confidence gesture.
A midnight “handover.”
All prepared.
“Who told you I was handing anything to Adrian?”
Serena’s smile faded.
Grant answered.
“Maybe nobody needs permission anymore.”
Eleanor looked at him.
Grant continued.
“You’ve been holding the organization like a widow holding a dead man’s coat.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“Watch your mouth.”
Grant laughed.
“There he is.”
Then to Eleanor:
“Six years, Eleanor.”
His voice was mocking.
“Matteo’s dead.”
A few guests shifted.
“Take off the black.”
Eleanor’s suit was black and cream.
Grant smiled.
“Stop using grief like a crown.”
Adrian moved again.
Eleanor stopped him with one hand.
Not to protect Grant.
To keep Adrian from hiding behind anger.
“You watched them humiliate me.”
Adrian froze.
Eleanor continued.
“Now you want to defend my dead husband?”
His face dropped.
“You don’t get to choose the easier moment.”
That hurt.
It should.
Serena looked satisfied.
Eleanor saw.
Of course.
Divide mother and son.
Make Adrian feel small around Eleanor.
Then offer him a way to feel powerful.
Serena had been doing it for months.
“When did she start telling you I wouldn’t let you lead?” Eleanor asked.
Adrian’s eyes lifted.
Serena snapped:
“Don’t.”
He looked at her.
There.
Control.
“Adrian.”
Her voice softened.
“We talked privately.”
Eleanor waited.
Adrian swallowed.
“After Christmas.”
Six months.
“What did she say?”
“That you would never step back.”
Serena interrupted:
“Because she won’t.”
Adrian continued.
“She said men respected me but would never show it while you were in the room.”
Eleanor looked at Serena.
“And you believed that?”
Adrian’s shame answered.
Serena scoffed.
“He believed what everyone sees.”
She pointed at Eleanor.
“You don’t have a son.”
“You have an understudy.”
Adrian flinched.
Serena turned to him.
“See?”
She smiled.
“One look from her and you fold.”
Eleanor watched her son’s face.
This was not love.
It was humiliation dressed as encouragement.
Then Thomas approached.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found one of the jackets.”
“Where?”
“Inside the old carriage house.”
“Only one?”
“No.”
Thomas’s expression hardened.
“Twelve.”
Eleanor looked at the number.
Twelve.
Henry heard it too.
He whispered:
“The old table.”
Eleanor turned.
“What?”
Henry’s face went pale.
“The old Bellini table had twelve seats.”
The ribbons.
The challenge.
The midnight handover.
The fake uniforms.
May you like
Someone was recreating an old Bellini succession night almost piece by piece.
And Serena could not possibly have learned all of that alone.
