    The Romano estate was silent, too silent for a house that usually pulsed with the rhythm of power and danger. The chandeliers glimmered like frozen stars above the marble floors, and the scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air—a reminder that men had been here, making decisions that would change lives.

Alessia Romano stood at the top of the grand staircase, her fingers gripping the railing as she listened to the muffled voices coming from her father's study. Her heart pounded in her chest, a steady drumbeat of dread. She had grown up surrounded by secrets, but tonight, something felt different. The air was heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Her father's voice, deep and commanding, carried through the door. "It's settled then. The marriage will take place in two weeks."

The words struck her like a bullet. Marriage? Her breath caught, and she pressed a trembling hand to her lips.
She didn't need to hear the rest. She already knew what it meant.

The Romano family had been at war with the Morettis for decades. Blood had been spilled, alliances shattered, and trust destroyed. The idea of peace between them was laughable. And yet, here her father was, arranging a marriage with the enemy.

Her mother's portrait hung on the wall beside her—a woman of grace and quiet strength. Alessia stared at it, searching for comfort, but found none. Her mother had died when she was young, leaving her to navigate the brutal world of the mafia alone.

The door to the study opened, and her father stepped out, his expression unreadable. His dark suit was immaculate, his silver hair slicked back, his presence commanding as always.

"Alessia," he said, his tone calm but final. "Come inside."
She obeyed, though every step felt like walking toward her own execution.

Inside, two men stood waiting. One was her father's consigliere, and the other—tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes as cold as winter steel—was Damian Moretti.

The name alone sent a chill down her spine. She had heard stories about him. Ruthless. Calculating. A man who ruled his empire with an iron fist and a heart of stone.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. His gaze was sharp, assessing, as if he could see straight through her.

"This is my daughter, Alessia," her father said. "She will be your wife."

Her pulse roared in her ears. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "You can't be serious."

Her father's expression hardened. "This is not a request. It's a necessity. The families need peace, and this is the only way."

Damian's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Don't worry, princess. I don't bite—unless provoked."

The mocking tone made her blood boil. "I'd rather die than marry you."

"Careful," he murmured, stepping closer. "In our world, words like that can be arranged."

Her father slammed his hand on the desk. "Enough! This union will happen. You will do your duty, Alessia."

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She lifted her chin, meeting Damian's gaze with defiance. "You may have my hand, Mr. Moretti, but you will never have my heart."

He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. "We'll see about that."

The words sent a shiver down her spine—not of fear, but of something far more dangerous.

As she turned to leave, her father's voice echoed behind her.

"The wedding will be in two weeks. Prepare yourself."

Outside the study, Alessia pressed her back against the wall, her chest heaving. The world she knew was collapsing, and in its place rose a future she didn't want—a future bound by blood, betrayal, and a man whose touch could destroy her.
But as she stared out the window at the dark horizon, one thought burned in her mind.
If this was her fate, she would face it on her own terms.
And Damian Moretti would learn that the mafia princess was no one's pawn.

The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of the Moretti estate when the call came in. One of Damian Moretti's men burst into the control room.


"Near the old industrial district. It's clean, no damage, no signs of a struggle. And we found a phone inside."


The guard swallowed. "Her phone, sir. It was under the pedals."


He pulled out the phone — dusty and cracked.


He turned to his tech specialist. "Power it up. I want everything — messages, calls, location history."


The technician connected the phone to a secure terminal. The screen flickered to life, showing the message Alessia had received– the one that lured her out.


Damian's eyes narrowed as he read it aloud.


"Miss Moretti, this is urgent. Your father has been in an accident. He's been taken to the Private Hospital. Please come immediately."


Giovanni's face hardened. "That's all it took."


Clara, standing behind them, whispered, "She must have panicked. She wouldn't have questioned it."


Damian's voice was low. "She didn't have a reason to. Whoever sent this knew exactly what would make her move."


He turned to the technician. "Trace the number."


By evening, the control room was dim except for the glow of the monitors. The tech team had been working for hours, tracing every digital thread they could find. Damian and Romano stood behind them, silent, waiting.


Finally, one of the technicians spoke. "Sir, we've been tracing the Elena Marin email account. It's not a standard business domain — it's a private server, masked through multiple locations. But we found something."


"The email is linked to a phone number. It's the same number that sent the message to Mrs. Moretti."


Romano's eyes narrowed. "So the person who contacted Clara is the same one who lured Alessia out."


Clara's breath caught. "That can't be. She sounded real — she had documents, a company website, everything."


Damian's tone was calm but cutting. "That's what she wanted you to believe."


He turned to the technician. "Keep digging. Find out who she is."


The team worked in silence, the sound of keys clicking filling the room. Minutes stretched into hours.


Finally, one of them looked up. "Sir, we've traced the number's registration. It's connected to a company called Marin Consulting — but the company doesn't exist. The address leads to an abandoned office building in Madrid."


Damian's eyes narrowed. "So the name is fake."


"Completely," the technician confirmed. "But there's more. The registration trail led to a personal ID – Isabella Rossi."


Giovanni's gaze darkened. "You know her?"


He turned away from the screen, his voice low and cold. "She's been hiding under a fake name."


Giovanni's tone was grim. "Then she's the one who took Alessia."


Damian's reply was quiet but lethal. "And now, she's the one I'm going to find."


Far away, in the dim warehouse, Isabella stood by the window, watching the fading light. Her phone buzzed once—a message from an unknown number.


She smiled faintly. "Good. Let them follow the trail."


Behind her, Alessia stirred weakly, her voice barely a whisper. "He'll find me."


Isabella turned, her expression calm. "I know".


Chapter 42 - THE DISCOVERY