The night was quiet, but Luciana's mind was roaring.
She couldn't sleep—not after everything Serafina had told her, not after seeing her forged adoption papers and the tangled mess of betrayal that had shaped her life. Damian was asleep beside her, arm loosely draped across her waist, but Luciana lay wide awake staring at the ceiling.
She slipped out of bed quietly, padding across the stone floor barefoot. Outside, the sea whispered in the distance, and the air carried the scent of salt and roses.
Serafina's villa was timeless. The heavy curtains, antique furniture, and carved wooden staircases made her feel like she'd stepped into a different century—one where secrets didn't just fester, they ruled.
Luciana found herself standing again in front of the intelligence wall. Alone this time.
The pinned strings, the photographs, the cryptic notes. It wasn't just evidence—it was a graveyard of the life she thought she knew.
She traced the red string from her own baby photo to the hospital file stamped with Castello Medico. A forged adoption. A stolen identity. A life built on a lie.
Her fingers hovered over the corner of the board, where a smaller section detailed "Operation Phoenix."
It was Damian's file.
Photos of him during his time rising through the Russian underworld. Classified intel from the CIA and FSB. Dozens of entries marked "dangerous," "cold," "brutal." A killer. A ghost. A king.
And then, one photo at the center—a candid picture of him holding Mikhail in one arm while talking to Luciana. Her face was turned away, but the joy was unmistakable.
A family. A real one. Even if she hadn't known it then.
"Couldn't sleep?" came Serafina's voice behind her.
Luciana turned slightly. "No. Everything's too loud in my head."
Serafina walked slowly to stand beside her. "The first night I discovered the truth about Kevin… I tore every photo of him into ash. And I still didn't sleep."
Luciana gave a bitter smile. "I'm trying not to be angry."
"Don't," Serafina said, folding her arms. "Be angry. You should be. But don't let it turn into guilt. Let it guide you."
Luciana looked at her. "You said I need to declare myself. Reclaim my name. What does that really mean?"
"It means calling a summit," Serafina said. "Inviting the neutral and wavering families to hear your story. To show them the real heir to the Moretti throne still breathes—and is ready to take it back."
Luciana's chest tightened. "You want me to walk into a room of mafia bosses and just... ask them to believe me?"
"No," Serafina said. "You'll make them remember who your mother was. Who you are. And you'll show them why Kevin fears you."
---
By morning, the wheels were already in motion.
Serafina's staff—silent, loyal, efficient—began drafting coded invitations to key Italian mafia leaders, using symbols and phrases from the old Moretti bloodline. It was a risk. If Kevin intercepted them, he'd know Luciana was alive. But hiding wasn't an option anymore.
Luciana stood before a long mirror in Serafina's dressing chamber, wearing a dark crimson gown with a deep back and intricate gold embroidery that shimmered like flame. Her hair was twisted into a loose chignon, her collarbone bare except for a thin gold chain with her mother's ring threaded through it.
She didn't recognize the woman in the mirror.
But she didn't need to.
Damian walked in, dressed in a black suit, no tie. His presence was quiet but heavy, like a loaded gun.
"You look like you could rule the world," he said.
Luciana turned to him. "Maybe I have to."
He stepped closer, brushing a kiss to her cheek. "Then let them see the queen they tried to bury."
---
The summit was held in the catacombs beneath a crumbling church on the outskirts of Florence—an old Moretti safehouse from decades ago.
Candles flickered in iron sconces. The air smelled of stone and incense. Around the room sat powerful men and women—bosses from Rome, Venice, Palermo, and beyond. Their expressions ranged from wary to curious to cold.
At the front of the room, Serafina stood with all the dignity of an empress. Beside her, Luciana stepped forward, Damian flanking her like a shadow.
"My name," she began, voice echoing off the walls, "is Luciana Alessia Moretti. Daughter of Alessia Moretti and Kevin Moretti. Stolen at birth. Raised under a false name. Lied to for twenty-six years."
A ripple of whispers. One of the older dons narrowed his eyes. "You have proof?"
Luciana nodded to Serafina, who held up a sealed envelope.
"Inside," Luciana said, "are DNA results. Hospital records. Surveillance footage of Kevin orchestrating my kidnapping and framing my husband for the murder of my adoptive father."
Another murmur swept the room.
"But that's not why I'm here," Luciana continued, stepping forward. "I'm not here to ask for your loyalty. I'm here to tell you this—Kevin Moretti is not the rightful heir to this empire. He is a tyrant, a murderer, and a man so afraid of a girl's potential that he erased her from existence."
Silence.
Then a voice from the back. A woman in her forties with sharp eyes. "And you? What makes you different?"
Luciana met her gaze. "I don't want the throne. I want justice. I want peace. I want to raise my son in a world where blood doesn't buy silence. But if claiming the throne is the only way to burn Kevin's empire to the ground—then I'll wear the crown."
A beat of silence.
Then the older don from earlier stood slowly. "You speak with your mother's fire."
Luciana's chest tightened. "Then light the match."
---
After the summit, Luciana stepped outside into the cool night air. Her heart was racing, adrenaline still pumping. Damian joined her, silent for a moment before saying, "You were incredible."
"I was terrified."
He looked at her, voice low. "I've killed men twice my size who made me feel less afraid than you do when you're like that."
Luciana gave a soft, tired laugh. "That's probably a compliment."
"It is."
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "You're becoming who you were always meant to be."
Luciana studied him. "You're still hiding something from me."
Damian stiffened slightly. "What makes you say that?"
"I know you," she said simply. "Even when I didn't remember you, my body still responded to you. I trusted you. And I still do. But I also feel the silence between us."
He didn't deny it. Instead, he pulled a folded envelope from his inner jacket pocket.
"I was going to burn this," he said. "But I think you need to read it."
Luciana opened it.
Inside was a letter. Handwritten.
It was from Kevin.
Luciana,
If you're reading this, it means Damian failed to keep you under control. It means you've uncovered things that were never meant for your eyes. But you should know this—every lie I told you, every truth I hid, I did to protect you.
Because the people who want you dead will not stop at your name. They will burn the world just to bury you. And I'm the only one who can stop them.
Her hands trembled.
"I intercepted that three months ago," Damian said quietly. "Before your accident."
She looked up sharply. "You kept it from me?"
"I didn't want you to believe him. I didn't want him to get in your head again."
Luciana clenched the letter, heart pounding. "He knew I was close. That I was waking up."
"He tried to silence you. Permanently."
Luciana looked out at the stars.
"No," she said softly. "He tried to control me again. But I'm done living in someone else's story."
---
Back at the villa, Luciana stood on the balcony, wind whipping her hair as the city lights twinkled far below.
She had rallied support.
Declared herself.
And seen fear flicker in the eyes of men who hadn't feared anything in decades.
But this was only the beginning.
Kevin would come for her now—with bullets or blackmail or worse.
And she would be ready.
She touched her stomach, thinking of Mikhail, safe in Serafina's protected wing.
"I'm doing this for you," she whispered.
Damian came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"We do it together," he murmured.
Luciana leaned into him.
"Yes," she said. "Together."
---