Chapter 11 - THE PRICE OF THE RUSSO NAME
Z
Derek spent the next six months dismantling the organization he'd inherited.
Not with dramatic threats.
Not with public executions or revenge.
With lawyers.
Auditors.
Independent directors.
Asset reviews.
And uncomfortable conversations about responsibility.
Some companies closed.
Others were sold.
Several executives resigned.
Former associates accused Derek of betraying the family.
He didn't deny that his choices were changing what the Russo name meant.
That was the point.
The process exposed his own mistakes.
For years, he'd allowed certain financial practices to continue because they'd always existed.
He'd relied on Vincent.
Trusted Marcus.
Accepted explanations he should have questioned.
Now he understood how costly that had been.
His attorneys advised him that cooperation did not erase responsibility.
He agreed.
He was prepared to face the consequences of decisions he'd made.
One evening, Isabella visited the penthouse.
She found Derek standing beside his father's portrait.
He looked exhausted.
“Bad day?”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“Several.”
She approached.
“What happened?”
“Lost another business.”
“Legitimate?”
“Partly.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That's not a comforting answer.”
He smiled faintly.
“I know.”
She studied the portrait.
Salvatore Russo stared down from the wall, wearing an expensive suit and an expression of absolute certainty.
Isabella looked at Derek.
“Why is that still hanging here?”
He followed her gaze.
“I don't know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Derek took the portrait down.
He leaned it against the wall.
The room looked different immediately.
Lighter.
Less crowded by the past.
They sat beside the window.
Derek asked about her week.
She told him she'd begun volunteering at a community kitchen.
He seemed surprised.
“After everything you've been through, you want to help other people?”
Isabella smiled.
“Especially after everything I've been through.”
She looked toward the city.
“When you're homeless, people often act as though you stopped being a person.”
Derek lowered his eyes.
“I know I did.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
She continued.
“Some people helped me anyway. A woman gave me socks. A volunteer remembered my name. A cook kept an extra sandwich for me.”
Her voice softened.
“Small things can keep someone alive long enough to find the next small thing.”
Derek listened.
Then asked, “What do you want to do now?”
She considered.
“I used to study social work.”
He looked up.
“Before the fire?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to finish?”
She smiled sadly.
“I think so.”
Derek nodded.
“Then you should.”
She looked at him.
“You aren't offering to pay for it?”
He smiled faintly.
“I was going to ask whether you wanted help finding scholarship programs.”
For a moment, Isabella stared.
Then laughed.
“That's much better.”
As the evening ended, Derek walked her to the elevator.
She turned toward him.
“Derek?”
“Yes?”
“About dinner.”
His heart quickened.
“What about it?”
She smiled.
“I think I'm ready.”
He stared.
“Ready?”
“For a date.”
For a moment, Derek Russo, a man who'd faced rival bosses without blinking, seemed incapable of speaking.
Isabella laughed.
“Are you going to answer?”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
Then added, “I'd like that very much.”
She stepped into the elevator.
May you like
And for the first time, the possibility of loving someone didn't feel like another battle he needed to win.
It felt like something he might be allowed to receive.
