Chapter 26: 26

My heart drops.

I swipe to answer.

His voice is fast and urgent. “Come to the Pachino estate right now, Aurora. Your fiancé is about to cause havoc.”

“What?” I breathe, the floor tilting beneath me.

“He brought a gun, he’s ready to kill someone and I think that someone might be me.”

I freeze.

Lorenzo. Damiano. Blood. Secrets.

I’m stuck in the middle of two men with the same fury in their veins, one my brother, one the man I love.

“I’m on my way,” I say, already grabbing my coat.

The phone call ends and I stand frozen for a second, my breath ragged, my chest rising and falling in fury and fear. Then I move fast.

I burst into the study, heart pounding in my ears. The drawer where Damiano keeps his spare weapons is already half open. He never locks it. He always thinks no one would dare.

But I dare now.

My fingers wrap around the cold metal of the Glock. It’s heavier than I remember. I slide the magazine in with a click, pull the slide back to chamber a round. Just like my father taught me.

I’m not going there to kill.

But I won’t go defenseless either.

I shove the gun down the back of my pants and tug my coat lower. It presses cold against my skin, a grim reminder of what I might have to do.

Vincent, one of Damiano’s guards, rushes toward me as I reach the front door. “I’ll come with you...”

“Stay where you are!” I snap, the command slicing through the hallway like a whip. My voice trembles with rage and something deeper, betrayal. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t follow.

I storm out, slamming the door behind me.

Seconds later, I throw myself behind the wheel of the matte black Range Rover. My hands shake as I jam the keys in the ignition and peel out of the driveway, tires screeching across the stone.

The world blurs around me, the trees, the gray sky, the thinning mist of rain still lingering from last night.

I drive like a woman possessed.

Because Damiano is about to spill blood.

Because the man I love might be a murderer.

Because everything I believed in is collapsing and I need to get there before it’s too

Because I have to get there before Damiano makes the one mistake he can’t take back.

Aurora’s POV – Pachino Estate

The gates creak open and the tires crunch against gravel as I pull into the estate, my heart in my throat. The moment I step out of the car, I hear it...shouting. The deep, unmistakable rumble of Damiano’s voice. Lorenzo’s cold and sharp in response.

I rush up the marble steps and burst through the doors of the Pachino estate.

There, in the center of the grand hall, under the light of the ornate chandelier, they stand—guns drawn.

Damiano, all in black, face shadowed, eyes wild.

Lorenzo, shirt stained at the shoulder, eyes locked in fire.

Both ready to kill. Both ready to die.

Lorenzo sees me first. “You’re here,” he says, voice tight with urgency.

I walk forward slowly, numb, like a ghost inside my own body. My boots echo on the marble floor. I don’t blink. I don’t breathe.

“Are you here because of the person you love…” Damiano’s voice cuts the silence. “…or because of him?” His gaze crashes into mine. Cold. Empty. Accusing.

And for the first time I see it.

I see the demon behind the man I loved.

My voice breaks like glass. “You are the murderer, Damiano.”

Tears burst out of me as rage burns behind them. “You killed my father!” My hands fumble behind me, gripping the cold gun I hid. I point it at him with trembling fingers.

“You lied to me. Everything was a lie.”

Damiano’s jaw clenches, his arms still extended, gun pointed at Lorenzo, but his eyes never leave me. “What are you doing with that gun, birdie? You might hurt yourself…”

“Fuck you!” I scream. “Just stop all these damn actings, Damiano! You never loved me. Our love was just another game—another fucking conspiracy!”

His lips twitch. I can’t tell if he’s hurt or just furious. “Did you ever love me?” he asks, voice raw. “Is it true what they say? That you were carrying his baby, not mine?”

My blood boils.

“I’m not a cheater like you, Damiano. And how dare you suspect me? Do you really think I would lie this much?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Aurora!” he roars, stepping toward me now. “Everywhere I go, it’s Lorenzo and you. Secret meetings. Whispers. Lies!”

“Yes, I was meeting him!” I shout, louder than the thunder in my chest.

His steps falter.

“Because Lorenzo is my twin brother. My brother!” I scream. “We were working together to collect evidence. To prove what you did. And now I have it. I saw it. I found the truth. You killed our father. You’re a devil, Damiano.I hate you!”

He flinches like I hit him.

I scream out, all the pain and betrayal clawing out of me—and as he steps closer, I raise the gun.

And pull the trigger.

The sound splits the room in half.

The shot echoes like a scream frozen in time.

My ears ring. My hand shakes. The gun falls from my grip and clatters against the marble floor.

Damiano stumbles backward, eyes wide. One hand instinctively flies to his side—blood blossoms beneath his black shirt like a rose made of ruin. He drops to one knee. A gasp slips from his lips, not quite pain, not quite surprise. Just silence breaking in human form.

“No...” I whisper, the weight of what I’ve done crashing down on me. My knees buckle.

Lorenzo rushes forward, grabbing the gun, kicking it away just in case, but I barely see him. All I can look at is Damiano—his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his face pale, eyes never leaving mine.

He’s not yelling. He’s not fighting. He’s just… looking at me.

Like I’m still the only thing that matters, even now.

Why didn’t he shoot me?

Why didn’t he defend himself?

