Chapter 48 Fiorella
The weight of the family name rested uncomfortably on my back as I sat in the dark office, listening once more to another ally hesitate before giving pulling away at last.
"Sorry, Fiorella," the voice on the phone explained, laden with false remorse. "It's not personal. Your father was a wonderful guy, but things has changed. We have to think about stability, stable leadership."
I knew what was about to hit me before the words even left his mouth.
"I hope you understand, but our alliance—"
"is over," I filled in for him, my tone silky despite the fires burning in my gut. "Yes. I understand perfectly."
A gusty sigh. A hesitation. A hopeless effort at breaking the bad news gently. "I wish you all the best, truly."
I hung up.
Another one gone.
I pushed my hand into my temple, pushing away the tension creeping up the back of my neck. The room was quiet except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, the seconds dragging out and tugging and informing me that time was sliding from my grasp as rapidly as my allies were.
I had expected resistance. Even geared up for it. My father had always been the anchor that held everything together. But I was not naive enough to think his name would hold everyone in place—not when they saw me as no more than his daughter.
A girl trying to wear the cloak of a king.
But this? The rate at which these betrayals were taking place? It reeked of something bigger.
I removed the next file from the desk, scanning the names of the men I would be meeting with next. More potential allies. More men who would size me up, probe me, decide if I was worthy to be followed—or worthy to be eliminated.
The door creaked open. Leo came in, face impassive, but I knew that expression. That reserved, measured expression that meant he was going to tell me something I did not want to hear.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, already bracing myself.
He hesitated for half a second. Then—"It's Vittorio."
Naturally it was.
I sat back in my chair and let out a harsh breath. "What about him?"
Leo closed the door behind him. "Word is, he's been talking to the families. Intimidating them to think twice about their allegiance. Portraying you as irresponsible, inexperienced—"
I snorted. "Because he's so much superior?"
"To them? He's a man with years of experience. He's safe."
Safe. The word was bitter in my mouth. Vittorio had played the long game from the beginning, always watched my father's moves with calculating, analytical eyes. I had no question that he'd waited for his moment to move, and now, with my father's corpse still warm in the ground, he saw his chance.
I shut the file on my desk and stood.
“If he wants a war over this throne," I breathed, "then he'll have one."
It was gloomy outside, the air thick with the scent of rain that had yet to fall. There was a storm on the horizon, the dark clouds moving in, matching the heaviness on my chest.
I stood on the balcony of my mansion, my hand wrapped around the iron railing, as I observed the men below moving with practiced ease. Security drills, gun checks, double patrols—preparations for an enemy we all knew would come.
But I hadn't expected the enemy to come from within.
"Fiorella."
Leo's voice was sharp as he stepped out onto the balcony. His expression informed me this was not bad news—it was worse.
I swivelled slowly. "What happened?"
"A shipment. One of ours never reached the docks."
My back straightened. "Stolen?"
His jaw clenched. "Ambushed. Five men killed. The truck was burnt."
A slow, smouldering anger twisted in my belly, but I didn't reveal it. "Who?"
Leo hesitated. "There was a message."
My breath hitched, my fists tightening. "From whom?"
He pulled out a phone and held it out to me. "Listen."
I jerked it from his fingers, pressed play, and held it to my ear.
A voice, deep and laced with condescension, filled the space.
"You should have stayed out of this, Fiorella. This empire is not for the likes of you. You could have walked away with dignity, but no, you had to play queen. So you learn something—power is not handed to little girls. Power is taken up by men. And I will take everything from you."
A soft click. Quiet.
My blood turned to ice.
Vittorio.
I slammed down the phone, my hand so clenched my knuckles ached.
Leo watched me cautiously. "What do you want to do?"
I didn't answer immediately. My uncle thought he could intimidate me, that I would break under pressure, that I would fall under the pressure of expectation.
He was wrong.
I took a slow breath, raising my chin. "Get everyone," I said, my voice level, cutting. "Vittorio wants to play at war? Then let's remind him precisely whose blood I have running through my veins."
The wind had blown up, bearing the smell of rain and smoke. It was appropriate—storms and war tended to follow me these days.
I turned away from Leo, my mind already thinking ahead, figuring my next step. If Vittorio thought he could take this away from me, he had another thing coming.
But before I could reach for my phone, it buzzed in my hand.
Unknown number.
Leo's expression darkened as he glanced at the screen. "Answer on speaker."
I did.
A deep voice, smooth and lethal, filled the air.
"Fiorella D'Angelo."
My grip on the phone tightened, but I said nothing.
A low chuckle. "You seriously thought you could kill my brother and get away with it?"
My pulse thinned, that unnerving stillness before violence. Elio Marchesi.
"I hope you're enjoying your little fight with your uncle. It won't matter soon. Because I'm coming for you, Fiorella. And I won't sleep until I'm standing over your corpse."
The line was dead.
For an instant, quiet. Then the first clap of thunder boomed across the horizon.
Leo gasped hard. "Shit."
I tucked the phone away and headed back inside, jaw clenched. Vittorio wanted my empire. The Marchesi wanted my life.
They'd both have to try harder.