But Otilla was wrong.
Terribly, fatally wrong.
Because the military did not stop at the Captain.
They dug.
Deep.
---
Files were reopened—old ones, sealed ones, ones marked Do Not Revisit.
Financial trails surfaced like bones pushed up by rain.
Favors exchanged for silence.
Threats disguised as charity.
Promises made to the poor with one hand, chains fastened with the other.
Otilla D'Este had not merely abused power.
She had weaponized it.
Families displaced.
Careers ruined.
Lives quietly crushed beneath polished smiles and official seals.
And now—
the weight of it all collapsed inward.
---
The attempted murder charge cracked the façade wide open.
Once investigators were allowed to cross that line, they found everything else waiting behind it.
Extortion.
Manipulation of state institutions.
Unlawful detentions.
Interference with military operations.
And worse—
patterns.
Otilla had done this before.
Not always with blood.
Sometimes with hunger.
Sometimes with fear.
Sometimes by simply removing options until people broke.
Witnesses came forward.
Some shaking.
Some crying.
Some angry they had waited so long.
"I thought she was untouchable," one said.
"She said her father was the state," another whispered.
---
That was when the call was made.
Not to Otilla.
To her father.
---
General Alessandro D'Este received the news in his study, surrounded by medals that suddenly felt heavier than iron.
The words were clinical.
Cold.
Final.
Your daughter is under investigation for crimes against the state.
Your position is compromised.
He said nothing.
For the first time in decades, the General—once feared, once revered—had no command to give.
By morning, the decision was public.
Stripped of rank.
Stripped of authority.
Stripped of legacy.
"They say the daughter's crime weighs on the father," the papers murmured.
Italy watched.
And the great General bowed his head.
Not in defeat—
but in shame.
---
The arrest did not come quietly.
It came loudly.
Wildly.
Like a celebration long overdue.
Police vehicles flooded the estate.
Cameras followed.
Crowds gathered—not in protest, but in grim satisfaction.
Otilla was dragged from marble halls into flashing lights.
Her composure finally cracked.
She screamed.
She cursed.
She demanded names.
But no one listened anymore.
Because power, once exposed, loses its voice.
---
Charges were read.
She stopped counting.
Abuse of power.
Attempted murder.
Corruption.
Conspiracy.
Obstruction of justice.
And those who carried out her orders—
were taken too.
No exceptions.
No immunity.
Italy shook—not from fear this time, but from release.
---
Xavier stood beside Isabella as the news broke.
Neither spoke.
They didn't need to.
Some wars ended not with bullets—but with truth.
And as Otilla D'Este was led away in cuffs too heavy for her wrists, one thing became clear to everyone watching:
She had tried to erase lives.
Instead—
she erased herself.
And for the first time in a very long time—
the Rossi family breathed without looking over their shoulders.