The Wright Queen

My mother saw the look on my face. "You know," she said, her voice dry, "your father watched me leave the exact same way, twenty-five years ago."

"He thought I couldn't live without him, too. Thought I'd come crying and begging him to take me back."

I turned to look at this elegant woman—my mother. Even at fifty, she was stunning, with a regal air that was born, not made.

"But you did more than just live."

She smiled. "I've been running the Wright family for years. Oil, weapons, diamonds, smuggling... You name a dirty business, I've got a piece of it. The Wright family now operates in thirteen countries. Our annual revenue is three times the Morettis'."

A sharp glint appeared in her eye. "In this man's world, if a woman wants to survive, she has to be tougher, smarter, and more ruthless than they are."

I was filled with admiration, but I couldn't help a bitter smile. "I wish I was strong like you, instead of just repeating your mistakes in marriage."

The car was heading toward a private airfield.

"I saw Dante for what he was the moment you married him," my mother said with a small laugh. "He looked at you with possession, with the desire to conquer, but never with respect. A man like that, once he gets power, he treats women like toys he can throw away."

"Then why didn't you stop me?"

"Because you wouldn't have listened," she said, shaking her head. "You only had eyes for him, just like I only had eyes for your father. There's some pain a woman has to feel for herself before she'll ever learn."

When we got to the airport, my mother's private jet was waiting. Black and gold, with the Wright family crest on the tail—a phoenix rising from the flames.

"Funny thing," she said. "Three years ago, your father's business was on the verge of collapse. He came to me, with his tail between his legs, begging for a handout."

"Did you help him?"

"I made him get on his knees and beg in front of all his creditors. Then, in front of all his friends, I gave him a check and told him it was charity, not a bailout."

"Isabella," my mother said, looking me dead in the eye. "I'm telling you this because I want you to know that if you want it, there will come a day when Dante will be on his knees, begging you."

"Men think women are nothing without them. And who gives them that confidence? Who makes them so damn sure of themselves? ... Loyal fools like us."

Her words landed, and something inside me shifted.

The plane took off, and the lights of New York City faded beneath us.

First, we went to London, where my mother owned an 18th-century manor. Then to Paris, to her apartment overlooking the Seine. Then Switzerland, where she had shares in a private bank.

Everywhere we went, I saw the true extent of her power. Politicians and tycoons treated her with a respect that bordered on fear. Even old European aristocrats treated her like royalty.

"Power isn't given to you, Isabella," she told me in a Monte Carlo casino as she played a hand of baccarat. "You take it. With intelligence, with ruthlessness, and with absolute cold."

Finally, we arrived at the Wright family estate in Tuscany, Italy.

It was a 16th-century castle, surrounded by rolling vineyards. Seventy rooms, a private chapel, and a small army of highly trained security.

"This will be your new home," my mother said, standing on the castle's terrace, looking out at the Tuscan hills bathed in sunset. "You can heal here. You can think here. And you can start over."

"Start over with what?"

"Building your own kingdom," Victoria said, turning to me, a fire of ambition in her eyes. "One that doesn't depend on any man, that isn't controlled by anyone. A kingdom that only you can destroy."

I looked at this powerful woman—my mother—and suddenly, I understood.

Maybe we were both fools once.

But the age of fools was over.

It was our turn to be queens.