Three days after the collapse and the birth of my sons, I finally left Isabella's side.

Viktor had arranged everything with the cold precision of a military strategist: two separate ceremonies, on two different continents, with a gap of only four hours between them. The organization demanded protocol, even in death. Irina, my mother, was being laid to rest in the ancestral vault in Russia. Giovanni, the former Don Romano, was being buried outside Palermo, his presence required by the old ...