Blood spills through his fingers. I take a staggering step forward. “I didn’t mean to—I just—” My voice breaks. “You lied to me. You killed my father… You destroyed me…”

He sways a little where he kneels, still holding pressure on the wound. “I didn’t lie about everything,” he murmurs hoarsely. “I loved you, birdie. I love you. Even now.”

My breath catches in my throat. The room spins.

Lorenzo puts an arm around me, steadying me. “He needs a doctor,” he mutters, though his tone is cold. “We can let him bleed out… or we can do this the right way.”

But I can’t hear him anymore. I’m kneeling now too, right in front of the man I shot. My hand hovers over his wound, my fingers trembling.

“I hate you,” I whisper. But tears fall like I don’t. “I hate what you made me do.”

Damiano closes his eyes. “You were always going to find out,” he says softly. “I was just hoping it’d be after you loved me too much to leave.”

I choke on a sob.

Lorenzo pulls out his phone and calls for help, but I’m stuck here, kneeling in the wreckage of a love built on lies.

Aurora’s POV (continued):

“Call someone,” I say quickly, voice shaking, “get a doctor!”

I turn to rush toward Damiano, but Lorenzo grabs my wrist, firm, unyielding.

“No,” he says, his voice low but hard. “You’re not going to him.”

I try to pull away, eyes locked on Damiano’s collapsing form. “He’s bleeding. He’ll die!”

“I already called someone. My men are coming.” Lorenzo steps in front of me, blocking my path like a wall. “You’ve done your part. Let me handle the rest.”

“Move, Lorenzo!” I cry, trying to shove past him. “I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted the truth!”

“And now you have it,” he says sharply. “You have the truth, and it nearly cost you everything.”

“I have to see him!”

Lorenzo’s grip doesn’t loosen. “The man who doubted you, who thought you would lie about carrying another man’s child... the man who pointed a gun at me instead of trusting you—that man doesn’t deserve to marry you, Aurora.”

His words cut deep. Because a part of me still aches for Damiano. Still wants to believe that somewhere beneath the betrayal, there was love.

I look up at my brother, trembling. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

Lorenzo’s face softens for a moment. He cups my cheek gently and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Because you loved the wrong man. But I promise, I’ll protect you now. You don’t need to run after monsters anymore.”

Behind him, Damiano groans, collapsing fully to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Men rush in through the estate gates—Lorenzo’s guards—calling for medics.

But Lorenzo keeps me back, keeps me still, keeps me his.

And I let him.

Because I don’t know who I am anymore in Damiano’s arms. But beside my brother, I feel the truth anchoring me again.

The study room in the Pachino estate is dimly lit, filled with the rich scent of old wood, leather, and power. I sit in the chair that once belonged to my father, his presence still lingers in the room, like the echo of a ghost refusing to leave. My hands rest motionless on my lap, but inside me, a storm brews: grief, betrayal, disbelief… and now, something else, something heavier. Destiny.

The door opens softly, and I look up.

Don Pachino enters with the kind of authority that makes even the walls seem to straighten. He’s Lorenzo’s foster father, but to the rest of the world, he is Il Padrino. The Godfather. Silver-haired, dark eyes sharp as steel, he walks with deliberate grace, each step echoing in the silence.

He carries a thick black file in his hand.

He comes to a slow stop in front of me and lays it on the desk without a word. Then, he looks at me—not with sympathy, but with something stronger: respect.

“These are your father's properties,” he begins, his voice low, smooth, commanding. “Everything he owned. His clubs, his territories, his money, his name.”

My heart skips. The room seems to still, the weight of those words sinking in.

“After his death,” he continues, “I kept them under my control. He was my underboss… loyal, wise, fierce. A brother in blood if not in name. And when he was taken from us, I didn’t let Damiano or anyone, lay a finger on what belonged to him.”

I glance at the file, then at the man. The truth of it all is still unraveling inside me.

He steps closer.

“Damiano may have taken his position, but he never earned his legacy.”

He pauses.

“And then… my son, Lorenzo, came to me. He begged me to return everything to the rightful heir.”

I inhale sharply, my throat tightening.

“You.”

He pushes the file toward me slowly. “And so, I give it to you now. Your father's empire. His businesses, his accounts… and the men who swore loyalty to him. They’re yours now, Principessa della Famiglia.”

My fingers hesitate over the file. I open it with trembling hands. It's real. Everything. Documents with signatures I recognize, ownerships, transfers, maps marked with my father’s seal. A kingdom hidden in ink and blood.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, eyes still fixed on the page.

“You can,” Pachino says, his tone softer now, but no less firm. “Because you are his daughter. And you’ve already survived worse.”

I close the file slowly, a new weight settling on my shoulders, not just of grief, but of power.

“And the soldiers?” I ask quietly.

“They were his,” he nods. “And they now answer to you. If you speak, they will move. If you fall, they will fight. They do not follow weakness, they follow blood.”

A heavy silence.

He steps even closer and places a warm hand on my shoulder. “I name you his successor, Aurora. In the name of the Famiglia, in the honor of your father, I give you your throne.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“You are the mafia princess now.”

As he leaves the room, I remain still. My reflection in the glass of the bookcase catches my eye. I don’t see the broken girl anymore.

I see the heir.