The city greeted them with cold indifference.
Milan, once a symbol of power and pride for Alexander, now felt unfamiliar. The towering glass buildings loomed like silent sentinels. The streets pulsed with life, but the noise no longer thrilled him—it pressed against his chest like a warning. He guided Isabella through the crowd, his grip on her hand firm but not forceful. They had promised to face this together. And now, there was no turning back.
They arrived at one of his discreet apartments tucked in a quiet street near Brera. No staff. No cameras. Just reinforced doors and old parquet floors that creaked under their steps. Isabella looked around, absorbing the sterile elegance of the space. It was nothing like Tuscany. No warmth. No wildflowers. Only silence and secrets.
She dropped her bag by the door and turned to him.
Tell me everything, Alex.
He didn't respond at first. Instead, he walked to the bar and poured himself a drink—something dark, untouched since before they left. He stared into the glass.
It's my father, he said at last. Or what he left behind.
I thought you cut ties with him years ago.
I did. But the debts he built… the enemies… they don't forget. Especially the ones who think I owe them something for the sins of his empire.
Who sent the letter?
A man named Luca Ferraro. He used to be part of the Volkov syndicate. When I dismantled it, I took everything from him—power, territory, money.
And now he wants it back.
Worse. He wants to remind me I never really left.
Isabella's eyes narrowed. And he'll do that by threatening you?
By threatening what matters most to me. Which means you.
Alexander stepped closer, his voice low, sharp like broken glass.
This isn't just business. Luca's ruthless. Old world. He believes in blood oaths and vengeance. I walked away from that world, Isabella—but I didn't erase it.
She stepped toward him, her voice steady despite the fear twisting in her gut.
Then we don't wait for him to make the first move.
He studied her, something unreadable in his expression.
You've changed, he murmured.
You made me strong.
No, you always were. You just forgot for a while.
That night, they didn't sleep. While the city hummed outside their windows, they stayed in the shadows, piecing together every thread they could pull on Luca Ferraro—his recent movements, known associates, properties under shell companies. Alexander had access. Isabella had intuition. Together, they worked like the ghosts they used to be quiet, focused, dangerous.
By dawn, they had a name. A warehouse outside the city. Recently purchased. Discreetly guarded. No obvious business activity.
It reeked of Luca.
We go tonight, Alexander said. No backup. No noise. I want him to know I'm watching.
Isabella nodded. Then we go in together.
He hesitated. You don't have to
She cut him off. You said no secrets. No games. That means I don't stay behind.
That night, the city was cloaked in rain. Soft, steady. Like the sky was trying to wash away the filth below. They moved in silence, dressed in black, avoiding security cameras and streetlights. The warehouse stood like a beast in the dark—silent, massive, breathing danger.
Alexander checked his earpiece. Isabella stood beside him, calm and focused.
There's a side entrance, she whispered.
I see it.
They slipped inside like shadows. The interior was cold, steel and concrete. The air reeked of oil and old blood. They crept past crates, down narrow aisles, deeper into the heart of the structure.
Voices.
Two men, unaware of their presence, spoke in hushed Italian. Isabella translated silently.
They're talking about moving something. A shipment. But not drugs. Something coded—The Debt.'
Alexander frowned. That's not product. That's a threat.
He moved swiftly, disabling the men with calculated strikes. No guns. No noise. He tied them with cable from a nearby crate.
As they reached the back of the warehouse, a door swung open.
And Luca Ferraro stepped out.
He was older now. Hair gray at the temples, but his presence still dangerous. He wore a tailored coat, black leather gloves, and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Well, well. The prodigal son returns.
Alexander didn't flinch.
You've made a mistake.
Luca chuckled. No, boy. I've made a statement. You can hide in your love nest in Tuscany, but your blood belongs to this city. To this legacy.
That legacy died with my father.
Luca's eyes flicked to Isabella. So this is her. The reason you've gone soft.
Alexander stepped in front of her. Say her name and I'll break your teeth.
Luca's smile widened. There he is. The real Alexander. Not the tame version she thinks she's saving.
Isabella stepped forward. I know exactly who he is. And I'm not here to save him. I'm here to burn your empire to the ground if you touch him again.
For a moment, silence. Then Luca's amusement faded.
You've made enemies, Volkov. And they're not as kind as me.
Then send them, Alexander said coldly. I'm not running anymore.
Luca stepped back into the darkness.
Neither am I.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Alarms blared.
It was a trap.
Run, Alexander hissed.
They darted through the warehouse, dodging beams of red light as security systems activated. Isabella jumped a broken crate, barely missing a tripwire. Alexander yanked her down a side hall, shooting out a lock, pushing them through an emergency exit.
They spilled into the alley as black SUVs screeched around the corner.
Get in, Alexander shouted, unlocking the Ducati parked at the far end. She jumped on behind him and they tore through the night, the rain slicing across their skin like blades.
Behind them, the warehouse erupted in fire.
No more running, Isabella whispered against his shoulder.
No more lies, he replied.
But both of them knew something had changed.
Luca hadn't just set a trap.
He had started a war.