Alessandro lost everything over the next month.
Not all at once. That would have been too clean. Too simple. Instead, it happened in pieces. One devastating blow after another until he was left with nothing but the clothes in his closet and a bank account with seven hundred dollars.
The company was sold. Not to Dmitri—the federal investigation made that impossible—but to a competitor who'd been circling for years like a patient vulture, waiting for exactly this kind of wound to open. Marcus negotiated the sale with the board's blessing. Kept the employees. Changed the name. Erased the Castellano legacy from existence with the efficiency of a man who had never particularly liked Alessandro to begin with and saw no reason to pretend otherwise now that pretending cost him something.
